#[ at least going from a full hiatus to a semi-hiatus ]

[cursedxartist]

End of Hiatus

Holy shit. Hi! I'm back, hopefully. I'd like to give y'all an update, which will be down below because things are gonna get a bit personal. Thank you so much for being patient with me, things are still gonna be a little spotty because I just got a new job, so it may take me a bit to fall into a new rhythm. But I shouldn't be radio silent anymore.

To start off, moving took a lot out of me. I moved across multiple states, and drove nonstop for about 14 hours. Then my mom and I went back up to move my grandma down. Recently, my grandma had two very big health scares - she fell and broke her hip, then five days later, she had a stroke. She turns 87 in two weeks, so these two events happening so close together has made it so all of my focus has been on helping her and my mom. On my mom's side, its just me, my mom, and my grandma. Thats our whole family, so this has been very difficult on all of us. Im happy to report that my grandma pulled through, and she's now in a rehab center. She's slowly learning how to walk again, and she's making progress every day! And with me getting a new job, things are looking up once more. As a result, my muse is returning, and I hope to make my return to tumblr now :) like i said, activity will be spotty, but I really want to get back to writing. Thank you everyone for sticking by me.

[ma1dita]

to catch a thief

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 3.7k

summary: (post-TLT, sea of monsters compliant/spoilers) The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. Your reunion with Luke is nothing you both could have ever expected. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: we’re so back trouble!verse ;) sorry for the post birthday hiatus on this, hope you like it! crack banter but err... she got a lil angsty

(posted 3/22/24, semi-edited)

—

When you wake up to the gentle rolling of the sea, it feels like a comforting embrace in a distant dream. Tangled within pristine white sheets, you could smell the salt through the small opening in the bay window–though this was a far cry from a fairytale conjured by your mind.

This was your reality. 

You wouldn’t call it a nightmare per se, but the circumstances were definitely less than preferred. 

This is not the CSS Birmingham. No, that went up in flames. Retracing your steps to what led you to this—cushy cruise line of a prison, you reckon it’s been a few days now since you’ve become a stowaway, or a hostage. You haven’t quite decided yet. 

Gods, this is what you get for passing up on that summer research internship. 

Dropping off Percy, Annabeth, and Tyson at camp was supposed to be a fun walk down memory lane—until meeting with your dad, finding out Thalia’s tree had been poisoned, watching Chiron get fired, and essentially getting kicked out by the troll of a man who originally got sent to the Fields of Punishment for marketing the taste of human flesh made you remember that nothing at camp is the way it used to be.

Not like before, when you and Luke used to run it.

Your dad told you to go home and wait till you were needed. Home. Driving away from it this time around was harder than you thought it would be. You’d never been the patient type, and to drop everything just because a god told you to?

Hilarious, really.

But almost a week later, after rejoining your friends on an undead ship that you let the kids commandeer, your vital mistake was thinking that Clarisse’s quest would be a breeze. Rookie move, since the last one you were on left you almost as scarred as Luke was. Even thinking of him now, you run your thumb over the rough patch of skin on your palm. 

At the very least you hoped Tyson was okay. The last memory you have of the young Cyclops was watching him from your place on the ladder as he stopped the engines from overheating. Maybe it was the ex-head counselor in you, or your increased threshold to pain, but there was no way in hell you were leaving that kid behind.

The sound of voices from outside your door gets louder now, your throat feeling like you’ve been swallowing wads of cotton and a persistent ringing in your ear that hurts just as bad as when you watch Chris Rodriguez walk in with a plate of food. The last one he slid through the door bumps against his boot, still uneaten and he sighs. 

“So what, you’re on a hunger strike now? I forgot how difficult you could be.”

You bark out a laugh. Thankfully it’s loud enough that it almost conceals the rumble of your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you mumble, “Wish it could be an idiot strike. I forgot how much of a bitch you are when it comes to your brother, Rodriguez. How long are you going to keep me here? It’s been days.”

Your former friend rolls his eyes at your dramatics like he doesn’t hold the key to your freedom.

“Three since you woke up, actually. Come on, you’ve gotta eat, or I’ll get my ass kicked,” he grumbles. You raise an eyebrow at that, walking towards the window to dodge the uncomfortable tension that fills the room. He plucks an apple slice off your plate.

“He couldn’t splurge on a balcony view? Monsters aside, it’s not like you’ve reached full occupancy.”

“There are more mortals here than you think. To be honest, he was worried you would find a way to overthrow us,” the tanned boy admits, placing the tray on the dresser. It was always a wonder to him how you and Luke were more alike than you think, even now—even when Luke hasn’t come to see you. Talking to you reminded him that you’re both pains in his ass, and Chris was still unsure of who to be more wary of, but he’s been in charge of watching you for the most part.

“Well tell your stupid captain he has no right to be worried about me. I’d much rather try to jump if given the opportunity.”

There’s no response, so you turn to face Chris who’s eating a croissant with a bashful grin.

“Seriously dude?”

“Listen, I’m hoping if I think of the right words to say, he’ll come in and deal with you himself. Opposite sides of a war and you’re still both giving me a headache. Just like old times,” he chuckles, flakes of pastry dotting across his chest plate. Your mouth quirks into a bitter smile. Old times, when Luke would shove you if he couldn’t think of a reply fast enough. When you’d punch him to get your point across if he wasn’t listening. How a kiss could end any waging war between the both of you.

You swallow, turning slowly to watch your reflection in the glass of the windowpane.

Why hasn't he come to see you? The first day, you remember spending out on the sea—treading water with no land in sight, calling out to your friends until your voice went hoarse, but you didn’t cry. You know better than to show weakness now, even when no one’s around. Chris tells you over a gulp of orange juice that you washed up next to the Princess Andromeda on the second day like it was fate. Though fate was never truly that kind to anyone; it felt like it was laughing in your face. Knocked out cold for two days after, and ignoring all of Chris’s attempts to keep you alive in the days that followed, you’ve been in this room ever since. You barely notice Chris’s departure. 

Entering the ensuite bathroom, you splash your face and sip on water from the tap before stopping at the doorway. A shadow flits at the seam near your feet, someone standing just out of sight when you peer through the peephole.

