#and they’ve called me non stop for days until I picked up

[batwynn]

Extra big shout out to my selfish aunt today for still not managing any of my dead grandfather’s affairs—even when she was given power of attorney and access to his account info specifically to do that for him—so that I’m getting debt collectors calling for all his overdue accounts almost two fucking years later. And I’m the lucky winner for this prize because my number happened to be on file from when I helped him set all his accounts up when I was living and taking care of him fulltime and being abused and treated like shit by him. 👍

Yes, I know she only agreed to it so she could slurp up any money she could from him while he was dying. No, I had no real expectations for her to do anything that benefits anyone else. I still thought maybe this time the work needed for this (like two phone calls and maybe an email of his death certificate) were simple and easy enough for her to manage for her own father, who she loves to go on and on about caring about and for when she did exactly jack shit for him. But I guess now that he’s gone, she can only trot out his corpse when she needs a show of sympathy when her attention meter gets too low. Why put in any effort now, when she couldn’t be bothered while he was alive, I guess.

Love being haunted by my shitty family in weird, ridiculous ways.

[searenbound]

Can I request an heifer reader that has two newborn sons? (It can be fluff if you want!)

She was moved from her old farm because hers was abusive and with that she grew more aggressive, if anyone or any of the cows/bulls she will nip them hard or kicks them and with that bakugo starts to have a liking to them and is willing to wait for her to warm up to him and will father her two calf’s?

(If not you can ignore this plus I love your stories!!)

Only because I miss Bakubull, but fun fact! Only young cows who haven’t had a calf yet are called heifers. Just fluff for now but if anyone wants to give me a reason to make a smutty little sequel I wouldn’t be opposed

Warnings: swearing, mentions of past abuse, hybrid au, hybrids being kept as live stock, fem reader with she/her pronouns, written with plus size reader in mind, single mom! reader technically a cliffhanger ending

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x reader

“My boys aren’t going anywhere with you!” she had snorted and snuffed at some pushy bull her first day there. Nipping and snapping when he tried to push her anyways in some sort of asinine attempt to show her he was no threat, because obviously a frightened young mother with her background is gone accept some assholes ‘help’ with her calves when he’s stupidly grabbing for them with insistence that he could help.

Like something like that doesn’t potentially lead to something awful happening to those calves. Like she hasn’t been through traumatic shit at her last farm that made her apprehensive to trust anyone but herself and her newborns.

Not the other cows who cooed at the sight of the new babes and offered help with the feedings, and certainly not any bull who’s motivates where unclear and very well could be an attempt to gain a new cow to breed instead of genuine care.

Bakugou found himself watching in silent wonder and slight disgust as they all crowded it her like they weren’t told how they needed to be careful and patient with her. It was beyond him how he, a bull who was the picture perfect example of his title, had internalized this when the ‘non-problem’ cattle hadn’t.

He would have stopped it himself by intervening, but before he could even stand to move, she was kicking up dirt as a warning before charging the larger bull for not taking her seriously. Her horns just nubs in comparison to his and her stature much smaller, but she held her own and proved appoint.

And maybe that’s what sparked his interest? Maybe it was the gentle way she regarded her boys? The little hint of joy in her eyes which she goes a particularly enjoyable treat that hinted at what she was like before the trauma?

Or maybe it was the fact she was a touch like himself not too long ago, scared and confused and covering it up with aggression to create a sense of superiority and strength so no one touched her or those calves.

Whatever it was it had him in a vicious little vice grip.

“You know, those idiots are wrong for how they’ve gouged about it, but they have a point”.

“And how the hell do you know that huh? How do I even know if you’re any different?”

He shrugged at that, watching her boys playing with the ring toys their handlers gave them, she didn’t have any reaction to trust him like she said but he was determined to prove her wrong.

“It’s been what? Four? Five months? None of us have done anything wrong yet”.

“Doesn’t mean you won’t, last place was good until it wasn’t too”.

“Well you didn’t have me there did you? I’ll killed anyone before they lay a finger on those calves or you”.

She snorted at that. He’s hung around them and kept other’s from bothering her and the boys, an attempt to win her over to breed her then throw her aside to be picked on by the other buzzards that called themselves cattle. He was self serving like any other bull, she was sure.

“Stop thinking I’m like the rest, you have that written all over your face princess” he huffed cutting her off before a word passed her parted lips. “Don’t fuckin’ care how long it takes, I’ll prove I’m better than them. Promise I’ll take care of those boys if you let me, take good care of you too”.

And maybe it was that soft little gleam, more of a glimmering spark, in his carmine eyes, but she wanted him to. It didn’t seem so bad an idea to let him father her boys, maybe even give her some of his own if he were so lucky. A thought that flustered her greatly when it ran through her head.

[th3-0bjectivist]

Dear listener, this week I feel compelled to bring Tumblr a little slice of music from the Silversun Pickups, who, despite my best and most concentrated efforts to despise their sound, have managed to become endearing to my nearly non-existent heart. Regardless of my sincerest attempts to stop listening to them over a decade or so, this group is SO GOOD at what they do I just cannot manage to quit revisiting their catalog without a semi-religious consistency after being hooked by their intoxicating post-punk sound, and the complete experience that they have to offer. In terms of atmosphere, overall personal resonance, and contextual vibe… I keep returning to this band almost exclusively for their ability to manipulate my gloomy heartstrings like a melancholy violinist on a well-tuned violin. Smash play just above for Lazy Eye from their 2006 debut album, Carnavas, and if you want more, scroll on down.

True story: I tried to hate this band for about two years after I had discovered them (2015 or so). Looking back; I was immature, brash, a little punkass bitch. Also, true story, I have personally determined that hating them is impossible, especially after the emotional ride they have managed to provide for me in my limited time on planet Earth. I have realized that this dialect of rock music just isn’t for me, and still come back for more. They’ve got a lead male singer (Brian Aubert) whose voice registers as feminine to my ears and an overall sound that I would plainly describe as sonic. As of writing this musical recommendation, color me humble… their music is rabid and fervid with beautiful lyrical poetry, genuine passion for their craft, and a unique ability to bring me to the points of my knees just by being sincere and making songs about universal moments. This is a rare musical gem that I enjoy adoring, despite the nature of the force that formed it. The name of the group is derived singularly from the fact that the members early-on in their career picked up their alcohol from a store called Silversun Liquor… making it a Silversun pickup. Further, this group originally had not one, but two romantically involved couples in the lineup. When both couples broke up around the same time, and two members left subsequently, it nearly destroyed any future collaborative work… until around 2006 when they established their permanent lineup and released their first album which went gold by industry standards. I do honestly enjoy their earliest works more so than their later ones, as they had a knack for making me listen to shoegaze without actually wanting to open a vein in the process. Later on, they let their badass lady bassist, Nikki Monninger, take the lead vocal reins and they’ve even rubbed shoulders with industry titans like Butch Vig and Alan Moulder on the production end. Further on in their production cycle (2015-2022) their albums take on a newer, more mainstream sound that still feels groovy but also seems somewhat overproduced to me… as is the nature of getting in bed with music industry big wigs. But hey, that’s no sleight coming from me! I’ve got my headphones on right now and even their overproduced recent stuff is markedly better than approximately 91. 9999% of modern music. I just prefer their earlier stuff, which is why I will dovetail this post with There’s No Secrets This Year from their 2009 album Swoon!

This is a musical group I enjoy very much in spite of the type of music they make. Outside of a few bands here and there, I don’t even think I really like listening to rock music that much at all these days. SP makes my chest feel like it’s full of glitter and silly string, all while causing my head to bob up-and-down uncontrollably at the same time. Great job SP: your tunes actually make me feel something, unlike the rest of these indie/alt rock jabronis. Image source: https://www.livenation.co.uk/artist-silversun-pickups-2426

[life-with-my-three]

I think in the almost 5 years I’ve had a child at school, I may have only had one sent home with an injury once, maybe twice! This week both boys have injured themselves at school, badly enough to warrant getting sent home.

Tuesday, Fletch and narrowly missed colliding with another child on the playground. In avoiding them though he has fallen over and bumped his forehead rather hard. It almost instantly came up with a bump and bruising. He was extremely distressed, his teacher rang me and I went and picked him up.

Both Aaron and I were worried this would be the catalyst for setting up a dialogue for Fletcher that “school is bad”. I voiced this concern to his teacher the next day, and she said that was her big anxiety too. He came home the day of the injury though and said “I hope I can still go to school tomorrow”. Who is this kid?! Like seriously, it’s like we have a different child to the previous 6 months of school! It’s amazing, but wow!!

He has had a few periods at school the last 2 days where he does this little *fake* cry and says he wants to go home, his teacher has reported, but they’ve distracted him and got him engaged again in whatever. Which is what he needs. Not the screaming and the teacher immediately ringing me, or letting him sit on an iPad in a tent in the corner of the room to keep him calm, which is what previous school was doing. I LOVE his new teacher and teacher aides!

I got a call from Riley’s school yesterday. He had slipped over on the stairs at recess (ironically on the non slip strips on the stairs) whacked his knee and couldn’t stand. When we got there his knee had already swollen, which meant a hospital trip for X-rays.

I must have been a sight. They’ve got the carparks at the hospital closed at the moment which is making parking mayhem. I legit piggybacked my 10 year old son 2 blocks to the hospital. I’m not even pretending to be any kind of fit. I had men who would have at least been in their 70s stopping me and asking if I needed help.😂

The preliminary rays showed no major breaks, but they think there’s a very real possibility of a hairline fracture, which will take a couple of days to get results. So I’ve got Riley home today resting until the results come in. He can put a lot more weight on his leg today, so I think the swelling/bruising may *just* be soft tissue damage and hopefully no breaks.

[foreigndistance]

6 Years of Mirishita Anniversary Rankings. (event log/memorials & retrospective)

Ah yes, the yearly Million Live! Theater Days anniversary event. You pick a girl to grind event points for, try to reach the top 1000, and the rest is history. Or maybe you just want to gather all 52 event cards with that new sparkling outfit so you don’t have to dump a ton of rocks just to collect all of them.

Since 2019, I’ve chosen to partake in the yearly battleground of trying to gain as much points as possible. The more popular the idol (or if they are in the key visual), the more painful your ranking experience would be. Or you could just go for Ami, Mami, and/or Ayumu with mostly dumping auto live tickets.

I was only getting into IM@S when the game’s 1st Anniversary dropped, but only started Million Live! Theater Days (Mirishita) after the event happened, so there was no 1st Anniversary event memorial. Hearing stuff about several people that actually got admitted into the hospital and one EmilyP running on bonito stock was wild.

For the game’s 7th anniversary, I’ve decided to compile and release the memorial messages posted onto the Million Live! Discord server, written after getting the event results from the 2nd up to 7th Anniversaries.

2nd Anniversary: UNI-ON@IR!!!! (2019)

Rank: #4352 (Kotoha) & #1717 (Iku)

I knew the anniversary event was going to be crazy... and I was right. While my ranking wasn't as high as the others (due to real life circumstances, school, and Internet issues on the last few days), I did all I could... until I ran out of tokens on the last hour and had to get more of these. Oh, what a mistake I've made. I've done all I can for Kotoha and Iku (mostly the former)… I'll redeem myself next year~

Looking back at the 2nd Anniversary event feels weird. I was a noob at event ranking back there, my highest ranking was reaching around the Top 30,000 players during the “Datte Anata wa Princess” event. It was back during a time where I didn’t take intense event ranking very seriously back there (and also when I had a social life outside of mobile games).

I will say though, the free pulls gave me Kotoha and Iku’s most recent SSRs (at the time) at least. They’ve become my tantou idols within ML! by then… whatever the definition of a “tantou” was to me before I rediscovered and became S.E.M’s producer at the end of 2019.

3rd Anniversary: CHALLENGE FOR GLOW-RY D@YS!!! (2020)

Rank: #1189 (Kotoha) & #907 (Iku)

as a kotohaP and an ikuP and a s.e.mP who had to rank somewhere else right before anniv started, that was the worst 21 days of nonstop tiering i've ever done. it was the hardest [mirishita] event i've ever done after nearly 2 years of playing. this year, i dared to tier for two despite one of them having the highest t1 borders of the event until 18 hours of refresh kicked me in the butt and borders proved to be too high. i did manage to redeem myself from last year's failure though. i don't know if i'll ever tier again for kotoha next year… or if parade d'amour will be a mess like how this event was, but i've done my best for my tantous and i think that's enough. otsu, everyone.

Part of the original “14 days of non-stop event grinding” phase I had back in 2020. I was just trying to get top 1000 for Jiro’s wedding event SR in LIVE ON ST@GE! (RIP), and right as the event ended, there I went for trying to dual rank for both of my tantous—only for me to get top 1000 for Iku but failing to do the same with Kotoha. I wanted to do both but uh… I messed up with the refresh timing back there on the last day. (Let’s not get started with the bugs that occurred during that event.)

It was my first time trying to properly do duo idols for this event, so it was quite challenging. It was also through this event where I first started properly called myself an IkuP.

4th Anniversary: Reach 4 the Dre@m! (2021)

Rank: #95 (Iku)

[3rd anniversary] was the hardest [mirishita] event i've ever done after nearly 2 years of playing. - me, nearly a year ago why the hell does this game keep pushing me to my limits? this was the hardest event i've ever tiered in over 2 years of me sticking around the theater. here it is, the event that forced me to drain all my stamina drinks and memorial items, awaken all of my remaining cards, and use up more than half of my memory piece stash. 4th anniv can finally join in the ranks of my other mobage in the "events that drained (nearly) all of my resources" gang. lately i've been having mixed feelings over the game itself and its recent updates, but Harmony 4 You! ended up being my 2nd favorite anniv song (i'm still sentimental towards UNION!! tho) and i consider it to be the best part of this anniversary. that, along with the limited auto live passes and increased cap for normal ones, those were a life-saver. events like this are crazy every time but tiering this year was a blast, tbh. not gonna lie, being an ikuP is an interesting experience. i became quite emotional two hours after the event ended, seeing what is possibly the highest feat i can go for my tantou. i try to go hard with my main tantous as much as i can but running with iku was genuinely fun and enjoyable. i don't i wanna try this stunt ever again but that was fun. at this point i can say that i genuinely consider her as my top idol in the theater. so... now what? i'm not sure if i'll be sticking around the theater as much as i used to, given the current circumstances (and an upcoming game to look forward to). hopefully the anime and mts will bring in new amazing songs that keeps me staying for a little longer. maybe one day i'll reach t1 in more events with my tantous in them once more. congrats to those who tiered, regardless if they made it or not. see you soon, twinkle rhythm. お疲れ様でした、プロデューサー！！

I pressed too many buttons and there came my first top 100 in an event. I made a whole Twitter thread documenting my journey through this. It was a lot of fun, but also a lot of work—even when my tantou’s event ranking borders are in the lowest quarter of the cast’s.

I may have overslept a bit on the last day, with my rank almost dropping below T100. Glad I still managed to pull that one off despite several things.

5th Anniversary: Watashi-tachi no R@inbow! (2022)

Rank: #136 (Iku)

"What happened to you retiring?" Nothing shows how stubborn I am with this damn franchise and especially towards the branch that fully brought me into hell more than tiering in the yearly anniversary event. The past year has been somewhat of a mixed bag, with several highs and multiple lows throughout. If anything, I would’ve actually retired as I hinted/said in the past, but in truth I ended up coming back to this stupid game for one reason or another. Or maybe because I care for my daughter(s) too much to fully leave. I did get some of my highest accomplishments (most recently, t1 for Kotoha just a month before this). So, yeah. I realized how much I give too many shits between my 765 tantous, especially Iku. I hope your knives are ready, I guess. To Iku, to Kotoha, to TIntMe!, to Haruka and Chihaya, thanks for the bullshit you’ve brought me into for the past few years. Otsukare y’all. (P.S. I want to try doing a t100 Iku + t1000 Kotoha stunt next year, but who knows really.)

Months before that event, I said that I was about to retire from Mirishita for a while after Iku’s last ranking PST. I had started drifting away from Mirishita because I wasn’t satisfied with what happened in its 4th year. I’m personally glad things are (mostly) okay within the ML! sphere nowadays.

Clearly, I did not fully retire due to various events I’m still waiting for. The memorial for that year says it all.

Event ranking thread for this one goes here.

6th Anniversary: R@ise a Good Sign! (2023)

Rank: #621 (Chizuru & Iku)

"I want to try doing a t100 Iku + t1000 Kotoha stunt next year, but who knows really." (me, last year) big fucking sike. a more melancholic reflection this year, but honestly i don't know how to process things properly since that day... my anger towards a certain company (after shooting down my main branch) has made me throw out all my mirishita event plans for the rest of the year, made me fall off both mirishita (and shinymas) for a while, and went out a revenge arc somewhere in another production for the sake of my tantou units. semi-related, but i became a chizuruP back in january (months before everything fell apart). i didn't tier for any of her events before that so uh... yeah. between this and a night pool party coming up, dunno what is it with me and wanting to "prove" myself as a producer. me tiering this anniv was essentially me fucking around and finding out what to do with all these event auto-passes, event stamina drinks, and a slacc event happening in the other side. i currently deal with three grown ex-teachers and two drunk ladies with top tier seiyuu outside of the franchise. it only took me a couple weeks to accept that chizuru could actually end up as tantou since seeing her seiyuu's collier de perles performance during ml 9th... and i sincerely regret that i didn't become her producer sooner. before everything else started falling apart. i don't know how many more events i have left until i can call myself "retired" from the game instead of the "semi-retired" status i've had for a while now. there's at least two more events i want to rank in, and i don't think i can fully retire until i got closure on that part.

even if i were to visit the theater less than ever before, i'll still consider myself as iku, kotoha, and chizuru's producer. as always, congrats on the 6th anniversary.

on a less melancholic note, i find it funny how i got 315k and 283k pts (certain numbers for certain branches) and somehow got the same exact rank LOL my last-minute tiering got me trying to aim for 315k pts for chizuru, but not 283k for iku. enjoy the clown compilation (from yours truly) from before the event:

Last year’s resolution clearly didn’t go well. Easily the most melancholic among my memorial messages because a Certain Small Indie Company (TM) decided to shut down three IM@S games within the same year, leaving a branch where one of 765Pro’s rivals would start a new life elsewhere without a game.

Reopening old wounds aside, I didn’t initially plan on tiering the anniversary event again until I started casually dumping tickets and tokens onto Chizuru—a tantou I had spent less time with compared to my two legacy ML! girls. I didn’t realize that there were custom unit titles for Mirishita anniversary events now too, so I wasn’t even able to grab the second title due to insufficient event points. I still think it was funny how I snagged the title for both idols and got the exact same points rank for them.

With this event though, it gave me a bit of confidence that I can potentially do a successful dual T1000 run for two idols. Which leads me into...

7th Anniversary: 7D@ys Smile!! (2024)

Rank: #254 (Kotoha) & #478 (Iku)

If anyone ever asked who my top 5 overall IM@S idols were four years ago, you’d get a slightly different answer. Looking at my idol sorter results between the FIVE STAR branches at the start of this year though, guess who was 6th and 7th? Yeah.

Last year’s run (along with watching the ML! server Ps do their own multiple T1000 runs over the years) gave me the confidence to potentially pull off a dual T1000 myself. With a better mindset compared to last year, I tried to pull off my 5th Anniversary resolution again with Kotoha and Iku—while there was no T100 (due to lack of resources and college), I managed to pull it off my biggest revenge from previous Anniversary events.

Started grinding for Kotoha in the first half, then added Iku during the second. Grinded for tokens so hard to try getting Kotoha to 1,000,000 points and Iku to 315,000 points that I have accidentally overkilled my token count to ~284,000 tokens by Day 9. Ended up spending the last 4 days of the event burning my tokens until I reached the points park because clearly I didn’t want to grind anymore in the last several hours. The last 6 hours had me chilling (while procrastinating on my assignments again).

I couldn’t decide what funny numbers as a target at first, all I knew was who to rank for. Then I remembered that this event would end right before SideM’s 9th STAGE this weekend, leading into the branch’s 10th Anniversary a few days later. Going from Million Live’s 10th anniversary → SideM’s 10th anniversary will be fun to see.

So I put into work added an additional 31,500 points beyond Kotoha’s original target, ended things off with ~81k unburned tokens on hand and:

Kotoha: 1,031,500 pts (10th anniversary & obligatory 315)

Iku: 315,765 pts (315Pro & 765Pro)

Not much melancholy from me this time, and a lot of things happened over the years. Kotoha and Iku are still in my overall IM@S top 10, and I really just can’t trade my time with them for anything else.

I give these two thanks for everything, as my first “true” tantou idols. (Now where’s my HELLO, YOUR ANGEL♪ and Give Me Metaphor events?)

———

And that’s all the Mirishita anniversary event memorials! Each had its own silly little memory surrounding it, but at the end: I tried my best for my silly little idols.

(Also please make sure to take care of yourself while ranking I’m begging you—)

[subrosai]

◟✧⡀ ( dean fujioka. non binary. they / them. ) … there’s a figure off in the distance, do you see it? wait is that … JUNICHIRO WATANABE ? how long have they been standing there? if that’s really them, i believe they’re FORTY-THREE.  do i know them?  no,  but i hear they’re INQUISITIVE and CALCULATIVE, but also DETACHED  and ELUSIVE. i do know that they’ve been in the city for THIRTY-FIVE YEARS. it’s crazy that they’re just standing there … shouldn’t they be working at OWNER as a  STOKER'S CRYPT? maybe they’re off today, i couldn’t tell you. hope they get moving soon. i’m starting to feel like SHINIGAMI FROM JAPANESE MYTHOLOGY is peering over at me … 

STATS

character name: junichiro watanabe / nicknames: jun ( reserved to a tight circle of friends ) / place of birth: ██, ███ / birthday: january 4th / sexuality: biromantic demisexual / gender identity: non-binary ( they or him ) / zodiac: capricorn / mbti: istj / occupation: owner of stoker's crypt / languages: japanese, english, spanish, chinese / moral alignment: chaotic neutral / love language: acts of service / rift level: legendary / powers:  necromancy ( impermanent, brief ), death sense, intangibility ( momentarily ) / how long ago did the mythos manifest: twenty-four years ago / main goal: to uncover the mystery of the town, gather information & power of regarding the those in high positions / gang / group name + position: jekyll & hide investigations, the brain

BIOGRAPHY

( blood, death, death imagery, necromancy, blasphemy cw )

you are only a child when you meet death. you remember that day far too well. you return from high school, only a week left until it's done and you will be graduating, the plans all made for where to go to college, what to study. instead, you open the door, and meet a crime scene. when you think back on that night, you can swear you saw a pair of eyes watching you from the window. then, the red and blue lights of police cars reflect against the glass, and you choose not to remember much of the rest. life changes much too quickly, and while you are technically an adult now, your next of kin, your grandfather who lives in penson convinces you to come to live with him. fallen into a vast emptiness, you find it impossible to say no. you study in penson, and you grow up in penson. the mist intrigues you, and it's only a year later that the same pair of eyes start appearing in the corner of your vision. here, and there, and there again. while you are walking at night to your house, when you are locking up your grandfather's library, when you are crouched in a convenience store trying to pick pasta, and a shadow disappears quicker than you can look up. you believe you officially meet your match when you stand in front of a gravestone. old age, they say, yet you can swear you saw those very same pair of eyes in the window when your grandfather took his last breath. you stand in the rain, eyes glued to yet another gravestone when the rain suddenly stops. there's the smell of tobacco, accompanied by the sound of steps by your side. r.s. he calls himself. and it's the start of your new life. fate brings you together to mourn on the same day, and that's when you learn more about jekyll & hyde. it's everything you could want and more. solving mysteries, digging into secrets of anyone and everyone. it gives you a purpose to discover more about the mist, to understand the rifts all around you. at first, you don't realize you are already one of them, until one fated night in a back alley, you are crouching over someone, trying to keep the blood in their body. r.s. is by your side again, leaning against a wall, smoking more of those goddamn cigars. the person dies slowly under your hands before the ambulances can arrive. you see the light in their eyes leave — and when you remove your hands and touch them again to take their pulse, they gasp back into life. it only takes around five more minutes before they are dead again. necromancy, albeit brief, seems to be very useful in your line of work. in the dark, you can swear r.s. grinning down at you, and another pair of eyes from the end of the alley vanishing away. it never takes properly, you can never figure out why. sometimes it's longer than fifteen minutes, and sometimes it's only a few. it can be challenging to calm someone down enough from their death to get the answers you need, but you get enough practice through the years. rest of your powers come slowly, the second is intangibility, and it manifests at a night not one of your best. a case that went wrong, no answers received from a decaying body. you swear you see those pair of eyes again, and you run after them with everything you have. it's then that you briefly run through a pole and feel nothing at all. intangibility seems to only work when you are in a heightened state of emotion, which does not come too useful every day. more years pass as you climb up the ranks, and become the underboss under r.s.. your last and final power does not come until you realize the anxiety at the bottom of your stomach is something else when it is your mentor that's finally taken away from you. his last words are for you to take his mantle, and that's what you do.

it's when you are looking down at yet another gravestone that you realize what it was. that sometimes you can feel death coming. it's not necessarily reliable, but it gives you some sort of power over not knowing at all. it's also ironic, how you have it now, after everyone that you have lost. you have been the leader for around five years now, the brain behind the operations, the one who calls the shots. you bring the organizations higher and aim for the stars. hoping to reach more information about the mist, the rifts, and the occasional secrets you cannot stay away from. power is everything in this world, and you intend to have it all.

[voldemorts-tap-shoes]

Sneaking in one last microfic for the @cruelsummer-ficfest ! Thanks for another great fest 💕

Lavender Haze

The bar is quiet tonight, which is exactly how Draco prefers it. Even when it’s full, Half-Breeds isn’t like the raucous pubs of Diagon Alley or the posh clubs Blaise and Pansy like to drag him to. The primarily non-human clientele are just there for a cold pint and to get away from the world. Outcasts, like him. No one is there to make friends, or to pick up a one night stand; they all want to be left alone, and that suits Draco just fine. Besides, most anyone he might know from his Death Eater days—the ones he heard about this place from in the first place—is in Azkaban.

He polishes off his firewhiskey and motions for another as someone plops onto the stool beside him. “Draco Malfoy at a creature bar, I never thought I’d see the day.”

So much for his solitude. Lavender Brown is the cheeriest person in here, though her once sickly-sweet voice has lost some of the brightness of youth. Of course, it’s not youth they’ve lost at all, both of them far too young for all the horrors they’ve seen. It’s innocence.

He gives her a stiff nod of acknowledgement as the bartender sets a fresh glass in front of him and then looks to Lavender. “Wolfsbane, please,” she chirps. Draco starts, and she chuckles as the bartender walks off again. “It’s a cocktail. Although they do brew the potion here, too. For those who can’t get it elsewhere.”

“How does he know which one you want?”

“It’s not the full moon, silly. And Simon knows I don’t need the potion.”

“Oh.” He’d heard, of course, that she had been attacked by Greyback during the Battle of Hogwarts, but he didn’t know the extent of the damage. They weren’t what anyone would call friends, and he had hardly kept up with anyone in the months since the war ended.

“You don’t ever say too much, do you?” Lavender has one eyebrow quirked at him, her head tilted to the side like a confused puppy. Even under the scars that dominate the left side of her face and neck, she’s quite pretty for a Gryffindor. No, he’s not supposed to think like that anymore, although changing his mindset has been quite an effort. His fellow Slytherins couldn’t care less, but Draco saw from the inside out how rotten their side was. It’s not something he wants to define him anymore.

“Not much to say,” Draco replies, hoping his quipped tone will convey his desire to be alone. But Lavender tosses her handbag onto the bar top, settling in.

“Everyone that comes to this place has a history, things they’re not proud of. I know you do, too. There’s no judgment here. So if you have something you want to get off your chest, you can talk to me.”

She twirls the straw around in her fizzy little drink, not looking at him, and Draco waits for her to say more, to push him. When she doesn’t, he finds the words spilling out of him anyway.

“No one cares,” he mutters. “No one cares that we lost the war, that we shouldn’t have been fighting it to begin with. They’re all just glad it’s over and moved onto the next thing like nothing ever happened.”

“But you care.”