But you know Luke’s there. Sons of Hermes have almost undetectable footsteps, however, Luke walking in and out of your life for as long as he has—there’s no inconceivable way to not know him. Perhaps you couldn’t hear the sound of his feet, but there’s a way the wind shifts your hair, your heart slowing in ease at his presence, and the scent of him reminiscent of skin kissed with the peel of an orange. The skin you used to kiss and greet and know like your own.

The shadow fades just as your hand reaches out towards it, leaving like he always does. Always out of reach.

Even as the Princess Andromeda continues to set sail upon the calm waters of the Atlantic Coast, you look out to the unending horizon and still feel like you’re drowning.

—

“Status report, soldier?”

Chris rolls his eyes, popping the last piece of apple into his mouth as he strolls into the command deck. The both of you had a flair for the dramatic—it serves as his reminder of why you two worked so well. Luke is sitting in his captain’s seat, watching the waves crash against the hull as the sun begins to set on the skyline.

“She’s angry. Anyone would be if they were locked up like that.”

“Well, yeah, but tell me something I don’t know. Something useful, Rodriguez,” Luke says, flicking his pocket knife closed. It’s still sticky with the juice of the fruit, catching onto his finger. He hisses, but then the sound of loud footsteps boom down the corridor, along with the sound of maniacal laughter as the door slams open. The two sons of Hermes look at each other curiously, knowing it all too well.

“You know, the next time you send a 9-year-old to stand guard, remember to not make it the one we used to throw into the lake,” you drawl, sauntering into the bridge and looking around until your eyes land on your ex, “and also remember that you taught me how to pick locks.”

Ethan Nakamura heaves behind you, hands on his knees before he stands to attention and salutes his captain.

“Sir, I was just following orders… and I’m not 9 anymore!” he snaps, glaring at you. Laughing at the absurdity of the situation makes it easier to get through. You thought being surrounded by the undead on the CSS Birmingham was scary enough, but standing in a room with ghosts from your past was somehow worse. Honestly, you learned a lot more by being in that room than if you were to jump ship like you wanted to.

“I taught you how to tie your shoes, Ethan. You’re always gonna be a little kid to me,” you scoff, brushing him aside and walking towards Luke, “your new digs are fancy, by the way. I could tell by all the teenage soldiers chasing me through the tourists.”

He stands up and meets you head to head, as the both of you inspect each other closely. 

It’s been a long year without you.

You look thinner. You’ve lost the softness in your cheeks and your eyes are tired. He wonders what you chose to major in, who your roommates are, if you still think of him with a smile on your face. You’re still beautiful.

“You know me, I like to travel in style,” Luke says offhandedly, a half smile on his face. For someone leading a war against the gods, he’s calm in your presence.

“Back when I knew you, we traveled in a tin can that we also called a car.”

His clothes are nicer than anything you’ve ever seen him in. He looks really fucking good, for someone on the run. It’s almost frustrating to see how brawny he’s gotten, muscles rippling as he crosses his arms. You suppose he has nothing to do now but practice and spar (that or he’s definitely flexing for you). Pulling at the drawstring of the joggers you wear, you realize his initials are embroidered on the pocket. Pretentious fuck. Did he change you once you got on board?

Chris and Ethan suddenly get the feeling that they’re interrupting something—a reunion in a blockbuster romantic movie they’ve seen the mortals play out on the ship deck’s projector on Friday nights. The two of you stand there arguing like a married couple despite the fact you are no longer lovers and the bickering continues even when more of Kronos’ army files in. You laugh again at the sight of children walking in—some strangers, others you’ve sung to sleep in cabin 11, all still children, even back from the time before when laughter didn’t have to have a reason, light and airy in the summer sun.

“You’re sick, you know that? Did you just plan to let me rot in that room until it was all over? You didn’t even talk to m—”

“Classic, you’re more mad that I didn’t talk to you over the fact that you’re a prisoner,” he seethes, but you don’t stand down—not now or ever.

“Prisoner? I walked out and none of your Boy Scouts could do anything about it!”

His face is turning red now, jaw tightening at the angst but deep down he misses this—the banter, the thin line between hate and love you both tread on. You may be a damsel. But you were not in distress.

To further prove your point, you swing an arm toward one of the boys in black (their uniforms were annoyingly corny), and they all take a step back toward the wall. Your eyebrows furrow, “What type of prison has guards terrified of the prisoner?”

He shrugs, “It was only time before you came and found me. I even gave you a bay window.”

That was not the right thing to say.

“I’ll fucking kill yo—”

“Sir? So do we try and detain her, or….” one of the demigods you don’t know interjects, and Chris Rodriguez sucks at his teeth before he responds. 

“Alright. We’ve seen enough of the show. Everyone file out and let Castellan reunite with his girlfriend.”

“GIRLFRIEND?”

“Girlfriend…”

The both of you look at each other, one in anger, the other in sheepishness now that you’re alone. It's even funnier that neither of you deny it.

“You left me there in that room, and by the sight of things around here you prefer being in the company of monsters than being with me, so by the gods, what do you want, Castellan?”

You fall into the captain’s chair exasperatedly, watching him watch you.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he says simply. “You can stay here with me, or you can go.”

“A choice? You captured me to tell me I have a choice,” you spit, as if that was the stupidest thing he could say. “You didn’t give me a choice when you left me.”

“It was a matter of the circumstances. And I didn't capture you—are you mad that I betrayed everyone or not, because I can’t really read you right now, Trouble…”

Your eye twitches and your hands are in fists across your lap. Another wrong thing to say.

“Keeping me here until I get the nerve to talk to you is not a choice, asshole. Do you think you could just hide me away until the bad part’s over? To save me until everything's good enough for you?” Your eyes catch onto the droplets of blood that fall onto the hardwood flooring near your feet. His hand is bleeding, and like it’s nothing of the sort you reach out for it.

Luke thinks that if he lets you your hand will still perfectly fit in his, so after a moment, he pulls his hand away out of your reach. Pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket (also embroidered with his initials—note to self, never let a son of Hermes have money), you stand to wrap it around his hand to stop the bleeding. You pretend not to notice his heartbeat increase through the throbbing of the cloth.

“Don’t let my actions make you believe that what we had wasn’t good, Trouble.”