“Yeah.” Draco chuckles darkly. “Fuck me, not sure why. I was as horrible to the other side as anyone.” He’s hit with a pang of guilt, though he can’t say he ever did anything to Lavender in particular. But Weasley, her friends…

“People change,” she says with a shrug. “All this shit is new to me, too.” She waves her hand around the bar. “The werewolf scene, I mean.”

“But you’re not…?”

“No, I won’t ever transform. Doesn’t stop people being weird about it.”

Lavender absently traces one of the scars on her neck, and Draco’s eyes follow the angry red mark until it disappears under the neckline of her top. He finds himself wondering for a moment what else is under there and then shakes his head. Maybe he’s had one firewhiskey too many tonight.

��I’m sorry,” Draco says. He’s not quite sure why he’s apologizing—it’s not like he bit her, but he still feels partially responsible for her fate. “That you have to deal with this.”

She shrugs again. “It will get better. For you, too.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’ll be damned if I give a damn what people say about me.” Her glossy lips twist up into a smile, and as he sees the fire in her eyes, Draco realizes for the first time that they might have something in common. “Just take it one day at a time. You’ll get there.”

She starts to slide off her stool, but Draco puts a hand on her arm to stop her, surprising them both. He’s even more surprised when she doesn’t pull away. “You can stay,” he blurts. “If you want.”

Relief settles in as she gives him a little nod and shifts back into her seat. Though Lavender is the last person he would have thought to confide in when she walked in, he feels like she actually sees him as a person. Not Draco the Death Eater, not Lucius’s son…just Draco.

It’s not a feeling he wants to let go of just yet. He wants to stay in this hazy little bubble of friendship that’s formed between him and Lavender. Fortunately for him, she seems to want to stay there too.

[our-death-means-flag]

{ Just A Bunch of Ideas }

You might have noticed the section I left in my master list for longer fics. I have a few ideas, here they are, let me know if any of them really catch your interest!

I’m probably gonna write all of them at some point. But you can help me pick the order! :D

BlackBonnet x Reader (possibly becomes Steadyhands x Reader), post-season 1, exploring the unhealthy sides of their relationship

Ed and reader we’re sort of together pre canon (they are very in love but they’re not really official) they end up pulling Stede into their relationship and making it official but then the end of the season still happens

Both Ed and Reader are struggling with Stede leaving them behind. Reader is handling it better than Ed (outwardly).

Of course the whole canon Kraken thing happens with Reader going along with it. They do their level best to keep everyone safe while that happens (including rescuing Lucius) but Reader is still doing just as bad as Ed.

Focuses on Reader and Ed, Ed and Izzy, Reader and Izzy and exploring how they are all kinda fucked up (Reader is kind of a mediator so the Ed and Izzy stuff is mildly better than canon but not by much). I find the unhealthy relationships in this show really compelling and I want to focus on them.

Eventually Stede comes back (possibly Izzy realizes that he Fucked Up™ and gets him) and they have to try and put everything back together.

Steadyhands x Reader, modern AU (kinda), time travel, shenanigans, Established Steadyhands, Based on a dream

Ed, Izzy and Stede are not having the greatest day. After being separated from their ship during a very strange storm, they find themselves completely lost. Luckily they stumble on a ship with a friendly stranger willing to help them out! :D Though it’s undoubtedly the weirdest ship they’ve ever seen. It’s made of some kind of strange material with no visible sails or oars and the stranger manning it is all alone. Said stranger is just as bizarre, dressed in strange clothes and not making any sense. Why would they want a “phone” to “call someone”? What’s a “phone”? What’s a “GPS”?

Meanwhile, Modern!Reader is incredibly confused when a trio of strangely dressed men in a tiny dinghy show up in the middle of the ocean. You have no idea how they got out here or what to do. Especially since they seem so baffled by regular topics. Did they get hurt somehow? A concussion? What year is it? Wait what?!?

Basically just modern!reader showing our boys some cool things in the present while you try to find a way to get them back home.

Steadyhands & adopted child!reader; this fandom needs more platonic/parental fics. Established Steadyhands

Reader, desperate to escape a terrible situation, stows away on the Revenge. You manage to stay hidden for a few days but then Stede finds you. You’re more than ready to fight to defend yourself or offer to work non-stop to be allowed to stay. Instead you’re invited into the captains’ cabin for a nice meal.

You’re stunned by the kindness of the crew and (despite your best efforts) end up getting very attached to them all, especially the strange captains and the protective first mate who all but adopt you.

Unfortunately, running from the past is a tricky thing, both for you and your new parents…

Izzy x Reader to Steadyhands x Reader; you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, jealousy 

Stede and Ed are happily in love and Izzy is having a bad time. The Revenge gets damaged during a raid and they have to stop for repairs. Stede declares an impromptu vacation and Izzy is basically forced to come along.

Then he runs into Reader, an old friend who he hasn’t seen in ages (and who Ed doesn’t know). You two immediately reconnect and spend the entire time together first as friends then as lovers.

Initially Ed is glad that Izzy isn’t just sulking, but the longer he watches the two of you spend time together, laugh together (when was the last time he saw Izzy laugh?), dance, spar, and sing (you somehow managed to convince izzy to sing with you), the more jealous he becomes.

Eventually they have to leave and Ed is kind of glad to leave you behind. But you offer to tag along with them. Stede accepts, glad that Izzy’s been less trouble with you around. 

Ed tries to figure out how to deal with his jealousy (and his weird feelings for you on top of that). Stede tries to ignore how much he likes this side of Izzy and also you. Izzy tries to let himself have nice things and wrestles with feeling like he’s betraying Ed for being around you and how much less annoying bonnet is when he's not laser focused on Ed. And reader tries to figure out what the fuck is going on with these three charming handsome idiots.

[flowerfan2]

Chapter 10 - coda to episode 3.10, in which Ted and Trent have a talk about Roy... and Jamie.  

Read on A03 here; read from the beginning here.

----

“So, I wanted to run something by you,” Ted says, as he examines a head of lettuce.  They’re in the market, picking up food in a valiant attempt to actually cook for a change.  Trent’s game, although he’s also famished, which is not a great combination.

“Rethinking the menu already?” Trent asks.  “What happened to ‘let’s go wild, Julia Child?’”

Ted smiles and hip checks him.  “I love hearing you quote my words back at me.  But no, this is a non-gustatory non sequitur, nothing to do with dinner.  It’s about Roy.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently it’s Uncle’s Day soon, and Phoebe needs my advice.”

Trent stops in front of the display of canned tomato products and waits until Ted puts down the marinara sauce and looks at him.  “I didn’t understand any of that.  What is Uncle’s Day, and who is Phoebe?”

Ted holds out the jar of sauce for Trent’s approval – Trent doesn’t care much one way or the other about which one they get as long as he doesn’t have to chop any tomatoes himself– and nods.  “That’s fair,” Ted says.  “I’ll start from the beginning.”

“Good idea.”

Ted frowns at him.  “You’re hungry, aren’t you?   You get grouchy when you’re hungry.  I shoulda waited until after we ate to talk to you about this.”  

“Too late for that.  But I wouldn’t object if we moved this process along.  I’ll get the pasta and some bread, you get the chicken, and I’ll meet you up front.”

They part to finish their shopping, and Trent forgets completely about Ted’s question until they are walking back to Ted’s place.

“So you know Roy has a niece,” Ted says, pulling Trent away from thoughts of the delicious garlic bread he’s planning on making to go with their chicken cacciatore.

“Would that be Phoebe?”

“The only and only.  And Phoebe and her family have some very, well, <i>unique</i> holidays that they celebrate.”

Trent is beginning to catch on.  “One of which is, apparently, Uncle’s Day?”

“Yes!  So Dr. O’Sullivan called me-”

“Wait, who is Dr. O’Sullivan, and why did he call you?”

“Dr. Marina O’Sullivan is Phoebe’s mom, and <i>she</i> called me about Uncle’s Day.”  Ted swings a plastic bag of groceries at Trent.  “Wait one gosh darn second, are you pulling my leg?  You’re the journalist here, are you’re telling me you don’t know every family member of every Richmond player and coach?  I would have thought you’d have us all charted out, name, rank and serial number.  Maybe a pie graph.”

“Never put it past a journalist to ask a question they already know the answer to.  Sometimes you get the best information that way.”

“Smarty-pants.”

“Although I am still wondering how you know Phoebe’s mom.”

“Oh, Marina and I are old pals.  Ever since she patched up Dr. Sharon after her bicycle accident.  She actually thought we were together – wooo - hooo, that did not amuse Dr. Sharon, no it did not.  You’d love Marina – she’s got the best costume closet this side of the West End, great for role play of all sorts.”  Ted waggles his eyebrows at Trent and Trent can’t help but snort out a laugh.

“Do I need to be worried?”  Trent asks, and it’s Ted’s turn to laugh.

“Oh no, she’s not my type.  And I think Roy would have a conniption if I was interested in his sister <i>that</i> way.  Not that it’s any of his business who his sister dates…”

“No, of course not.”  Trent nods in agreement.  They’ve arrived at Ted’s flat, and he takes some of the bags out of Ted’s hands so Ted can open the door.  They go upstairs and set the groceries down, both of them ignoring the dinner making process in favor of pouring themselves some wine and making themselves comfortable on the couch.  It turns out that Trent isn’t so hungry that he’s going to turn down a chance for some gossip and getting tipsy with Ted.

“So, you were saying about Roy?” Trent prompts.

“Right!  Anyway, Marina called, and she said that Phoebe wants to invite Roy’s best friend to Roy’s Uncle’s Day party.  As a surprise.”

“Okay, that’s sweet.  So why did she call you?”

Ted smirks.  “Because Phoebe is convinced that Roy’s best friend is none other than he with the talented foot, our golden boy Jamie Tartt, and Marina needed his contact info.”

Trent nods solemnly.  “That sounds about right.”

“Trent, come on.  I know you were on the outside – still independent, as it were – back when I first joined the team, but Jamie and Roy were famous foes.  Arch enemies.  They hated each other.  Things have improved, sure, but I wouldn’t call them best friends.”

Trent finishes his glass of wine, and pours himself another, topping up Ted’s as well.  He brushes a kiss across Ted’s lips as he leans close, which earns him an eyelash flutter.  “Regardless, I’ve had a front row seat to their interactions this season, and I don’t think there’s anyone on the team Roy is closer to than Jamie.”

Ted studies him, and Trent warms under his gaze.  “You really think so?  I mean, I’ve been tickled pinker than Keeley’s favorite pom pom pen about how much our Jamie has come out of his shell lately.  He’s kinda awesome these days.  But Roy’s best friend?”

Trent clears his throat and begins to list off all of the evidence, starting with the one-on-one personal coaching Roy and Jamie have been doing for months.  By the time he gets to the pair’s overnight cycling adventure and windmill viewing in Amsterdam, Ted’s mouth is hanging open.

“All night??  They spent the whole night together, touring a romantic foreign city until the sun came up like characters in a rom-com?”

“Jamie even taught Roy how to ride a bike in the process.”  Trent waves his glass to emphasize his point.  “Surely, you believe me now.”

“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”

Trent bites down on a grin, but he can’t help it.  “I thought you said the uncle party was for Roy.”

[unknownjpegs]

earthquake

“Benji,” when the call connects, saying his name gives Xavier an immediate dopamine rush, an excited warm blossom in his chest as he smiles at the phone. He shakes it and goes, “Ahhh, earthquake, oh my God, Benji, save me!” Then sets it down on the kitchen counter and leans forward with his arms folded in front of that little digital window to his boyfriend. “Just kidding, I’m trying to make pasta.”

“You remember to turn the stove on?”

“Oh fuck, hold on.”

Xavier swivels swiftly behind, turning the knob up high, sheepish with his smile when he peeks over his shoulder. The little vision of Benji on the phone screen is smiling, clearly laying on something—a couch maybe, at his mother’s. He looks comfortable and relaxed and Xavier feels the same way every single time he sees him—like he wants to lean through the phone and grab a kiss somehow. He swallows that thought and looks at the water in the pot before turning back to his phone.

“At your moms?” He asks as he leans back over the counter. Xavier’s necklace swings a little so he tucks it back into his shirt. He’d been fiddling with it idly, waiting for the facetime call to pick up—no idea why every time it makes him a little nervous. Giddy, with excitement. They call like this a lot. More than a lot, sometimes nightly. But every time, he leans against something, yanking on that necklace and staring at their names, linked together in a circle as the call waits to pick up.

“For a bit, yeah. Then to Saha’s till—”

Benji’s smile slips softer, his eyes wandering away, like he’s looking at someone in the room. As he lays, he tucks an arm up behind his head, which almost makes Xavier groan. Because at the angle Benji has his phone, he can see the swell of that brown bicep, the vein in it. The urge to kiss grows stronger, grows teeth, because of how bad he misses the smell of him, the feel of that skin under his palm and those strong drummers arms around him.

“Till you’re up here, yeah?” Suddenly the phone is moving, the image pixelating and blurring until Benji’s sister comes into focus. In so many ways, they could almost be twins, that’s how beautiful she is. Xavier smiles and lifts a hand in a little bit of a wave. There’s rarer people on Earth he likes more than this woman, even if they’ve only met through this form of communication.

“Twelve days,” Xavier says, tucking his hand under his chin. “But whose counting?”

“Benji is. Constantly, non stop.”

“M’not.” Benji’s voice takes on that sullen little brother sound to it and makes Saha grin into the camera, knowing and smug. She captures him in a bit of conversation for a moment until there’s a loud sigh that interrupts and the phone blurs again. He can hear Benji making a bit of a grunt, the sound hitting his chest or stomach before Xavier is getting vertigo. It’s moving again—Benji’s standing and traveling around the house.

Xavier could watch, from this angle up at him as he does, all fucking day if he could.

—

“Uh,” Xavier stands over the pot, the spatula he’d been using to stir the pasta poking into the congealed mess. “I think I did this wrong.”

“Lemme see.”

He tilts the phone over the pot and for a second, Benji is quiet before there’s a soft snorting sound. It, of all things, oddly makes Xavier’s chest ache. He remembers feeling that soft snort against his chest, telling a bad joke. He turns the phone back to himself, sheepish and almost apologetic as he takes the pot off the burner and onto a cool one, turning the stove off.

“I’ll cook for you, Xavier, when you get here.”

—

Benji comes with him to the bodega down the street. The call doesn’t disconnect even once, phone tucked into his pocket, wireless headphones in. Mostly, he listens to Benji talk to Saha then—listens to the cadence of their conversation less than what they’re actually saying. Hears the high notes of affection in either of their voices, the way they banter back and forth and tease. Her shocked and loud exasperations with him when Benji is being Benji.

The call stays connected on the walk home and the elevator lift up to his apartment and then inside. Stays connected when Xavier eats his sloppy, messy sandwich and Benji prods at him for the smear of sauce across his mouth. Stays connected through the shower, when Xavier props Benji up on the counter (gives him that classic, you’re gonna watch me, right? smile) and Benji has to step outside his mothers home entirely for that part. His turn for a walk.

The call just stays connected. No reason to hang up. They do this, frequently—fit each other into the others day, somehow, like this.

—

Xavier wakes up the way he always does—one giant jolt of his entire body, sitting up straight and suddenly aware. Then he groans, long and hard with a hand to his ribs as he slowly settles back into the bed. His blankets have become a tangled mess around his long body, one leg dangling off the bed and nearly touching the floor. He rubs a hand over his face, trying to find his phone blindly on the bedside table.

Until he remembers he’d sat it on the bed with him. He fishes for it more gently then, because he doesn’t want to accidentally touch that little end button that he knows is still there. Because, when he does find it, the call is still, miraculously connected. Benji must also be asleep, because the phones mostly black with a little peek of what might be sunlight coming in through a window. Five hours ahead—and Xavier’s phone reads three AM.

Xavier listens, though, because the phone is close enough that he can hear Benji’s soft, sleepy breathing. A reminder pops up on his phone that he nearly swears at, swiping up as if the notification will somehow bother the sleeping man on his phone. It’s a note that says REMINDER: PASSPORT PHOTO and that makes Xavier swear loud enough that somehow it reaches the UK and wakes Benji up.

“Hn,” is a soft sound and then a muffled one over the phone as a palm seems to grasp at it. “Hmp.” Another soft sound that makes Xavier’s whole chest crack open and briefly he puts the phone down, because if Benji holds his up to his sleepy looking face he might not be able to handle that. His eyes scan around his disorganized room; hockey gear shoved in the corner, a TV mounted absolutely incorrectly to the wall with a game console stacked haphazardly next to it, his dresser and the weird collection of plastic ducks.

“Xavier?” the rough hoarse tired voice from the phone makes him jump a little when he picks it up. Finally tilts it so he can look at Benji in all that morning beauty—there is sunlight. It’s watery and gray and splashes over him; hair all out of sorts because he sleeps weirdly tucked up and moves occasionally so that one side of his head flattens and the rest is a messy tangle. Eyes blinking, a fist rubbing at one as he yawns a little. “S’three AM there?”

“Oh, devil hours,” Xavier says in a spooky voice to cover how much it’ll waver because looking at Benji sometimes is enough for him. Kind of makes it worse that Benji laughs in that barely awake, tired way and he can see him get more comfortable in bed as he does. Xavier clears his throat a little. “I have to get my passport photo taken today.”

“Should probably sleep then, yeah?”

“But you’re awake now.” Benji laughs again, hand sliding over his face, head shaking. Xavier’s thumb unconsciously brushes over the phone display.

“S’vacation for me, Xavier. Off tour. I’ll be asleep again in thirty.”

“In eleven days, we can sleep in together.” Benji’s hand falls from his face, looks directly into the phone in a way that makes Xavier’s whole body shiver. “If I remember to get my passport photo taken today.” Benji’s hooded, you wont be sleeping much face cracks into a smile and a laugh as he brushes a hand back through all those long black curls.

For a while, Benji indulges Xavier (they talk about Saha’s job and yoga and if Xavier could try it out while he’s there and they talk about home cooked meals and if Benji’s mother will like Xavier, no that she will like Xavier and what he’ll get for breakfast and—), even though he’s clearly falling back asleep himself. Every blink becomes a micronap before he goes, no I’m awake and adjusts a little more on the bed. Another reminder pops down, but his eyes cant focus on the, REMINDER: ASK TESS TO WATER CACTUS (CACTUS NEEDS WATER?). The cactus survives, miraculously in his kitchen.

Then eventually, he does fall asleep and Benji this time, gets to listen to those soft, boyish snores until the call, unfortunately does disconnect.

[nx-communicato]

How many times have I asked for you to come to me with questions instead of assuming you know what I’m thinking. Yet still all I see are judgements unfairly cast against my intent, against my honor and my character, and opposite to that which I was actually thinking or trying to accomplish. I love you 424574514 (or 179449, or 24183, or 935516, or whatever). But this is straight insanity. How can you say

“I’m going to text the lawyer baby.. so I can know what details you’re sending to me “

That now they’ve seen, what a wanker I am and for you to accuse me of infidelity while you are lying to me the whole time. Have you ever loved me? I am starting to question it. You thought (apparently) that you had caught me trying to pick up on a random woman, I am guessing? If I am wrong please let me know. I knew it was you the whole time, I even said so under my breathe at the beginning, “ok, baby. I’ll play along.” If you don’t believe me reread the conversation. I put in plugs that ONLY you and no one else would get! Also, I mentioned this the other day, flashing tits on my screen does not “lure” me in (although I will say good job on keeping the face behind the window on my screen so I couldn’t see it). It really and truly is crushing to my soul when I realize how low of an opinion you all have for me. To think that I forgot that I have kids to pay for, when repeatedly over the last couple years I was given an option to have the amount readjusted because of the loss of income and each and every time I refused the offer fully aware that the total debt would skyrocket, and despite the fact that the original monthly amount was based on 82843’s falsified records, and irregardless of the fact that is was 82843’s fault that I became unable to work by having her children unknowingly deliver a tin full of asceriae sarcoptes mites into my household (and she thought she got away with it) as well as utilizing the lit of you to harry my ability to get better in so doing allowing me no option but to accrue debt. Which, I reiterate I could have chosen to have reduced repeatedly, but I wanted to “do the right thing” thinking that when cured I would work doubles until it was paid off. But in this way, I would not feel like I had paid less than my share despite her lies and manipulations which nobody even questioned. Strangely, whenever I speak I am told I am crazy, I am wrong, or I am speaking out of turn it’s getting too repetitive! Why is it so difficult to allow a chance that I might be right? I am not saying I always am,but why are you saying I never am?

I have been enduring this in solitary for almost four months now and been nothing but 100% faithful despite being under a constant barrage of attempts by you and your sisters/mother/friends/etc. inspite of the non-stop back and forth “is she married, is she not?” “Is she seeing someone, is she not?” Where I ask you to find one other man on the face of this earth that would have borne that heartache while smiling back and promising to be your friend anyways. So you caught me masterbating, big deal give a guy a little privacy! Besides that I was jerking off to old pictures of you (tastefully, they weren’t even nudes) so you can say that is creepy, or call it lewd, but don’t you dare accuse me of being unfaithful. I have been mothing except a shining example to you of unconditional love, and what have I received in return?: lies, deceit, and attempted mind-control. If your goal is to continue this treatment forever until I slip up and you finally catch me “cheating”, then you may as well quit. If you and your family decide I am not worthy of joining you it is your choice to make, but I am through being slandered and not defending myself!! That is what has caused all of the problems in the first place. And now that this smear campaign has been running for so long now for you Paige, people believe it without giving me a fair trial. Devastated by your life hackers, deceived and betrayed by all whom I care for, tormented by demons from below and admonished by the angels above, I say, “ ENOUGH!” I love you all but this is enough. With no defense or explanation given I have been condemned to hell and I have still, throughout it all, been the most loving, caring, faithful, trustworthy and honest one out of all. So judge me on that!

[paigelts05]

The gardener's diary

Image Link: https://www.deviantart.com/paigelts05/art/Gardener-s-diary-872702096

Fic Link: https://www.deviantart.com/paigelts05/art/The-gardener-s-diary-919055351

Renegade File Server Location: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30015447

Published:13-03-2021 Completed:30-03-2021,

The diary of a gardener who used to work at Freddy's who wishes for nothing more than to be a total nobody.

I think you know who this dairy belongs to.

=============°•.🌹.•°=============

Fredbear

31/01/1998

I've had non-stop nightmares for the past week. A yellow suit is all I remember. Each night, it becomes clearer, but I could never tell which one it was until tonight. Tonight, I was back at Fredbear and friends on that unfortunate day, yet instead of a whole party, it was simply me, Fredbear, and my son hanging from Fredbear's jaw.

I know that that incident didn't kill him, but I feel like if it wasn't for this incident, both him, his brother, and thier friends would still be alive. Perhaps not. Perhaps this outcome was always my former bosses intent.

Regardless, imagery of Fredbear lurking in my mind has kept me awake until the early hours of the morning for several weeks now, and I doubt that I shall be able to sleep, least the image of Fredbear's bloodied maw creep into my head and burn itself into my mind's eye once more.

I cannot live like this.

01/02/1998

I have had to remove every yellow flower from my garden. The colour scares me now. I look at the colour and only see those two animatronics and a testament to my greatest mistakes.

I don't know why, but remembering that bear hurts me more than remembering what I did that summer. Perhaps it's because that was the first true disaster that was truly out of my hands.

I know two incidents happened regarding Fredbear prior, yet one was my fault, and the other was someone else's self contained accident.

Funnily enough, neither of these incidents have become the subject matter of my nightmares, and for that, I am greatfull to my mind for granting me at least some form of respite by sticking to one thing, even though seeing someone with thier arm trapped in the torso of a spring lock suit would be far easier on my mind.

Whilst desensitisation may be the path to no longer fearing the image of Fredbear, I feel as if I need to allow myself to free myself of his influence during the daylight hours.

02/02/1998

An former colleague of mine decided to visit.

He wanted a copy of the keys to Fredbear's family diner.

I know that they never changed the locks, so I gave him my old key. If my former boss wants me to go back there, well, he will see that my skills are just as sharp as they've always been via first hand demonstration.

Regardless of my little rant, the keys are in the hands of someone who wishes to aid investigation into the incidents at Freddy's now.

After he left, I decided to go to the garden centre with my daughter. She likes looking at the fish, and I need new flowers.

We picked out some nice green, red, and indigo flowers to replace the yellow ones. Yet whilst we were there, my daughter picked up a plush toy of a cream bear. I must have stood in the middle of the shop like a gormless idiot for several minutes at least, as all I remember after was a member of staff asking me if I was ok and asking my daughter if I was on any medication. I just told them that I hadn't slept much recently, and they seemed to take that as an answer.

I brought my daughter the plushie. I wasn't exactly about to let my "past life" as I call it, interfere with my new one. I left both my blade and Fredbear behind, and I intend to keep it that way.

With a cream bear plushie, several new flowers, and a new trowel purchased, we headed home and I begun planting the flowers.

Reflecting on what occurred at the store, I feel that my fear of Fredbear may be more deep rooted that it seems, if a plush cream bear toy can make me remembering the "poorly scheduled late bite I guess this is of 87 now", as my former boss had put it in a phone call with his boss, then who knows how deep this runs.

03/02/1998

There was a patch of yellow flowers that I didn't remove, and could never bring myself to remove. Even though the colour reminds me of Fredbear, I could never uproot those flowers.

04/02/1998

Whilst I did fall asleep last night, every part of me wishes I stayed awake. I never knew a dream could feel so long and be so horrifying.

The Fredbear didn't even look different to it's usual self, yet somehow, that was the most horrifying part.

The Fredbear in my dreams was identical to the Fredbear in real life.

The images of it's bloodied mouth will not leave my mind. My brain seems to be bent on remembering every last detail down to the texture of the fur.

If I write down every single detail, then I should be able to purge the image from my mind.

It's ears; small squares, golden in colour. The hat; a shiny purple. The eyes; silver marbles with a ring of green to imitate an iris. Animatronic eyes used to be made incredibly cheap, but these hit a balance between tacky and haunting. The face; rounded but wide, and cut off abruptly at the bottom of the cheeks. The jaw; flat. Covered in blood. What teeth weren't stained red were pure white. The body; fat and fuzzy, with more blood down its front matting it's hair than you'd be able to imagine. The bowtie; formerly the same shiny purple as the tophat, now completely covered in blood, bearly any of the material visible underneath. The arms; chunky and patches of fur missing, revealing the painted carapace underneath. The hand; no fur, simply painted metal. The microphone; the same shiny purple as the tophat, a spike coming off the bottom of the microphone.

That is all I remember.

I hope I don't remember any more.

05/02/1998

My former colleague visited me again.

He seemed shaken, and just as scared of Fredbear as I was, but for a different reason.

"A possessive state", "wanting to carry around and protect the head of the animatronic". It genuinely sounds like less of a Fredbear problem, but like more of a generalised yellow bear animatronic problem.

Wether his issue is due to forced subservience to golden Freddy, or a genuine protective urge for anything that reminds him of his dad - his dad's death included - all I know if that this is an issue best addressed by avoiding Fredbear.

For once, I guess we're in the same boat.

Molten Freddy

[[NOTE: There is a major typo. The word 'car' in the paragraph regarding a shovel (you'll know it when you see it) is not supposed to be 'car'. I have no idea what the word was supposed to be. Whilst I'd like to say this is an 'in character typo' like the others (the character is sleep deprived), it is not the case for this one typo, and I blame my mobile phone's autocorrect and my lack of proof reading, as I use my mobile phone to write my fics, hence the short paragraphs in all of my fics.]]

07/02/1998

Whilst my nightmares have not ceased, I do believe I have more urgent issues at hand. Last night, whilst I was sleeping, something dug itself a shallow grave in my garden.

I do believe it is some kind of animatronic, so I called the police. Whilst I do not have the best reputation, I used the code phrase to tell them I had an animatronic related issue before they even asked for my name.

It's better that way.

Regardless, they put me on the line with the officer in charge of animatronic related incidents, a former colleague of mine.

This setup mirrors a certain incident quite closely, so he had decided to come in person to ensure it is safe, as digging it up before we know what it is may cause more harm than good.

After all, it could be a trap.

08/02/1998

It has just turned midnight, so it is now the eighth. We've been watching the disturbed soil for a few hours now, and something has just emerged.

A metal tendril.

My former colleague, for simplicity's sake, let's just call him 'the officer', shall we, seemed confused. Whilst the setup was identical to the twisted incident that occured some time last year, the machine was certainly not of that design.