“Stop calling me that. Why are they all scared of me? Why won’t you let me touch you?” you whisper, putting pressure on his finger until the blood clots. It doesn’t even hurt, to tell you the truth. Not touching you when you’re right here in front of him is a pain he can’t find the words to describe. But what he’ll never understand is that he’s right. You two were good together. You’d have him through the bad too, if only he let you.

“Because you might think you can fix me.” Or worse, you might change his mind. You don't have to say you love him for him to know it. A part of him wishes he didn’t have to do all of this to prove to you he feels the same. 

“Would you have left with me?” he mutters. A wistful look cuts through your anger and he knows he’s finally said something right. His pocket knife is on the control board and your hands drop to your side again when you realize that he may have forgotten to tell his battalion of who you are to him, but he still remembers how you like your apples cut. The silence is loud, even with the twinge that comes with the pain in your eardrum as you sway a little on your feet. Your body still knows it can relax with him, knees buckling with a false sense of security despite your willpower.

“I would've made it so that there was no other option for you but to want to stay.”

A soldier bursts through the door and apologizes for the intrusion, but the both of you have found out all you need to know. The moment is over and Percy Jackson has been captured by the army in his efforts of trying to save the day. There’s a look shared between the two of you that wonders if this will become a trend.

—

Licking your lips as your… Luke guides you out onto the main deck with your hands behind your back, you can taste the salt in your air. It’s almost as evident as the surprise in your friends’ faces when they see you alive. This time, they don’t question your allegiance but in the chaos that ensues, for a moment, you do.

For a moment, you wonder what would change if you decided to stay with him. Would the sky fall under your feet? Would the gods kneel like Luke said they would? Looking at him in your periphery, you realize it’s not what the both of you want, even if it’s the easier way out—to be together despite it all.

The two of you against the world instead of the world against the both of you.

But he won't even touch you—he’s holding you over the sleeves of your shirt, too scared of what you’ve become in his absence. You suppose you’re scared of what he’s become too. 

The realization hits that you could defect from your friends, family, and home. You could undo everything that you and your friends have worked towards. But nothing he can say will change the fact that he didn’t choose you.

Luke was right, then.

You did have a choice, one that he still forces you to make as you nod at Percy to flip his last drachma into the open water, opening a direct line of communication to your father to catch the thief—of both lightning and the beat of your heart, in the act.

You realize that if the gods were the least bit grateful that you’ve kept their kids alive for the past half-decade, perhaps fate would be on your side and Luke would still be yours. But life has a funny way of working itself out when Luke admits to the open air of another crime to tack onto his list.

“Kronos was right. I should’ve killed you, Percy.”

The son of Poseidon goads Luke into another duel and you survey your surroundings for a way out. Annabeth burns holes into the side of your head and it gets you thinking, moving faster than you have in days as you walk towards her and Grover. At the raise of your hand, the demigods holding onto the pair drop to the deck, incapacitated with illusions of madness they will never comprehend. The more of them that surround you drop like flies as Luke’s eyes flicker between you and the boy he has at swordpoint.

You’ve gotten stronger in his absence—you never needed to touch him to use your powers after all. Just waiting for the right moment to strike, attacking when Luke finally let his guard down for you. He cracks his neck, knowing you’ve made your choice, so he makes his. 

“Get them.” 

The monster scrambles across the deck but it approaches you first, clawing at the wood and barely missing your feet as you scream for help, defenseless without a sword and you hear Luke yell your name in alarm before a punching glove-tipped arrow sends it hurtling overboard.

Your eyes lock with his again as you disembark with the Party Ponies, you with your crew as he corrals the mess you made of his. It has to be the salt air that makes your eyes seem a little misty.

Your fates have always been tied. 

You protect your home, and he does what he can to protect you. Luke looks over your form like he’s checking if you’re okay, even from a distance— and it makes you wonder if this is how it's supposed to be. Someone leaving, and the both of you apart. 

It’s weird to be the one leaving this time, but it isn't as easy as Luke makes it seem each time he does it.

You avert your eyes once you see him put his hand in his pocket, him finding what you snuck in on the way to the deck. Luke pulls out a leather bracelet with a black camp bead, the one he missed in the year he’s been gone. He rolls the bead between his fingers, the thing you last touched before leaving him, an emblem of his archnemesis and the summer that changed everything—the consequences of his actions ripping you away from him. When he slides it on his wrist, it lightly clinks against the hilt of his sword, the lone clay bead a force of its own against Backbiter's reverberating power. He feels nostalgia for what could have been crawling through him—though Luke supposes he’s always been too vulnerable when it comes to you.

Is this what you’ve been feeling every time he walks away? 

It starts to rain after you leave. Luke watches his crew take cover from the downpour, running in all different directions to hide away from the storm that ravages the Princess Andromeda. 

But he stands still, looking up at the sky and hating it for how openly it’s able to cry. Luke is far away from home again—from you and it makes him wonder how much longer he’ll have to be away from you when being with you is what he truly wants.

The mission continues and the ship keeps pushing forward even as the rain washes over him, soaking through his armor and straight to the bone. Raindrops pelt through every crevice, though this onslaught is much kinder, more gentle, even when it’s angry. He closes his eyes and lets it touch his skin. 

For a moment, it feels like you. 

—

A hand penetrates the tide searching for yours, gripping onto your unconscious one. He’s spent hours ripping holes through time to try to find you, an advantage given to him in a dream by the Titan. The agreement, what keeps him from not running back to you is that you live—and as Luke pulls you out of the ocean waterlogged and turning blue, he wonders if it’s all a farce. 

Losing you isn’t worth the wrath of the gods if you’re lifeless in his arms like this. 

He shouts your name, pumping your chest with his fists and breathing life back into your lips until you cough out saltwater, head lolling against his knee. Luke’s fingers stroke your hair, touching you for the first time in a year. As life slowly brings the color back into your cheeks he silently thanks Hestia for keeping your flame alight. His soldiers call out to him from the deck, and he steels his resolve as he rows the lifeboat back to the ship. Still, Luke has to uphold his side of the agreement. 

He wonders if you’d stay. Even if he knows the answer, Luke wonders if you would ever change it for him.