More tendrils emerged from the ground, and the head of an animatronic bear dragged itself up after. That's all that machine appeared to be: a head and cables.

It's looking this way, and I'm certain it can see us.

It's slowly crawling towards the house. The officer does have a stun gun, and I have a trowel (trust me, in my hands, such gardening tools become deadly weapons), so we should be able to hold if off.

However, I fear this machine is intelligent. I fear it harbours a spirit. The officer seems to suspect this too, as he sent the ghost possessing him to check.

By the time the ghost got back, the animatronic is actually scraping at the door.

The machine is posessed by a woman.

Somewhere between late forties and mid fifties, apparently.

The scraping at the door doesn't sound like something trying to get in. It sounds like a hunter tormenting thier prey.

It seems to be amused by my fear. As if she didn't know that I could be scared.

I don't have enough evidence to support my hypothesis, but I do believe that I know who is possessing this machine.

[There is a line that is too shaky to read to the point that it's illegible]

Damn it. She's scraping on the glass. It's like nails on a chalkboard. It made such an indescribable noise that I couldn't even write.

It seems satisfied for now.

It went back to its hole and reburied itself.

08/02/1998, morning.

Me and th officer slept in shifts, keeping an eye on the animatronics hiding place. As crowds and an investigative atmosphere may cause this machine to lash out, we have opted to keep this 'on the down-low' and deal with it with the fewest number of people possible.

He called someone to bring shovels. Now we have had a good look at it, we know what it looks like. It may have trapped it's shallow grave of a hiding spot, but now know that it's not solely a trap: it is an active threat.

We will be attempting to dig her up.

***

So she stole a shovel. We started digging, and after we hit metal, a car shot out of the mud and wrapped itself around the officers shovel before attempting to drag both him and the shovel underground. Luckily, he knew that trying to keep the shovel was a lost cause so let go.

The shovel was thrown back up to us in four pieces, so neither of us want to know what would have happened if he would have been dragged down too.

It seems that digging it up is a lost cause, and we have to attack it when it emerges, which will likely be on its own terms.

We set up cameras and motion sensors so we won't have to constantly be observing a patch of mud.

09/02/1998

Midnight

The motion sensors have just gone off. They haven't gone off all day. Expected, but still.

It seemed to wait for us to watch it before it crawled out.

It seems to be enjoying the fear that it's causing. Depending on if my hypothesis stands, this could be her. Even if this is not her directly, it's certainly her work. I always knew under that clueless exterior she harboured skills beyond understand.

[There seems to be a blood smear on the paper, and the writing seems a lot shakier]

She broke in. She started off scratching the doors but she just punched it and it broke. There's glass and wood splinters everywhere. It immediately headed for me, and whilst I was able to hold it off for a little bit with my trowel and cut a few important looking cables, she managed to pin me to the floor.

Whilst I was down, she told me I had "outlived my usefulness", and "had to go, and would rather take it into her own hands to ensure it's carried out".

I expected to hear the voice coming from Funtime Freddy's voice box, but instead, it was the ghost speaking to me directly.

She would have tore my throat out if it wasn't for the officer managing to hit it with a stun gun.

That was enough to get her to retreat back to her hole for now.

09/02/1998, Daytime

We put up a peice of plywood as a door. It's not safe to try and replace it, and why bother? It'll just get torn down anyway. I can't let my daughter stay here whilst the house is in this state.

I brought it up in a conversation, and on the subject of staying somewhere safer, my daughter has gone to the officer's house. He has a daughter about the same age as mine, so she thinks that I'm letting her have a sleepover.

On the other hand, now that we don't need a back line if defence and we know that the animatronic is interested in me and not her, my wife has decided to join us keeping an eye out for when Molten Freddy will resurface.

We all know about the rule of threes in literature, and I know for a fact that the ghost controling Molten Freddy was into literature, so it's likely she was planning her main attack for the third night from the start. That would explain her retreating, as I feel that even after getting zapped, she could have easily still killed me.

Now, we wait.

10/02/1998, Midnight

I know tonight will be the final attack.

Each second she waits feels like hours to me, and she knows this. She's the exact sort of person to draw out torment like this. As I write this, looking out the window at the patch of mud, I see it stir, and I know she's there. She's waiting for just enough time to pass.

Any minute now.

Everyone is silent.

I rarely cry, but the fear may just be enough to push me over the edge, and I swear, she can smell weakness, so I can't let it show.

I have to at least try and

[Nothing is written on the next few pages. The only thing on the paper is a few blood splatters. The handwriting is even shakier than yesterday's.]

I can't believe I survived.

One moment, I'm writing - bearly even for a second - the next, I get a face full of glass and get thrown to the ground.

I managed to push my arm into its mouth before it could get it's jaws around my neck, but that came at the cost of pain. Those teeth are roughly sewing needle shaped, and they feel like them too. It's one thing to prick your finger whilst sewing. It's another for a mouthful of them to dig two inches into your arm.

Despite the risks, I made sure it didn't open its mouth in order to buy time for my wife and the officer to hack at it enough for it to seem to want to leave me alone, likely due to being too damaged to continue the mission and not get obliterated in the process.

After it let go of me, apparently I passed out.

They told me that after I passed out, they had damaged it enough for it to try and retreat again, but instead of running out the back door, it went out the front and into the street. The officer said that the animatronic hopped into the back of an unmarked van that sped off as soon as the animatronic was on board.

It seems that Fazbear Entertainment treats it's undead higher ups well.

Regardless, she gets to report a mission failure, and I get to live another day.

Withered Freddy

14/02/1998

I don't know why I'm doing this. I'd understand if I felt like I needed to go back to Freddy's, but this place is far away from anywhere. I don't even know where it is. All I was able to find out that at these coordinates was a farm that burned down in the 40's. Why would that be so important that I need to go there immediately.

15/02/1998

I've tried sleeping on it, but the thoughts wouldn't go away. I didn't want to trouble anyone with this bizarre thought processes, so I kept it to myself. Perhaps it has some kind of connection to Ina, and this is her way of bugging me to go there. Or perhaps, the feeling will go away.

16/02/1998

Whilst trending to the garden, I don't know what happened. I must have fell into some trance like state, just digging a hole with a trowel in the flower bed. I probably would have continued all day if it wasn't for my daughter asking me what I was doing.

17/02/1998, midnight/ early morning

I don't want anyone to question where I am going, so I simply left in the middle of the night.

__

The sun is rising, and I'm at the place where the coordinates are. The old farm. I smell blood. Old blood, but not 1940's old. Late 1980's old.

May as well keep this on me to write down what I see.

***

As I got closer to the source of the smell, I swear I heard mechanical footsteps. Clearly, I'm not alone.

But no matter what way I turn, I can't see it.

May as well press on.

***

The slight odour has turned into a stench. Is this place, a body dump. If so, for whom? What made me bring myself here?

I see a large pit. Some kind of ditch? It seems to be the source of the smell.

As I reached the pit, something has grabbed me by the shoulders. I don't know why it's letting me write, but it doesn't seem to care. It seems to be some kind of old Freddy. Was this an old machine dump too?

I don't think there is anything I can do other than write, so I will continue to write.

It seems to be pushing me towards the pit now. Whatever was in there has been dead a long time.

After reaching the edge, something told me to look down. If it wasn't for the fact that from a young age, I had been desensitized to the sight and smell of dead bodies, I probably would have puked, but as someone of my undesirable yet somehow posh sounding rearing, I didn't, yet that doesn't make the sight any easier to take in.

I know every one of these bodies, but some are missing. Others seem to be fading out and back in, but I'm not sure if that is real or if it's my eyes playing tricks on me.

I always wondered what the clean up crew did with the lot from the new Freddy Fazbear's and now I know.

Some of the withered animatronics are here too. All in the pit, just the same.

***

It doesn't seem to want to hurt me. I don't understand why. It also let go of me. I - for some reason - instead of running away, used this opportunity to look at the animatronic that had grabbed me. It was the old model of Freddy.

Back in the new Freddy Fazbear's, this machine was affectionately named "withered Freddy" due to its condition, and the conditions in this body dump certainly haven't treated it well. It's in worse of a condition than I remember; it seems to have lost an ear over the years, when even in its delapidated state, it used to have two. Also, back in 87, this machine used to only have a few nicks and tears, but now, it looks more like it fits it's nickname.

Regardless, the animatronic seems to want to show me more than just the pit of corpses.

It pressed a button on its bowtie, and inside the torso, was a corpse. Notably enough, there was no endoskeleton, just the corpse. I guess when they reused these things for parts, they just took the endoskeletons and left the rest behind. That would explain the difference in thier frames and heads. It seems like the machine is only moving because the ghost of the child wants it too. How did he manage this, and if the animatronics wanted freedom so badly, why didn't they simply go here.

So I asked.

I thought I made a mistake, but he spoke to me.

I'll just paraphrase it.

"Up until recently, we (the animatronics) could only make the corpses appear to be inside the suits. This is the first time [he] has succeeded pulling himself to the corpse. And even if they wanted to, they can't stay here for long, and Freddy's was just better from a tactical perspective."

He's also certain that he's the only one who can come here. Gerald and Felix are simply too angry to leave, Roy is too scared still and has agoraphobia, and Celes is too sad just isn't the biggest fan of being miles away from civilization.

He seems to be the only one with a vaugely stable enough emotional state, but he simply misses the others too much to stay too far for too long.

To think that an abundance of negative emotion and a tactical advantage were all that was keeping them bound to the suits. Sure, some of them loved their new forms, but perhaps if I tried harder, they could have been freed with no need for revenge.

I said something like that to withered Freddy, and I don't think he knew how to react. Even though the suit can't show emotion, I can generally detect what a ghost is feeling.

He replied again, so I'll paraphrase again "probably not. [He] feel[s] like the only reason he succeeded is because he had given up looking for the killer."

They seem to know at least a little bit about the other locations, and know how everyone wants to divert the course that was planned for everyone that worked there. Somehow, I think that everything will wind up as my former boss's boss intended anyway, at least to some extent.

This still doesn't explain why I felt the need to come here.

Withered Freddy doesn't seem to know either.

Regardless, I feel that something about this meeting was intentional, by someone other than myself. My arm is still healing, and everyone knows I wouldn't do something like this unless it felt urgent, and arriving at this place, meeting withered Freddy, it all seemed so urgent, but now? I don't know why I came here, but I don't feel that I can leave yet.

So I asked him, why did he come here?

Withered Freddy replied. It was odd, seeing the suits mouth move and it's ear twitch, and him tap his cloth covered feet on the mud as he nonchalantly swung his arms. You'd almost think there was an endoskeleton in there, but no. That was taken for the animatronics at the 1993 location. The thing holding the tattered old bear suit together was nothing more than the ghost.

After giving me ample time to write that, he replied. He said he didn't know either. He just felt like this is where he needed to go.

The animatronics eyes then went dark. I wasn't initially concerned, as that just happens sometimes when an animatronic is posessed, but he stopped talking.

This is out of character for the kid.

Even when under the moniker of Freddy Fazbear, even Withered Freddy Fazbear, he usually was either laughing or had something to say to me. He was only quiet with the others, but the few one-off-days I was on the night shift, he spoke quite frequently. Does he currently mistake me for someone else? But that would go against thier whole strategy. Unless he had been mistaking me for someone else all those times before.

No, withered Freddy, no, Ferdinand, referred to me by name many times before, and he's not stupid. Perhaps Gerald has more of a stranglehold on more people than we thought.

Perhaps Gerald's first victim was Ferdinand's ghost.

That's why withered Freddy (and the Freddy made from this endoskeleton) was always so slow to attack. This poor child, trapped in such a grotty and decrepit bear suit was hurt not only once, but twice.

How do I tell a ghost controling the gutted remains of withered Freddy that I'm sorry, for everything.

18/02/1998

Apparently I was unharmed, but I passed out.

Also, apparently everyone Gerald has broken has been trying to kill me, or have collapsed out of mental exhaustion trying not to, and not just today. It's been happening since the location closed down. I get why.

I wasn't the only thing that was taken from the body dump. Ferdinand came back with them as a just-in-case measure. He knew he'd have to go back to the suit inside the Freddy's location soon to recharge, but he really does seem to prefer it here.

***

After I had more time to wake up, that former colleague of mine - the journalist who is less of a journalist and more of a paranormal investigator - came up to me and showed me some scrawls I'm his journal, and a deciphered version. He asked me if this rang any bells, if I had seen the aftermath of something like this.

I have. Many times.

What started as the one-time-method seemed to have became a rite of closure, but the true question lies in how the dead kids know what to do, how did the sixth spirit know what to do, and why did everyone always respond the same way.

I asked Ferdinand if he knew about this, and he shook his robotic bear head at me.

This seems to have left me with more questions than answers, but I feel all of this is far from over.

Shadow Freddy

19/02/1998

I didn't want to risk traveling home last night. After all, I may find myself back at the body dump without even knowing it if I set out by myself, and my head still hurt a bit too much to drive, so the plan is for my wife to walk here and drive us both home.

The officer let me borrow his mobile to call her, and she said she'd be here after dropping our daughter off at school, so I guess I'll be on this waiting room sofa for a few more hours.

***

The paranormal investigator is back. He seemed distressed when he left yesterday, and still seems rather stressed out today. I wonder what's wrong.

He asked me what's going to happen to him.

This must be about the posessed scrawls from the other day.

I told him 'hopefully nothing', but then he reiterated that he was Shadow Freddy's host. Both the higher-ups of Fazbear Entertainment and the animatronics see him as Shadow Freddy's vessel, so we both see how this could cause problems for him. In the middle of trying to get the words out, he started crying.

Understandable, as the other Shadow Freddy spirits I've encountered have all been ghosts or remnant. Never a ghost possessing a human before, so there is no telling what may happen.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to comfort him. I don't think there is anything I could say that'd calm him down, but I don't that I need to say anything.

Usually, the Shadow Freddy of this location prefers to lay dormant, speak through telepathy, and rarely show itself in board daylight to avoid causing anyone any distress, but here he was in the open.

It's not the oddest thing to see: the ghost of a man with the ears of a robotic bear (sometimes he takes a more robotic form, with perhaps an arm and a leg depicting a purple variant of the golden suit, but today, it was somehow just the ears), telling his son that everything will be ok. Actually now that I think about it, it would be pretty perculiar for any other Shadow Freddy to act in this way, but this is him we are talking about: a man who tragically died in front of his own son - on the kids 16th birthday no less - and then came back as a dark spectre of the suit that crushed him to death.