—

And they tell me you are evil and I answer: Yes, I know. –Patricia Smith

 ½ luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303  @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

[imagine-darksiders]

On the Ropes

Chapter 25 - Uninvited Guests

Montgomery Gator X F!Reader

WARNING:

-Noncon touching, inappropriate behaviour, abuse of authority, implied s/a, self-doubt, mild threat

Summary: Tempers flare, emotions are high and boundaries are tested. You worry, but Monty worries more. He just isn't as good as expressing it as you are.

Sorry this one took so long. A few months ago, my parents made me a partner in their company with a view to take over the whole damn thing when they retire, and I've had to learn how to run a business without a lick of experience in the field, so that's been taking up a lot of my life lately. I'm still finding time to write, but it is harder.

Still! I hope a nice, long, juicy chapter full of angst and fluff and hurt/comfort makes up for the hiatus. Love to the brim. X

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

As ideas go, Monty concludes that his latest might have been best left on the backburner, never to see the light of day. He hardly dares move, locked in place by his own mechanical parts as he stares down at you on the sofa, and you in turn, gawk up at him, your eyes still wet and shining with tears.

And for all his artificial intelligence, for all the state-of-the-art programming slapped into his circuitry, the most eloquent response he can conjure up in the face of his own blunder is a weak, faltering, “Uh…”

But what else could best encapsulate the jarring realisation that he’s been caught? He hadn’t really fathomed being caught at all, hadn’t even considered what he might do if he was caught.

Well, too little too late now, he supposes. There’s no way he can simply duck back through your open window and feign ignorance when you inevitably return to the Plex to confront him…

…. Could he…?

… No, no. Definitely not.

Closely observing your expression, the gator’s proverbial stomach sinks as your face begins to lose all aspects of shock and instead turns towards something more closely akin to anger, unpleasant in its familiarity, and Monty realises he’s running out of time to come up with a believable excuse to explain away his presence here, as if a 'good' excuse even exists.

Brows scrunching together, your jaw creaks shut, teeth meeting with an audible ‘click,’ that pulls an involuntary flinch from the gator’s tail.

He can handle Mick being angry with him. He can handle Andy and that exec, the staff and guests and all of their cross words and scathing looks.

Yet for some reason that he dare not examine, the very notion of you pointing your wrath at him fills Monty with a dread so palpable, he’d swear the coolant in his hydraulics freezes solid. The irony of the revelation doesn’t escape him. Until now, he’s spent so long being angry at everyone around him without sparing much thought as to how it must feel to be on the receiving end.

Beyond the threatening wave of apprehension cresting over him, he can still hear the sizzle of water against a hot stove-top somewhere nearby – the very culprit that had landed you on the floor, and him here in the first place - and in his eagerness to set things right again, Monty latches onto the one task he’s at least semi-certain he can’t mess up.

He doesn’t break eye-contact with you, not until he’s edged his way into the little kitchenette and finally tears his gaze from yours to spin around to the stove, knocking his tail against the fridge with a jarring clang of metal. He winces at the force, hoping he hasn’t dented it.

Grimacing at the knobs and dials sitting innocently on the cooker, he elects not to tackle them, instead reaching out to engulf the saucepan’s entire handle in a single fist where he simply lifts the whole contraption off the stove.

At once, the water boiling within its metal confines eases to a manageable simmer.

“Monty…” When his name leaves your lips this time, it’s deeper, colder, with the barest tremble flecked into your voice. “You… you can’t be here…”

The gator has enough sense not to bark out a nervous laugh at the century’s greatest understatement.

Clenching his fingers around the handle, he carefully plops the saucepan down near the back of the stove, away from the burning, red ring of heat. Excess water still dribbles in tiny rivulets down the side of the counter, but he turns his processor away from the mess by physically twisting himself around in the cramped space until he’s facing you once more, clutching his hands up to his yellow chest plate.

“You can’t be here,” you reiterate thinly, your eyes blown wide and pupils small and dark like pinprick holes, locked in his direction.

Then, with the suddenness of a bullet firing from a gun, you explode into motion.

Lurching over at the waist, you swipe your discarded crutch from the floor and begin shoving yourself gracelessly from the sofa with such fervour, Monty is momentarily struck by the ludicrous idea that you might be on your way to attack him.

“Of all the-! the stupid-!” you sputter, slamming the crutch’s rubber foot into your carpet and heaving yourself upright, wobbling across the room on an unsteady leg, “Dangerous! Irresponsible-!”

You continue hurling out adjectives and lumbering forwards, and Monty – suddenly alarmed that you’re about to topple face-first into the carpet again – kicks himself into gear. His pistons carry him across the room in a few, loping strides where he meets you at the edge of the kitchen linoleum, mindlessly throwing both of his enormous palms around your waist to steady you.

Almost at once, you latch onto him roughly, your fingertips squeaking against plastic as they attempt to gather purchase around a too-thick wrist.

“Monty!” The acrid taste of panic steadily trickles down the back of your throat. “Monty, this isn’t funny! I’m not kidding! This isn’t funny, you cannot be here!”

But Monty isn’t laughing. And although you sound borderline hysterical, there isn’t a trace of humour in your expression either. Maybe you hope it's a practical joke, or that you're seeing things. Anything except for the gargantuan reality peering down at you from behind star-shaped sunglasses. 

“I know,” is all the gator can muster up as a reply. Because he does know. He can’t be here.

And yet, he is.

“Then what-” you snap, “-the fuck are you doing here!?” It’s the first time you’ve really raised your voice at him, and there’s a sharpness to it that tucks the animatronic’s snout down towards his chest, rendered contrite in the face of your reprimand. Something deep in his subroutine starts to hum, discontented. Perhaps it’s the fact that the shoe is on the other foot now, and this time, he’s the one on the receiving end of someone else’s anger.

Another tear spills over to clump your eyelashes together.

Whirring loudly behind his glasses, Monty’s optics track its path over the swell of your cheek, and again, he creaks his jaw open, hoping something more substantial than his previous answer will miraculously come to him. As it is, he merely utters a soft, “I… don’t know.”

Evidently however, that had been the wrong thing to say.

For several seconds, your mouth flaps open and closed in disbelief before your face screws up into a tight ball of incredulousness and you manage to shrilly proclaim, “What do you mean you don’t know!?”

You snatch your hand away from his wrist to rake trembling fingers through your hair, digging into your scalp with the tips of blunted nails. “Oh god, oh god… This is bad, this is bad! You’re…”

Trailing off, you lean away from the animatronic, shoving a palm against his solid chest and giving your head a harsh shake, as if you might somehow throw the whole situation from your mind. Even as you pull away, his hands retain their firm point of contact on your sides.

After a beat of silence, you go still once more, blinking up at the gator and confirming that, no, you aren’t imagining the hulking, green goliath towering over you, looking far too large to occupy the space between your ceiling and floor. “Monty, for god’s sake,” you say through gritted teeth, “You’re in my flat!”

“I.. I know this looks bad-” he tries, removing a hand from your waist, palm tipped towards you in a placating gesture, “But, it’s okay-“

“- In what universe is this okay!?” you fret, batting at the massive paw that stretches towards you, “Monty! You’re outside the Plex! If you’re caught, they’ll-! Christ! You could be decommissioned! Is that what you want?!”

“I wanted to make sure you got home,” he emphasises.

“You can’t do that though!” you almost wail at him, shaking your fists beseechingly as if to beg him to comprehend your desperation, “You understand why you can’t do that, right?!”

“I was just-!” There’s a sudden buzz of static as he cuts off his own voice box, rendering the end of his sentence effectively unspoken.

But he ought to have known you aren’t about to let him get away with silence, not when you’re so clearly distraught and prying for answers.

“What, Monty?!” you exclaim, pinning him with your glare like a butterfly to a corkboard, “You were just what?!”

The gator’s jaw works mechanically, grinding the gears on their pivots as he clenches and unclenches it. He’s unwilling to give up the vulnerable words that have lodged themselves in his voice box, words that seem far too soft coming from the mouth of an animatronic with an unmalleable frame.

The only sound to break the silence is the steady ‘drip,’ ‘drip,’ ‘drip,’ of your leaky faucet.

“Montgomery,” you snap when his silence starts to overstay its welcome.

And the gator, despite his best efforts, flinches.

Plastic eyebrows slot together with an audible ‘clack’ as Monty lowers his optics to the carpet at your feet…

You’ve fallen back on his show title.

It’s a… rather decisive step away from the nickname he asked you to call him. The chasm that stood between you and the gator was wide when you set foot his green room not so long ago, yet in spite of first impressions, that gap has slowly been closing up over the last few days.

But now? Calling him ‘Montgomery,’ and in so terse a tone feels too much like the rift has just inched a few notches wider again.

Perhaps it’s that solemn, borderline desperate urge to regain what precious ground he’s lost that drives him to finally lift his gaze from the carpet and aim it somewhere near your glistening eyes instead.

“Just… tryin’a do what you did for me…” he utters.

Your face immediately untwists, brows launching up your forehead as everything about you opens up in clear surprise.

Whatever excuse you’d been imagining, he hadn’t provided it.

“What?” The question squeezes out of your throat, rasping and tight.

Hiking up the volume in his voice box, Monty retorts, “You came to make sure I was okay at the Plex. I-I’m just… doin’ the same thing!”

Sputtering around half-formed words for a several seconds, you finally manage to exclaim, “There is an astronomical difference between a human going to their place of work, and an animatronic up and leaving the place they were built, Montgomery, you can’t even try to pretend there isn’t!”

You’re well aware that comparing your autonomy to his own is a little below the belt, but the truth, whilst certainly ugly, is still the truth.

“Andy can tear me a new one for not going home after surgery,” you continue frantically, “But that’s nothing compared to what Faz Co. will do to you if they find out you’ve gone awol! And that’s not even the half of it! I mean - What if you run out of charge!? Or – or!”

As you steadily approach the line between distraught and thoroughly panicked, your voice begins to rise, cracking at the apex of your sentence, hypotheticals darting relentlessly through your head.

“What if someone saw you!? How did you even get here! Oh, fuck, Management’ll scrap you for spare parts, or - Damnit, Monty!” you blurt, ducking your head to try and meet his downcast optics, “Are you evening listening to me!?”

He is listening, as a matter of fact, quite intently. Though his visual feed may not be focused on you, the gator is hanging on your every word. But it isn’t the realisation he could be decommissioned that’s caught his attention. He already knows that the outcomes you’ve just listed are very real possibilities, should his little escapade ever be discovered.

No, instead, it’s the clear and undeniable fear laid thickly in your voice that grinds his processor to a halt. It sits on your tongue like a glaze, shining brightly for him to pick up on, and wonder how he missed it in the first place.

This isn’t anger.

This is something else dressed up to look like anger, and the tragedy is, it’s a disguise he knows all-too well, so well, in fact, that he should have recognised you’d donned it the moment you opened your mouth to speak.

You’re afraid.

If animatronics were built to house spirits, Monty’s would be tentatively lifting their heads. However, the revelation that perhaps he hasn’t driven off his best and only friend is cut woefully short when all of a sudden, his audio receptors give a ping, alerting him to new input approaching from a nearby source.

Without warning, the gator’s head snaps towards the door of your flat, mechanical clicks filling the unexpected silence as his optics adjust to the change in distance.

Footsteps… heavy and unhurried, slowing as they draw nearer to your door…

“Monty?” you hiss, distractedly following the line drawn by his glare, “Don’t try and-“

‘Knock.’

‘Knock.’

‘Knock.’

Three deliberate raps on your front door cause any further arguments to shrivel up and die at the back of your throat. You stop breathing altogether, and every noise suddenly seems too loud in the ensuing silence.

‘Who the Hell-?’ you wonder, dumbfounded, ‘-It’s the middle of the night!?’

No sooner has the thought occurred to you than a finger of ice-cold dread drags a chilly path up the notches on your spine, right to the fine hairs prickling at the nape of your neck.

Like a jackhammer, your heart rams itself up against your sternum over and over again.

‘He couldn’t have… Shit. Could he? But... How?’

“Y/n?”

You’re too slow to clamp your mouth shut around a gasp when you hear the voice, muffled but undeniably masculine, calling out from the other side of the door. Monty’s silicone lips ripple apart, though he at least has the forethought not to push an audible growl through his speakers.