I wouldn't expect anything else from this Shadow Freddy.

***

The paranormal investigator cried for quite a while, Shadow Freddy - no, his father - comforting him the whole time. I also swear I saw the paranormal investigator write something, likely with his father guiding his hand. When he's like this, writing is the easiest way of ensuring that a message is remembered. I assume what they're saying is that important to them.

***

The paranormal investigator seemed to calm down after reading what he wrote. I won't pry into it.

***

The rest of the day went well. The paranormal investigator seemed a lot better, and my wife picked me up and I went home.

20/02/1998

Shadow Freddy paid me a quick visit today as the paranormal investigator was passing by.

He told me that yesterday, he told his son he'd make sure he would prevent him from being a part of the events described in the posessed scrawls. That means keeping him away from Freddy's, but close enough so that he (Shadow Freddy) has free roam over Freddy's to take the required pathing. I live just close enough for a corner of my garden to be the perfect spot.

That would benefit us in two ways as the animatronics seem to know what will happen, and they may not like the idea of thier suits being destroyed, so they may be more violent than usual and attempt to kill anyone that may be involved in these events, the paranormal investigator included. We don't want any unnecessary casualties, and the Shadow Freddy will be able to take purely a spectral form.

Removes the risk of a casualty, and keeps Shadow Freddy's promise to his son to keep him out of it.

We both already seem to have the same plan to keep the paranormal investigator safe without him knowing what's going on until after it has happened.

The paranormal investigator may not like my plan, but I hope he will forgive me.

=============°•.🌹.•°=============

[phantomrose96]

Old Wounds

Danny’s secret is not a secret anymore.

The lines between Fenton and Phantom have long since blurred. And it’s a common occurrence for news reporters to trip over their tongue when flagging him down, mid-transformation, for a post-fight interview. “Phanton.” “Fentom.” So often that, to most now, he is just Danny.

When Danny wants upgrades to his gear, he comes to his mother. When Danny learns a quirky new element of Ghost Zone lore, he brings it to his father. When the Amity Park Ghost Alarm is raised, he’s first on the scene with the Fenton RV right on his non-corporeal heels.

When he’s injured, Danny comes only to his friends and sister.

Jazz notices the pattern. How it is only her, or only Sam, or only Tucker who receives the late-night knock at the window glass, with her brother on the other side, corny sheepish smile on display and arm or leg or shoulder held up in explanation.

Jazz notices how hushed Danny remains, day or night, when he comes to her for first aid. How he speaks in that same hesitant muted tone as he did when all of this was still a secret. How he quiets himself in the way injured prey animals do.

Jazz doesn’t feel it’s her place to ask. Not yet, at least. Eventually. But not yet.

The window is open. Honeysuckle-sweet gusts of late-spring air swirl through Jazz’s room and tease away the sheen of sweat that has collected on her brow. She cannot wipe it away herself, not with both hands meticulously occupied in tweezering out the singed fabric from her brother’s arm.

Danny winces, and hisses, and Jazz frees another thread from its embedded hold in Danny’s burn wound.

“It’s kind of like… summer vacation when we were kids and we’d get splinters visiting Aunt Alicia’s lake house,” Jazz remarks with another careful tug. “…If we can call it a lake house.”

“Lake shed,” Danny replies, grinning through the sweat shining on his pale face. “And I think every part of that dock was an OSHA violation.” He laughs through another wince.

“Dad was the king of tweezers. I think he got out every splinter that dock ever gave me.” Jazz pauses. “I wonder why that was. Think it’s the needlepoint?”

“It’s definitely the needlepoint,” Danny agrees.

Jazz hesitates on the question lingering behind her tongue. Just a little too long. Just a little too obviously.

“What?” Danny asks.

Jazz’s hand falters. She puts the tweezers down. “Danny, I will always always be happy to help you like this. Same goes for Sam, same goes for Tucker, I know. I’m positive. But I wonder why… not Mom or Dad?” Jazz eyes the tweezers, glinting in the moonlight. “I’m just… I’m thinking how much cleaner this might be if you got Dad to do it. And Mom’s got like, wilderness survival level first aid expertise. I can’t help thinking I’m hurting you more by it being… me, you know?”

Danny looks at her, and looks past her a moment. His grin slips a fraction into discomfort as his eyes leave hers. “Maybe I just like the excuse to invade your room.”

“Danny…” Jazz waits until he looks at her again. “Are you afraid they’ll make you stop if they realize you’re getting injured?”

Danny lets out a puff of air from behind his lips. “No, never. I mean, maybe if I got really really injured they’d say something. But just getting a little roughed up? I think it’s about on par with a kid coming home from football practice with a few scrapes, at least, in their eyes. They get more banged up than me these days. I’m not worried.”

Jazz reaches for the bottle of disinfectant. She unscrews the cap to a biting alcohol smell. “…So will you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you won’t ever go to them with injuries? Ever?”

Cotton swab, pure silver under the moonlight. Jazz douses it gently, a muted glug-glug from the bottle.

“…I’m that obvious about it, huh?”

“You’re obvious about most things. This’ll be cold.” Jazz applies the swab to the open wound, and Danny hisses in turn.

“Yeah. Cold. And stingy. Cold and stingy.” After a few seconds, the tension eases out of Danny’s body. He droops a little, shoulders slumped, and Jazz pulls the cotton swab away.

“Are you ashamed of your injuries?”

“No.”

“Are you worried Mom and Dad’ll make them worse?”

“Nah. You said it yourself, those two are weird, unconventional medical experts.”

“Then why not?”

A beat of silence follows. A moment of trepidation. Awash in moonlight, Danny looks up at her, and the glow in his green eyes has a life of its own. “I don’t want them to see the injuries that have already healed.”

“Why would that be a problem?” Jazz looks again. Danny’s suit covers most everything, save now for the one sleeve that’s been rolled back. She sees what she already knew was there – what isn’t obvious to the eye not searching – threads of white ridges, puckers of skin, a faded rashy texture of what had once been an ectoblast burn. Old injuries. Long healed. Faded and fading further. “Those are all healed now. Just some scars, right…?”

Danny hesitates.

“I don’t want them to figure out how many of those scars they caused.”

A gust of wind steals the antiseptic smell from the room. Jazz sits with the silence. She thinks, and she processes.

“Oh…”

Danny straightens. “They kind of… live in this world where hunting ghosts is all fun and games, you know? Like it’s a sport, like they can just get into go-mode and jump into the fun. I don’t think they’ve figured out yet that they can—could—did …cause damage.”

Danny adjusts himself on Jazz’s bed, one leg pulled up, body angled to face her directly. He doesn’t let his eye contact wander now. “They both apologized. Definitely. Like that definitely happened, back at the start of this. But it was kind of like ‘We must’ve given you so much trouble Danny! How’d you come home every day and not bite our heads off over that?’ Like. Again. Like it’s a game. Like they’d been knocking my chess pieces over for a year and not—”

Danny falters. He raises his uninjured arm and tucks the hair away from his face. “And I don’t… want it to click for them. What I have right now with Mom and Dad is so nice… It’s so much better than I even imagined. I want it to stay like this. Forever, if possible.”

“Danny…”

“And even that actually—maybe I’m actually wrong about that. Completely wrong. About their reaction, I mean. It’s possible maybe they’d see everything and just go,” Danny deepens his voice, “‘Wow! We did a number on you, huh? Man Danny I don’t know how you didn’t just smack us over the breakfast table every morning.’ you know? Like that. Like this was all just always a game. And they—and I-- …I like how relaxed ghost hunting is with them. I actually like that it feels like a game. I don’t ever want to go back to feeling how scared and afraid and unsafe and hurt I was that first year. ...But I’m afraid of how it would feel to know that maybe they’d see that, look at it all, everything they did and the scars like the actual proof and it—if it wouldn't ever be real to them. If they'd never get that it was like that. If they still wouldn’t realize—you know? That they—if they—I don’t uh…” Danny drops his eyes, and he shrinks in on himself. “I don’t know how to explain it…”

“No I—Danny I know what you’re saying. Don’t worry. Danny, I—”

“Either answer. Any answer. I don’t want to know… I don’t actually want to know.” Danny angles himself away again, feet dropped over the side of Jazz’s bed, staring down at the hands in his lap. “If it would horrify them, then I’d be ruining all the good things I have with them right now. And if it wouldn’t horrify them—” Danny falls quiet. The breeze has stilled. The room is colder now. “…then I think I just don’t ever want to know.”

Jazz nods, and nods harder.

“I get it. I get it. That’s a good enough answer for me, Danny, I promise. I’m your first aid person, okay? I won’t ask again. Thanks for… thanks for telling me, Danny.”

"Can always trust you to bring up the difficult conversations huh? Of course that's always been your thing. Talking to you is--well I'd say it's like pulling teeth, but maybe it's more like pulling ecto-demolished hazmat suit fabric out of a burn wound."

Danny offers a sheepish grin - it's an olive branch, a request to lighten the mood. Jazz meets it with her own small grin that does not touch her eyes.

"Yeah yeah, I'm your older sister. It's my job to be a pain. Now sit still, I need to be more of a pain if we're gonna de-hazmat suit your injury."

She picks the tweezers back up. The silence rings with an echo in her head now. Jazz focuses her attention back on her task, and she finds something she was wrong about before:

There is nothing faded about the scars that web up and down her little brother’s arm. They are stark streaks of lightning, glowing silver under the moonlight. And Jazz wonders how many others—how many that flaked away and melded back with healthy skin—how many of those might still be living, lingering, a permanent part of her little brother, buried well beneath the surface…

[phoenixyfriend]

Commander Buir

Follow-up to this post. Not in any particular order, just spitballing ideas, with contributions from several friends on discord.

Like presumably it takes long enough for them all to meet up again that Anakin and Cody do, in fact, end up treating each other like family, just so I can have that good good "well, guess I'm Dad now" energy. Shmi isn't entirely sure what's going on but she's not a slave anymore and her kid seems to like this rando mando, so.

Anakin gets to have a mom and two dads, though one of the dads is arguably younger than him.

Also when they all meet up again and Cody explains the "General Skywalker got shrunk" thing, there are three reactions: (General) Obi-Wan: Oh, Anakin. Obi-Wan: [gestures to take him, ends up with an armful of clingy padatoddler] Anakin: You can't blame this on me, Obi. Obi-Wan, a little teary, because babies cause emotions: Of course I can, you absurd human being. ------ Rex: That's... my general. Anakin: I am, Captain. Rex: Cool cool cool I'm gonna go stand where I can't, uh, break you. Anakin: I'm not THAT fragile! ------ Ahsoka: [gasp] Skyguy is SKYKID! Anakin: Padawan, this is-- Ahsoka, grabbing him and cuddling: Oh my goodness you're adorable this is the best day ever. Anakin: This is humiliating, Snips, put me down. Ahsoka: Never.

Anakin hates being a toddler because of the lack of independence but Cody keeps picking him up when he's cranky and just holding him until he falls asleep and that's... nice.......

- The brain limitations aren't quite as bad as the situation with Sokanth and Ylliben in the other AU, but - Even if his brain is mostly adjusted he’s still got a tiny body with different needs that he’s not used to. Like, he needs to sleep more but he’s got more energy than usual when he’s awake and it’s all weird.

Cody carrying around toddler Anakin like "God you give me ulcers but you're adorable, you little shit."

Inconveniently tiny body aside, Anakin has a pretty great time in this au. His family are all together and safe and within reach. His wife isn't around, but toddler brain means he doesn't have the Romance Drive, so that's not as bad as it could be It could be significantly worse.

@atagotiak asked: Does Anakin get annoyed about being called cute? - To which I say, He bites the first few times but Shmi tells him that's Naughty so he stops. - Babies are cute so you packbond with them before they’re annoying, Anakin is cute as a self defense mechanism - He’s extra annoying so he needs to be extra cute

You know how you need to keep an eye on toddlers so they don't, like, fall down the stairs or put something toxic in their mouth? - They need to keep an eye on Anakin specifically so he doesn't rewire the ship they're in while they're in hyperspace. - He has less self control on account of being smol. He still has all the mechanical knowledge! Just less comprehension of y’know, consequences.

Anakin, with a sippy cup: This is demeaning. Ahsoka: Your hands don't work great enough to avoid accidents yet. Anakin: It's still embarrassing.

General Kenobi can't just kill Maul, not when Maul is baby right now (sixteen, which is baby enough) so he just. Kinda. Kidnaps a baby Sith. (It's fine. He's fine.)

General Kenobi (not to be confused with Padawan Kenobi) decides to declare Maul his new padawan because someone has to deal with this teenager, and Plo already claimed the rest of Ahsoka's training. And Anakin's three, so.

"What do we do with Maul?" "Eh, I can handle him. I dealt with teenage Anakin getting arrested for illegal pod-racing twice a month, I can work with this."

Maul bites, but only slightly more often than Anakin, it's fine

Ahsoka definitely bullies Maul whenever possible

Consider: Rex holding very still because Anakin wanted to be tall, so he climbed Rex. Being unexpectedly climbed is better than being unexpectedly yeeted. It's still extremely nerve-wracking. - Cody is perfectly capable of running around with a backpacking toddler General, but Rex freezes like a statue. - Ahsoka finds this hilarious

You know how little kids like to be thrown around and swung in circles and stuff like that? This must get even more ridiculous with force users. Can throw a child real high and catch them safely. - Rex panics whenever Ahsoka throws her chibified Master

Literally everyone except Rex loves being yeeted. Even Maul can appreciate a good tactical yeet no shut up he's not having fun this is TRAINING - Rex is Suffering - Cody, a very Tired Dad, deserves to mock his vod'ika a little, as stress relief - Rex, a certified Little Brother, shoves Cody off something tall. Jokes on him, Cody thinks freefall is fun too.

Tia asked: So the people who didn’t exist yet got flung bodily back in time and Anakin did the mental time travel. Why did Obi-Wan not become Padawan Kenobi? (I mean “because I want it that way” is def a good enough answer I’m just wondering if there’s any reason.) - Which, well, it really was mostly "I want to" but here's two options, both of which come down to Blame Daughter and Father. 1. They figured a responsible adult Jedi Master was needed to convince people. 2. Nobody was supposed to get de-aged but Daughter figured they needed to make Anakin less liable to kill things for a few years. - Also IDK the Force God-Manifestations also took away any risk of rapid aging and early death from the clones because uhhhhhhhhhhh I said so

Rex and Ahsoka are fumbling their way through a relationship where ages are just really confusing and awkward, so they're keeping it to just kisses and cuddles for a bit.

Cody is so tired he doesn't even realize anyone's hitting on him until it's been three years of co-parenting with Shmi and his General. - Somehow Anakin knows Cody is in a relationship before Cody does. Cody has never been so embarrassed. - How did he manage to be less observant than Skywalker? -- it was sabotage; all his brain cells were taken up in managing said Skywalker -- Because Skywalker was up at three in the morning whacking a training droid with a stick so he didn't have the energy for Relationships

Also Shmi's come-ons are super subtle, while the General's are... well, Cody's gotten very used to ignoring anything ambiguous on that end because fraternization rules, and also because Obi-Wan flirts a lot with everyone. So.

Please imagine Cody and General Kenobi walking around with Anakin tucked into a toddler sling while they do whatever work they've ended up with at the Temple. - Yes, Cody is helping the Jedi figure out the best plan of attack to take down this slave ring because his grasp on tactics is phenomenal and he knows how to deploy people at greatest efficiency, but also he's got a nosy toddler on his hip who keeps offering his own insane-but-competent ideas. - General Kenobi ends up with a Council Seat just on account of, like, being the kind of person he is. As often as not, he's got Anakin tucked into his robes, chewing on the ear of a stuffed tooka or something.

IDK what Shmi's doing but apparently Legends had it that some of the administrative and support positions in the Temple were held by non-Jedi civilians? So probably something like that.

GENERAL KENOBI LECTURING PADAWAN MAUL WHILE ANAKIN'S BALANCED ON HIS HIP AND GLARING AT MAUL FOR STEALING HIS DAD

General Kenobi: Ahsoka's babysitting. Anakin: I'm her master, I don't need babysitting, this is-- General Kenobi: Fine, then you need supervision, so that you don't blow up a training salle again. Anakin: And you think Ahsoka would stop me? General Kenobi, eye twitching: Fine, I'm leaving you with Plo.

Even if he’s mentally an adult Anakin always needs supervision Look at canon! Anakin was left without supervision for like two days and he became a Sith

Quinlan gets distracted by how attractive General Kenobi is and tells Obi-Wan "dude, you're gonna be so hot once you can get rid of the stupid haircut" and Obi-Wan pushes him into the nearest pond.

They end up with this weird "Uncle Jango" situation (uncle to Anakin, via weird brotherhood-ish to Cody) because Rex and Cody are just like "Uhhhhhhhhh yeah okay" about him eventually, and Jango just like. Drops by. Trying to Earn Affection Of Blood Kin by bringing weird gifts for them and their (ugh) Jedi.

"Okay, Rex'ika, I stopped by Shili--" "What?" "--and apparently this is a delicacy there, so just... your girlfriend will like it." "She's not my girlfriend." "..." "Okay, I can't call her my girlfriend. Jedi have rules about that sort of thing, and--" "This will make your Jedi happy, probably. Just take it, kid."

Baby Anakin got his arm back but for some inexplicable reason still has The Eye Scar. He matches Buir.

[unfoundhoney]

mother, father, and everything else ↠

↠ platonic!c!tommyinnit x older sister!reader ; fluff , angst

↠ masterlist

↠ a companion piece to a sister’s sacrifice inspired by this tiktok

“Tommy, come on,” you call.

You pull your youngest brother’s attention away from the strings of the apron he got distracted by. He toddles over to you as quickly as he can, reaching up and asking to be picked up silently. He started walking early and go the hang of it quite quickly. However, in talking he’s a bit of a late bloomer, nearing fifteen months but yet to say his first words.

You lift Tommy up into your arms, carrying him out the back door and into the backyard. You set him down to play in the grass where you can keep an eye on him then walk over to the array of clotheslines strung up across the yard, beginning to hang up laundry.

Wilbur is off playing with Niki as usual. He’ll likely return covered in dirt and grass stains, maybe with a captured insect or stories of a new, made up kingdom he’d been ruler of that day. Phil is still out with Techno; they’ve been gone for a while now, but that’s nothing new.

You’ve hung up a pair of Wilbur’s pants and two of Tommy’s shirts when you notice Tommy crouched beside the basket full of wet clothes. He reaches inside and pulls out a sock, squeezing it curiously.

“Do you want to help, Tommy?”

Tommy looks up at you, blue eyes wide and mouth slightly open. He nods his head once.

You giggle and ruffle his hair, “Alright, c’mere.”

You lift Tommy up again, resting him on your hip as you grab a clothespin with your free hand. You slip it over the clothesline.

“Put the top of the sock in the pin,” you tell him.

He struggles a bit, little hands still uncoordinated at his young age. He does eventually position the sock where you can close the pin on it and leave it to hang.

“Wow, good job, buddy!” you say.

You wrap him in a hug and spin around, shrieking laughter falling from his mouth at both your actions and your praise. You set him down and kneel down to be at eye level with him.

“You’re my official laundry assistant,” you say seriously. “Can you hand me clothes to hang up?”

Tommy nods eagerly and toddles over to the basket of wet clothes, grabbing a shirt from the top of the pile. He holds it above his head as he runs back over to you, holding it out.

“Good job, Tommy! We’re quite the team, you and I.”

Together, you and Tommy slowly hang the rest of the clothes up. Tommy eventually gets bored and goes off to pick dandelions and pull off their petals, leaving you to finish the chore, not that you mind. When you’re finished, you call Tommy over to get in the basket, carrying him and the leftover clothespin back inside.

“Y/N!”

The call of your name pulls you to a stop, turning to see who yelled for you. Tommy grabs onto your pant leg for balance, stopping as well. You find Puffy waving at you, hurrying over to you with her little boy Dream at her side.

“Hi, Puffy,” you say. “Hi, Dream.”

“Hi,” Dream says in a small voice.

“Tommy, can you say hi?” you ask the young boy clinging to your hand.

He’s chewing on his thumbnail, looking up at Puffy warily before hiding his face in your leg.

“Guess not,” you laugh.

“How are you, Y/N? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” Puffy says.

“I’m good,” you answer. “Just getting some dinner for tonight.”

“Still the household cook, I see.”

“And just about everything else.”

You laugh and Puffy joins you, but you can tell that wasn’t a joke that went over her head. It’s no joke that you are mother and father to your younger siblings, as well as everything else. Your dad is gone too often; Wilbur doesn’t even call your father “dad,” he calls him Phil.

“Where’s your dad?” Puffy asks.

You shrug, “Around.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

You hesitate for too long, distracted as you attempt to remember the last time Phil came home.

“That hardly matters,” you brush off, “He’s busy doing important stuff and I can look after Wilbur and Tommy myself anyway.”

The look of concern on Puffy’s face is not missed by you. You do, however, elect to ignore it.

Dream tugs on Puffy’s sleeve, “Mom.”

“Yeah, buddy?” Puffy asks, leaning down.

Dream points into the market, where you see Sapnap with his father and his friend George.

“Go say hi, but don’t wander too far,” Puffy tells Dream.

When she turns back to you, keeping one eye on her son, you say, “I’ve gotta head home. Need to make dinner and all that.”

“Yeah, okay,” Puffy says. “I’m here if you ever need help. Or someone to talk to. Or... anything really.”

“Thanks, Puffy.”

You don’t notice at your side, Tommy trying to form the word that Dream used that so quickly got his mother’s attention.

“Look after yourself, Y/N.”

“I am.” You always have.

With a wave, you turn and head back home, Tommy walking slowly beside you. The walk from the market to your house takes about fifteen minutes and you end up carrying Tommy for most of it to speed things up.

When you arrive home, you find Wilbur and Niki sat in the front yard playing a hand clapping game. They stop when they spot you, jumping up and running to come meet you as you walk up the front path.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Wilbur shouts your names repeatedly.

“Will! Will! Will!” you mimic.

“Can I spend the night at Niki’s?” Wilbur asks.

You like Niki. She’s sweet and a good influence for Wilbur.

“Uhm, as long as her parents are alright with it,” you say, doing your best to sound like a grown up despite only being sixteen.

“We’ve already talked to them,” Niki tells you.

“Alright, then,” you concede. “Behave while you’re there.”

“I will, Y/N!” Wilbur says, running off with Niki.

You watch them go for a few moments until you’re reminded of the toddler sitting on your hip. Tommy squirms around, wanting down. You set him on the ground and walk with him inside.

You set him up with some paper and crayons at the kitchen table. You sit across from him, watching as he carefully looks over his color options before choosing the red crayon.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, bud,” you muse.

You pet Tommy’s hair before you stand, moving to start on dinner. You season meat and chop potatoes, humming to yourself and keeping an eye on Tommy. Thankfully, your youngest brother isn’t a picky eater, which makes meals a lot easier than they could be, especially since he’s been in the solid foods stage for a while now.

The rest of the night is fairly quiet. You and Tommy eat dinner then you do the dishes while he waddles around the living room and plays with some of his toys. You can hear him experimenting with running, his footfalls surprisingly loud for such a small human. You hear him fall, as well, but without any crying then the return of his heavy footsteps, you don’t go to check on him.

You start composing your next shopping list and check the calendar for any upcoming events. There’s a festival next week that you’re meant to chaperone Wilbur and his friends at. Maybe you can team up with Puffy so Tommy can play with Tubbo, and Dream can join Wilbur. You’ll ask her tomorrow.

You hear Tommy enter the kitchen. He waddles over to where you sit at the table and crawls into your lap. He grabs your free hand and starts playing with your fingers as you continue writing down what you’ll need for your bigger grocery run in a few days.

“Mom.”

You freeze.

What?

“Mom.”

You look down at Tommy.

He looks up at you, “Mom.”

“N-No...,” you say weakly.

“Mom.”

“No, I’m not your mom.”

“Mom.”

“No...”

“Mom!” Tommy says happily. “Mom mom mom!”

“Okay, okay,” you say shakily, putting a hand gently over your little brother’s mouth to get him to stop. “Okay, good job.”

Your vision’s blurry. You want to cry. Your chest hurts. But right now, Tommy’s said his first word.

“Good job,” you repeat.

You pull Tommy into a hug and wipe at your eyes behind his back.

Tommy rests his little cheek on your shoulder, already tired but quickly drifting off to sleep in your warm embrace, “Mom...”

“Shhh,” you say, voice weak.

Tommy goes limp, asleep in your arms. As your tears begin to fall, you make sure not to let your sobs move you. How has this happened? Mom. No. You’re not a mother. Except you are. In every way that matters, you are Tommy’s mother. You’ve raised him ever since Phil brought him home that day.

You wish your family was normal. As normal as a family of four adopted children, a single father, and a non-biological uncle could be. You wish your dad was home more. You wish you didn’t have to be the only parental figure Tommy has ever known. It’s to the point he calls you mom. How could Phil let it get to this? How could he care so little?

You just want to have a normal family with parents who are adults and kids who are allowed to be children. You did not get to be a child, but Wilbur and Tommy will. You will always be there for them. You promise. You will give them what you had taken from you. Hatred for your father burns in your chest but it’s quickly snuffed out, doused by nostalgia that longs for a childhood you never had.

[seijorhi]

Unprofessional

as promised, the MSBY manager AU 💕 

MSBY Black Jackals x female reader

TW non-con, smut, gang-bang, nsfw(ish)

You second guess yourself, now that the Captain’s right here in front of you, fidgeting in your seat like a little kid sent to the principal’s office.

In all fairness, you were the one to ask him to come in early, figuring that it’d be easier to say what you needed to before everyone else arrived, rather than having it eat away at you while you waited for practice to end.

Yet under the scrutiny of his dark eyes, you wonder whether you should have just let it slide. At least for a few more weeks. Taking a formal complaint to the higher ups was a step too far, and you hadn’t wanted to bother the coaches this close to the start of the season for something so… trivial. Meian seemed like the better choice. He’d listen to you and be able to help; you trust the Captain and you know the team does, too. If he told them to back off, they would, you’re almost positive. But now that he’s here, there’s this nagging feeling of-

A hand touches your shoulder, and you flinch at the sudden contact, jerking back to the present. 

“Hey,” he says, a slight frown marring his features. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me - don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been a little out of it lately.”

There’s nothing but concern in his eyes - no judgement, or irritation, and something inside of you eases just a fraction. This is Meian, right from the moment you signed onto the team - granted, only a few months ago - he’s done his utmost to make sure you’ve felt welcomed and part of the team.

You take a breath, offering him a small, tight smile. “I-it’s um, some of the guys- well a few, I guess…” your fingers twist in your lap, and Meian squeezes your shoulder lightly in response. 

“Miya hitting on you, right? Getting a little outta hand?” he surmises. 

And for a split second, you’re surprised. But really maybe you shouldn’t be. Miya’s the one who’s overt about it, drawling stupid, cheesy pickup lines whenever you walk in, slinging an arm around your side and dragging you close, all the winks and the innuendos about as subtle as a tank.

Of course Meian noticed, but that’s just how Atsumu is. He doesn’t bother trying to hide it because nobody but you seems to mind. And maybe, if that’s all that it was, you’d be able to grin and bear it, but it’s not. 

“Yes and… no.”

His brows draw together. “No?”

Taking another deep breath, you begin to tell him everything. Miya’s incessant flirting, all the hugs and touches that fell just the wrong side of what you considered professional. They’re a tactile team, with one notable exception, and you understand that, but the way Bokuto, Hinata and Miya feel comfortable just grabbing you and dragging you around, interrupting you in the middle of whatever task you’re doing to make you pay attention to them is a little alarming. 

And then there was the incident last week, when Inunaki had caught you smiling at your phone during their cooldown and called you on it, which drew the attention of the rest of the team - only to have Bokuto snatch it out of your hands and start reading through your messages. Of course, Meian was there for that, putting a stop to it only when the wing-spiker had started reading them aloud, much to your mortification.

But he hadn’t been there two afternoons later, when an old friend of yours had swung by to pick you up and you’d had to deal with half the team glaring daggers at him over your shoulder like a pack of overprotective mother hens.