The voice, however, doesn’t sound as though it belongs to the… the person you thought it might have belonged to.

You can’t place it straight away. You’re only sure that you know it from somewhere, but with several centimetres of wood standing between you and it, details are distorted and difficult to pinpoint.

Another knock startles you again, even more-so when it’s followed by, “Are you in there?”

A pregnant pause stretches until your teeth start to ache from keeping them pressed together so firmly.

And then, the words you thought you’d never have to hear again filter through the cracks beneath the door. “I thought I heard shouting.”

There’s an instinct that rises from buried depths at the utterance, instincts you thought you’d put to bed long ago.

It's as though someone has lit a fire under your feet. Mechanically, you twist around towards the sofa, your eyes locking onto the remote controls sitting on its arm rest. Limping up to them with stilted, frenetic movements, you snatch them up and aim them at the television, jamming your thumb into the ‘on’ button with far more force than necessary. Plastic creaks beneath your fingertips.

Seconds later, the screen flickers to life, landing on a film you don’t bother to try and recognise. Hiking up the volume until the tinny sound kicks out of the speakers and fills your meagre living space, you toss the remote back onto the sofa cushions and make your way arduously to the door.

Yet another knock indicates that your late-night visitor is persistent, you’ll give him that.

Several steps from the entrance, your progress is stopped by a sudden wall of green stepping in front of you, blocking your path forward.

“Move,” you rasp through gritted teeth, too quiet to be heard over the television as you smack at the gator’s tail that’s trying to curl around your thighs.

Monty’s head swivels around to frown at you. The purple casings surrounding his optics slide half-closed to give you the impression of a beseeching look.

You wonder if he knows who’s at the door.

“Hello? Y/n?” the stranger calls again.

“I - just a second,” you blurt out, ignoring Monty’s grimace as you bully your way past him, using your crutch to keep him from stepping around you lest he risk tripping you over, “Sorry, I’m... still getting the hang of these crutches.”

You have half a mind to demand to know who the Hell would have the unmitigated audacity to come around and knock on your door at this time of night.

Behind you, Monty’s claws try to hook into the back of your shirt, but the fear of accidentally tearing anything you own keeps him from holding on with any real purpose. As such, it’s only too easy to slip out of his grasp and press your eye up to the peep hole, the blood in your ears rushing to a watery crescendo.

A distorted yet familiar face peers back at you through the glass, sweat glistening off a ruddy forehead that shines under the overhead lights.

“Mick!?” you burst out.

What in the name of God...

Whirling around to face Monty, you throw an arm out, gesturing wildly towards your bedroom door.

The gator’s jaws are clenched tightly enough that you suspect if you were to toss a lump of coal between his teeth, he’d spit out a diamond, and while his tail twitches back and forth in clear agitation, he doesn’t otherwise move.

“Ah, you are there,” your not-so-mysterious visitor exclaims, “Mind opening the door?”

Yes, you mind! You mind very much! What is he doing here!?

Unless…

Your head turns slowly over a shoulder to gape unblinkingly at the animatronic looming close behind you. Your eyes find his, your stomach clenches…

“Hello?”

“Uh, just… hang on a second!” you stall, fumbling and fiddling with the metal latch, pretending to fight with it whilst you cast another, desperate look back at the gator. “Damn lock is always getting stuck.”

The moment his optics catch your eye again, you mouth, ‘Please’, jerking your chin at your bedroom door, ‘Please. Hide.’

Ever so slowly, Monty blinks, taking in the harsh lines that cut crevices down the centre of your forehead, right between your furrowed brows. And just like that, the corners of his snarl start to fall, and the apertures of his pupils expand to hide blazing, crimson LEDs.

A thousand calculations run through his processor at once, all of them pertaining to the risk of leaving you to face Mick by yourself. His programming shrieks in defiance as he takes a reluctant step backwards, being light as he can on cumbersome actuators.

He should stay… Neither of you know why Mick is here, though he can hazard several guesses.

You’re afraid, you’re vulnerable… You need him.

But probability reminds him that perhaps the situation isn’t so dire. He's sure he hadn’t been spotted on his way here, and if he was, why would Faz Co. send Mick – of all humans - out for retrieval?

What if the man's being here is merely down to chance?

If that's the case, then should he catch you with one of the Glamrocks in your home, the repercussions will be far worse than whatever Monty fears could happen by leaving you to deal with the situation alone…

So, driven back by the urgent glimmer of tears shining over your sclera, Montgomery Gator begrudgingly makes a decision that goes against his very programming. He retreats from the room, slinking backwards as silently as a two-tonne bot can through the door and into what he can only assume must be your personal recharging station.

All the while, you watch him over the threshold, waiting until the gator’s hefty bulk disappears into the darkness of the room beyond. Even still, you wait for him to push your door shut with an undetectable 'thud' before you finally wrench the lock on your own door free and tug the whole thing open, remembering to plaster a tentative smile on your face just in the nick of time.

“Mr Matthews,” you grind out sweetly, praying that the television in the background covers your stumbling addition of, “What a… a nice surprise!”

The man on the other side of the door straightens his posture at once. It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s keeping one arm behind his back as he too slaps a grin on his face, though you imagine his is slightly more authentic than your own.

“Y/n, my dear,” he returns, revealing his hidden appendage and, to your surprise – and confusion - producing a fistful of limp, strikingly dark dahlias, the kind you might pull off the bargain shelf at your nearby petrol station.

 “I wasn’t sure you’d be awake,” Mick continues, edging towards you until the toe of his winter boot pokes over the threshold, “But I was in the area and thought I’d stop by to see how you were doing.”

With the flowers practically shoved under your nose, you try to surreptitiously lean backwards, putting your weight on the crutch as you reply, “O-oh, that’s, ah, very kind of you…”

Can he hear your pulse thundering? Oh god, can he see the dilation of your pupils? Does he know who you have hidden in your bedroom? He must… He has to. Why else would he be here?

Almost running on autopilot now, you continue, “You didn’t need to come all this way though. Um…” Trailing off to bite at the inside of your cheek, you hedge, “I didn’t realise you knew where to find me.”

To anyone with even a modicum of self-awareness, the statement is poised as a direct question, in expectation of an answer. ‘How did you know where I live?’ is being broadcast from every facet of your voice and expression.

But Mick, clueless or perhaps deliberately obtuse, merely lowers the flowers an inch and replies, “Oh, you’ve mentioned it to me a few times now.”

… Have you? It’s… entirely possible, you suppose. After all, you talk about a lot of things at work, and subsequently, you forget about a lot of things too. But who would remember all the small talk you make with co-workers, or the unimportant comments you toss out while you’re responding to ‘check-ups’ from management?

Your home address however… It took you a long time to even tell Andy where it was, in case of emergencies… You can’t imagine it’s something you let slip without noticing.

But… Mick is here…

So how else?

Shoving down the frustration at yourself for being careless, you clear your throat and nod at the flowers. “And, can I presume those are for…“

Mick jumps, staring down at the dahlias clutched in his fist as if he’s only just remembered they’re there. “Oh, yes of course they’re for you!” he proclaims, “Of course, of course. Only courteous to give flowers to people in need of healing, no?”

You blink at him mutely, pretending not to notice the excess oil he’s slicked into his hair tonight.

Is that why he’s here? To bring you flowers? Is that all?

Part of you wants to slump with relief. Another part however, older, wiser and sadder, remains cautious.

“Well, again, that’s really kind of you,” you tell him, reaching out to take the flowers from his hand. The stems seem to breathe elated sighs as he relinquishes his iron-clad grip. “I’ll have to find a vase for these…”

You’re not sure you even own a vase…

“Naturally,” he replies, peering over your shoulder to quirk a brow at the television blaring behind you, “Ah. Movie night?”

“Hmm?” Following his gaze, you rush out, “Oh yeah, I figured… since I’m off tomorrow and the foreseeable future, a little late night wouldn’t kill me…”

Would it be rude to ask your senior why he’s bringing you flowers at this time of night? Maybe you can tell him you were just about to turn off the TV and go to bed?

As you deliberate how best to tell the man on your doorstep to make himself scarce, he surprises you by abruptly asking, “May I come in?”

‘No!’ your own voice screams at you from inside your head, ‘Just say no!’

“I’m not sure that’s-“ you begin tactfully, but Mick is already bustling forwards, crowding you until you take a slight step to one side. After that, well… You’ve given him an inch, he’ll take a mile, as it were.

Once he has a literal foot in the door, Mick sweeps past you, moving breezily into your living area and roving his gaze all over the room, hands planted on his hips. “Goodness,” he remarks, cocking his head at your bare walls and sparse décor, “You don’t get much on a cleaner’s salary, do you? You haven’t put that… ahem, bonus to good use yet?”

You want to bristle like a cat that’s been kicked.

Mick’s jab is unmistakable, but his awareness of his own civility is not.

Swallowing back a retort, you simply murmur, “Hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I’ll go and put these in some water.” Truthfully, you’re still reeling from the fact he’d just invited himself inside.

Hobbling towards the sink, you delicately lay the flowers in the washing-up bowl and turn on the tap. An angry ring of red light catches the edge of your vision, and you glance over at the stove-top, clicking your tongue as you reach over and turn the cooker’s dial to the ‘off’ position.

Teeth find the inside of your cheek and bite down on the fleshy wall, worrying at it while you wait for the bowl to cover half of the flowers’ stems.

‘Monty knows better than to give himself away,’ you assure yourself, trying to pretend you can’t feel those eyes prickling at the back of your neck, ‘And it’s getting late. Mick’ll want to get home soon. This isn’t anything other than a concerned manager delivering well-wishes to a member of the staff.’

‘There’s a guest in the house,’ a voice that isn’t entirely your own pops up, unbidden, ‘Offer him a drink.’

“Can I get you anything?” you blurt out, turning off the dripping tap and swivelling about to face Mick, “Coffee? Tea?”

The man throws you a look, barking out a laugh. “My word, someone’s got you well-trained,” he chortles.

The moisture dries up in your mouth. He likely assumes he’s referring to your upbringing, or maybe your schooling, but his statement hits far too close to home and sends phantom prangs of alarm through your brain, fizzing like electricity.

But just as your head starts to feel light…

“No, nothing for me,” he sighs, entirely oblivious to the cracks forming in your outer veneer as he nods pointedly at your television, “Although, uh, TV’s a little loud, no?”

“O-oh, yes,” you give a start, wobbling past him, “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.” That one was a little barbed, but you think it’s more than justified, given the circumstances.

Making your way to the sofa again, you reach for the controls, intent on swiping them off the cushions, but you freeze in your tracks when your eyes land on the overturned coffee table to your left. The coffee table Monty had knocked aside in his haste to get at you after you collapsed…

Behind you, Mick of course, has already seen it.

“Doing some redecorating?” he comments.

Thinking on your feet, you resume your task of picking up the remote and turning the television off, plunging the room into an uncomfortable silence once more. “No, just… had to move it earlier to do some exercises the physician recommended.”

Mick ‘ah’s’ in apparent understanding whilst you elect to deliberately leave the table where it is, tipped on its side.

“You wouldn’t believe how much space it takes just to do some stretches,” you add, “I haven’t gotten around to moving it back.”

You make a concerted effort to keep your eyes from drifting towards your bedroom door, painfully conscious that the gator must be standing just on the other side, head pressed to the wood to follow the flow of conversation.

“Mm, I can imagine,” Mick grunts noncommittally, and as you return your attention to him, you’re just in time to see him helping himself to a seat on your sofa, breathing out a long, languid sigh as he glances up at you, ruddy cheeks pushing out in a smile. “Come, sit!” he insists abruptly, as if it isn’t your sofa that he’s inviting you to. “Rest that leg of yours, you must be tired.”

If only he knew how terribly his suggestion puts your back up and sends your pulse skyrocketing.

All of a sudden, from the direction of your bedroom door, there comes a soft, nearly inaudible scraping sound, not unlike claws dragging across wood.

To your horror, Mick’s head starts turning towards the noise, but quick as a flash, you draw his focus by stretching your jaws into a wide, obnoxious yawn and settling down on the opposite end of the sofa, leaving a respectable distance between you both.

Covering your mouth with a palm, you loudly proclaim, “Oh! Oh, excuse me. I suppose I have got one foot in bed already.”