Even Sakusa, who usually kept his nose out of the others’ nonsense, stood off to the side with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, glowering at your friend until you both disappeared from sight.

The texts that blew up your phone in the hours that followed crossed so many lines, it honestly scared you a little. 

Meian doesn’t say a word as you talk, the words flowing easier the more you tell him. It’s not that anything they’re doing is wrong per se. They’re not hurting you, and you think that aside from Miya, the team’s attitude is coming from a good place - some protective, irritating big brother kind of thing. 

There’s nothing wrong with it, except the fact that you don’t want any part of it. You’re a professional and this is a job - a new one, an important one. If you ever want anybody to take your dreams of coaching a pro team seriously you cannot have so much as a whisper of anything less than absolute professionalism. God forbid, if rumours start spreading that you were sleeping with somebody on the team you can pretty much kiss your dreams goodbye. 

At the end of it, Meian’s chin is resting on his fist, faint dissatisfaction pinching at his face, and for a moment, you’re worried that he’s about to chew you out for wasting his time - you know he’s stressed with the start of the season only days away - but he only sighs, leaning back in his seat and shaking his head.

“Thank you for telling me, I’ll talk to them.”

And it’s like this huge weight just falls off your shoulders and suddenly you can breathe easy. “Thanks, really,” you tell him, and the smile on your face is genuine this time.

“Anytime.”

—

You don’t know when he finds the time to pull them all aside, but the next morning when you walk into the gym and Bokuto catches sight of you, golden eyes widening in delight, he starts to bound towards you-

“Bokuto.”

-and stops mid-stride, face falling like a kicked puppy. His shoulders slump, glancing over his shoulder at the Captain, watching the both of you through narrowed eyes.

He doesn’t say another word to the wing-spiker, turning back around to continue his conversation with Adriah - something about tightening up their blocks before the game against the Adlers - and despite the fact you can see half the team’s attention drawn towards you both, none of them say a word either. 

It’s strange, compared to the last few weeks, it’s suddenly like you’re a ghost. They thank you when you pass them their towels and bottles, and for once Hinata sits still when you help him tape up his ankle, though his eyes still follow your every movement with unnerving focus.

They’re polite and respectful, but unless you’re directly addressing them or they need something, it’s like you don’t exist. 

Even Atsumu manages to keep his comments to himself when it comes time for the team to stretch out, though judging from the scowl on his face whenever he glances towards the Captain, he’s not particularly thrilled about it. 

There’s one more day before game day, and they’ve got bigger things to worry about, but for you it’s like you can suddenly breathe easy. You don’t have to tiptoe around your own discomfort, you can just do your job and help them. It’s not that you hate them, not even Atsumu - though he does grate on your nerves at times - you just can’t afford to let them fuck this up for you.

They’re your team, and you’ll help them and you’ll stand on the sidelines and cheer and support them until you’re red in the face. You’ll celebrate with them and commiserate if they lose, but there has to be a line. 

And maybe finally they’re realising that.

Meian sends you home while the others head off to the showers with a clap on your shoulder. “Go home. Today’s been long enough, and you need your rest. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

You don’t fight him on it, already feeling the exhaustion creeping through your body. 

But after months in this job, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to find that by the time you’ve had a quick catch-up with the coaches about tomorrow’s training, changed and gathered up your things, you find yourself falling into step with Sakusa, freshly showered and also on his way out. 

Dark eyes find yours, but he doesn’t say a word - at least until the two of you reach the big double doors at the gym’s entrance. “Do you need a lift home?”

It’s rare of him to offer, but you suppose that it’s later than you’d normally leave, the sun already disappearing beneath the horizon. Nevertheless, you shake your head, “No, it’s only a ten minute walk, I’ll be okay,” you say. And almost as an afterthought you smile and add, “Thank you, though.”

He regards you silently for a moment, but simply shrugs his shoulders, “Fine.”

Sakusa turns to leave, heading off to the carpark when a sudden thought strikes you, and before you can think better of it, you call out to him, “Your lineshots were incredible today, by the way. You played well. And please don’t forget we’ve got an early start tomorrow!”

It’s a pointless statement, on both counts. Sakusa doesn’t crave praise the way some of his teammates do, and you can imagine how little it means coming from you of all people. He’s also the most punctual, usually the first in, preferring to get stretched and warmed up before the rest of the team arrived. But the change in plans was kind of last minute and a reminder never hurts.

Sakusa pauses mid-stride, glancing back at you once more over his shoulder. “I know,” he says, and maybe it’s a trick of the light, but you swear there’s something different in his eyes as he stares back at you. Not angry per se, but… you can’t quite put a finger on it. It’s odd, you think, out of character for the usually aloof spiker. “Captain told us.”

—

It’s still dark when you arrive at the gym, and the lights are all off, not a soul in sight. That in itself doesn’t strike you as odd though, checking your phone you see that there’s still twenty or so minutes until you were all supposed to meet, but you would have thought that the coaches at least would’ve been here, or Sakusa maybe, if not Meian.

“Mornin’ princess,” a familiar voice drawls, and you jump a little at the sudden weight of his arm draping over your shoulders.

Atsumu’s smile is far too wide and upbeat considering it’s only a little after six in the morning. You’re used to a dead-stare, don’t-talk-to-me-until-I’ve-had-caffeine Atsumu, and it’s almost startling enough to make you forget the arm he has around you.

Either that, or you’re just bewildered that he’s actually arrived early for once in his life.

“You’re awfully chipper,” you mutter, trying to shove his arm off of you as you walk in tandem towards the gym. It’s a pointless endeavour - he replaces it a moment later, tugging you closer. “And early. Do you normally do this the day before the season starts, or can we expect to see you bright and early every morning for training?”

The corner of his lip quirks into a lazy smirk, and Atsumu laughs, “Nah, I’m actually late. All the others are already here.”

You’re halfway through fishing for the keys when he just pushes the door open, and you falter. “Wait- they’re here already?” you glance inside, and the lights are all still off and there’s not a soul in sight, but- “I thought Meian said we were meeting at 6:30.”

There’s something in the way that his smirk widens that’s almost unsettling, but he’s already pushing you forward, flicking on the lights as you pass.

“Oh, he did.”

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion, but it’s too early and you’re too tired to try and decipher Atsumu’s cryptic bullshit. He already has you on edge with how close he’s got you - you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the familiar scent of his cologne invading your nose. “Fine, whatever. Just- just put your stuff away, grab the others if they’re here and I’ll see you on the court in a few minutes.”

You try to shrug off his arm, but his grip only tightens, “Nope,” he says, firmly steering the both of you in the direction of the locker room.

“Miya,” you start, squeezing your eyes shut. You can already feel the beginnings of a headache taking root in your skull, but Atsumu just chuckles lightly, patting your shoulder. 

“Relax, wouldja? Jeeze, yer so tense!” 

With no other sound but the eerie echoing of your footsteps across the linoleum floors, his laugh is too loud, too grating. It sets you on edge, and you have to bite back a scowl of your own and remind yourself that you only have to put up with him a little longer - just until Meian gets here. Unperturbed by your silent irritation, Atsumu continues, “We know how hard you’ve been working lately. We came in early to say thank you, y’know, for everythin’ ya do for us.”

And for one split second, regret fills you, snuffing out the spark of irritation simmering through your veins. Here you are, seconds away from slapping the setter when he is - for the first time in his life - actually trying to do something nice for you. You sigh quietly, smoothing your expression over as he slows down and pulls you to a stop.

He lets you slide out from under his arm, your back to the locker room door, moving so that he’s standing directly in front of you. You open your mouth to speak, an apology on the tip of your tongue, but once again, Atsumu beats you to it. “Yer the best manager we’ve ever had.” He takes your hand in his, twining long fingers with yours and steps closer.

Too close.

“Atsu-”

“We really do care about you - love ya, even -  which is why it kinda felt like a kick in the balls when the Cap came and told us ya wanted some space. Said we were bein’ too ‘overbearing’ and ‘inappropriate’, just cause we want ya nice and close.” Dark eyes harden, “It hurt us, baby. You gotta realise that.”

The grip he has on your hand is painfully tight, but you don’t have a moment to focus on that. Not as Atsumu sweeps forward to close the distance between the two of you, his lips crashing against yours. Hungry. Demanding. A tongue snaking between your lips, melding with your own.

His arm snakes behind you to open the door, and for a moment you’re stumbling backwards into the dark-

Only it’s not dark, not as the blinding fluorescent lights flicker on around you, and you’re not stumbling, not as you collide with a warm, muscular chest and strong arms find your middle to steady you. 

“You took too long,” Bokuto whines, and you’re yanked from Atsumu’s hold and spun, barely having a second to register the gleaming golden eyes before he’s dragging you into a needy kiss of his own.

Dizzy, lightheaded, your heart thumping erratically, you can’t think straight as his hot, wet mouth moves against yours. Greedy fingers grope and squeeze at your body - utterly frozen in shock, pliant under his touch. 

“Aw, quit yer whining, Bokkun,” the blonde growls as Bokuto finally pulls back enough to grant you a few precious gulps of air, gazing at you with a kind of love sick adoration that makes your stomach clench. 

A scoff sounds behind Bokuto, “A bit rich, coming from you, Miya. The two of you just are as bad as each other.”

It’s then that you realise the three of you aren’t alone. Wide eyed, on the edge of hyperventilating, you glance over your shoulder to find two pairs of eyes watching; russet eyes blown wide, enraptured, and swirling black depths, narrowed and glaring over at the blonde. 

Hinata and Sakusa.

It doesn’t feel real. Even with everything they’ve done so far, their possessive behaviour, their smothering affection - even the kisses, it feels like a fever dream. 

Even as Atsumu’s fingers are tugging your jacket off and Bokuto drags you forward, you can’t bring yourself to accept it, to properly fight back against it.

(Not that it would make a difference. They’re professional athletes, and there’s four of them against one of you.)

When your eyes fill with tears, Hinata’s there to brush them away, smiling down at you as he shrugs his own shirt off. “Don’t cry, angel. We’re gonna make you feel amazing, just wait!”

His words don’t fill you with ease. They can’t, not when he has that manic excitement bleeding through his expression - the same one you know he gets when he’s lost in the game, flying across the court like the laws of physics don’t apply to him. 

Hands are on you everywhere, teasing and exploring, too many to keep track of. Your clothes are pulled off, tossed aside and discarded without a second thought, and theirs follow suit. Fingers are tweaking your nipples and palming at your breasts, smoothing over the curve of your ass and trailing between your legs to play with your clit. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, ain’tcha? Our pretty girl, gonna be such a good little cockwhore for us.”

There’s lips against yours, at your neck, trailing down the column of your throat with a pleased hum. And between the kisses, you think that you’re crying, pleading for them to stop and let you go, but nobody listens as you’re manhandled onto one of the benches.

Your legs refuse to obey you, trembling as you try to kick out and wriggle away, only for rough hands to find your hips and drag you back. “C’mon, baby. Be good for us, you’ve already made us wait so long.”

Somebody smacks your ass and you jolt, crying out, only for a hand to soothe over the welt, another squeezing at your hip in a mockery of reassurance. “Don’t make us have to hurt ya, sweetheart.”

It’s easier, you think, to just close your eyes tight and pray that any second now, you’ll wake up in your bed to the blaring of your alarm. But the moment they flutter shut, teeth digging into your bottom lip as fingers dig into your thighs, warm breath ghosting across your sex, a low voice whispers in your ear, “Look at me.”

And you have no choice but to obey, forcing your eyes open to find Sakusa standing to your side, stroking his cock. It’s pretty, you distantly think, and you suppose that it suits him. Well groomed, long but not terribly thick with a slight curve, flushed pink at the tip and glistening with the pre-cum beading at his slit. His other hand comes to rest on your cheek, cupping it with a gentleness that feels out of place, considering the hunger burning in the black depths of his irises. 

He doesn’t say another word as he coaxes your mouth open and guides your head forward to take his cock into your mouth, but the low moan that escapes him as your lips wrap around his length makes you shiver. 

Sakusa isn’t gentle as he fucks your mouth, his thumb stroking your cheek as fresh tears well, but it’s hard to focus on that alone when Hinata’s face disappears between your legs, his tongue laving at your cunt, eager for a taste of you.

It doesn’t take long for the other two to join, and you’re manoeuvred between them, forced to sit on Bokuto’s lap, his thick cock stretching you out while Hinata sits between your legs, diligently slurping at your folds, sucking at your clit, one fist wrapped around his own length, lazily pumping it. Sakusa continues to use your mouth to get himself off, uttering backhanded praise between instructions, hissing in pleasure when he hits the back of your throat and you choke around him, while Atsumu has one hand playing with your tits, the other gripping yours, forcing you to jerk him off. 

It’s too much for your brain to take. 

Your sobs and whimpers, already muffled thanks to the cock in your mouth, are lost to the symphony of grunts and moans, lewd squelching and the sound of skin slapping against skin. There’s too many hands touching you, too much pain fused with unwanted pleasure, overwhelming you as heat and panic and terror build up inside of you, and it feels like there’s an inferno burning beneath your skin, and you can’t breathe and you just want it all to stop, you want to wake up, and-

Suddenly, the door to the locker room snaps open, and all five of you freeze in place as the Captain stops dead in his tracks and eyes the scene before him. 

There’s no possible way for Meian to misconstrue it, not with everything you told him. Not with your face flushed and teary, your eyes glazed over and all but broken from the sick, twisted debasement his teammates have subjected you to. You’re naked, your body littered in love-bites and bruises, spread out before him like a feast.

And still, your eyes meet his, silently pleading for him to say something and stop this.

Meian takes a single step forward and a muffled whine leaves your lips as the cock inside of you twitches insistently. Sakusa draws his hips back, pulling himself free from your mouth, and despite the burn in the back of your throat, you swallow and try to speak.

“Please.” It’s little more than a squeak, hoarse and choked, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. 

The Captain barely acknowledges that you’ve spoken at all, his attention fixated instead on your body; the way your pussy’s clenching around the base of Bokuto’s length, the tremor of your thighs under Hinata’s rough hands, the way your tits rise and fall with every quickened breath, your lips, swollen and beautifully fucked, glistening with spit before finally, those dark eyes meet yours once more.

And slowly, a grin breaks across his face. “You’d better hurry it up, the others aren’t too far off.”