You try for light-hearted, miss and land on uncomfortable instead. But if Mick gets the hint, he doesn’t outwardly acknowledge it, merely hums and pulls a handkerchief from the pocket of his shirt, daubing at a glistening temple.

As you perch awkwardly on the edge of the seat, you keep a firm grip on your crutch and make every conceivable effort to avoid casting any wayward glances at your bedroom door. If there’s even the slightest chance that Mick isn’t here because of Monty, then you aren’t keen on blowing your cover.

“So,” the man next to you starts conversationally, clapping his hands down on his knees, “You’re holding up all right, then?”

Shrugging a shoulder, you reply, “As well as I can be, all things considered.”

Mick purses his lips, head bobbing sympathetically. “Mm, I’m sure that’s the case,” he admits, “Bad business, that attack in the tunnels. Very bad business…”

Bad business, or bad for business, you wonder.

And talk about an understatement. You have to sternly remind yourself not to scoff.

His mention of the ‘incident’ however does raise a certain flag at the back of your mind as it occurs to you for the first time that Faz Co. wouldn’t be above sending someone to make sure you’re sticking by the non-disclosure agreement. You wouldn’t put it past them…

Is that why Mick is here? Second guessing yourself for the umpteenth time, you take a deep breath and gently try to steer the conversation towards something of real substance. “I… signed the exec’s paperwork, by the way… So, you don’t need to worry. The matter’s done with, so far as I’m concerned.”

The fact that you now have enough money to start looking for a nicer place to live is certainly motive enough to keep idle gossip to yourself.

In response, Mick only tips his head back and barks out a laugh, “Of course you did,” he chuckles, shaking his head at you, beaming, “You’re a damn good woman. You work hard, you keep your head down. You do your job, and you do it well. You’re loyal…”

Trailing off, he twists himself about at the torso to face you, the smile sloughing off his face as he adds, “Loyal enough that you’d come to the Plex the day after you were carted away in an ambulance.”

With gradual unease, your fingertips curl into the sofa cushions.

Whatever expression you pull must be dire indeed because Mick immediately drops his serious façade and lets out a chortle, leaning across the sofa to give your knee a pat just a few inches from the top of the cast, apparently too amused to notice that you blanch.

“Now then, no need to look so spooked,” he tells you, “I’m not here to lecture you about what you should and shouldn’t be doing following a major incident. I just thought I’d mention that I saw you today-“

You can barely focus on his voice. He’s allowed his clammy palm to lay like a lead weight upon your knee. It’s still there. Why is it still there? The temptation to kick your leg out as if to shoo away a bothersome fly is awfully prevalent.

“I must say,” he carries on, oblivious to the way your gaze drills into the back of his hand, “I was impressed by your dedication to the company. I’d have come over to say ‘hello,’ but…”

Breaking off to torture you with a pregnant pause, the man’s jovial expression collapses, turning sour. “Well…” He clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “Then I saw you were with the gator.”

Right there on the sofa, your heart seizes up.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with that gator recently.”

‘He knows,’ you fret, flicking a frantic look at the door to your bedroom. The evidence is stacking up against you. Why turn up now, and why mention Monty at all?

Fingers trembling, you start the process of falling apart right next to him, debating whether or not to just get it over with and come clean when he suddenly furrows his brows at you and – at long last – draws back, retrieving his hand from your leg. “You need to watch yourself around that bot. You hear me?”

Relief and shock war for control for several seconds as you gape at him, only remembering to snap your jaw shut once you realise it’s been hanging awkwardly ajar for far too long. Swallowing thickly, you try to smooth down your bristling nerves and stammer out a clumsy, “I-I’m sorry?”

“I’m not the only one who’s noticed, you know,” Mick surges ahead as if you hadn’t spoken, “Most of the staff are starting to talk. A lot of the guests too. And now there’s that video going around…”

Your eyes are starting to ache with the effort of keeping them affixed to the manager, not your bedroom door.

“It’s no secret that it’s taken a real liking to you,” he grunts, “And the way I see it, that puts you at the most risk.”

Suddenly, you find it much easier to pay attention. Several, rapid blinks put Mick at the centre of your focus as you politely admit, “I’m sorry, I… I don’t follow.”

The look he gives you is decidedly pitying. Heaving a slow sigh through his nose, he roves his gaze up towards your ceiling as if he means to pluck the right words out of thin air. “Listen,” he begins patiently, like a teacher trying to explain something basic to their struggling student, “Bots don’t just… change like Monty has. I mean, what’s it been? Less than a week? And it’s gone from causing countless incidents of property damage and snapping at every staff member it sees to carrying one across the plex?”

He puffs out a derisive scoff and shakes his head, lips pursed. Then, leaning forward, he links his fingers together and props both elbows on top of his knees, glowering hard at the blank television screen. “I’m not buying it,” he utters darkly, “Sooner or later, its old ways will start kicking in again, and when they do, who’s the person directly in the firing line?”

Peeling one hand away from the other, he curls it into a fist, extends his forefinger, and aims it right between your eyes.

There’s something so inherently disconcerting about the action alone that you physically draw back from the man on the sofa, leaning away and eyeing his hand as though you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. But at the forefront of your mind – and a sudden source of great contention - is his implication that Monty is any kind of threat to you. Perhaps you wouldn’t be feeling a thrum of defensive indignation if the gator himself hadn’t been in the other room, no doubt able to hear every word Mick is saying about him. As it is, your chest starts to buzz with the desire to correct the man’s assumptions.

Peeling a dry tongue from the roof of your mouth, you slowly press out, “With all due respect, Sir-“

“-It’s Mick, doll. Just Mick.”

You try not to pull a face at his interruption. “Mick,” you start again, “With all due respect, I think that’s a bit unfair to Monty…”

At once, surprise opens his expression, smoothing the wrinkles between his brows as they go shooting up his forehead instead.

“Unfair?” he deadpans.

“I just mean that he’s been trying very hard to do things right lately, and we shouldn’t dismiss that just because he's had a few bad days, right?” Instances of breaking into your apartment notwithstanding. “Christ, Mick, he saved my life from that en-“

Mick’s beady eyes narrow at you.

Clearing your throat, you carefully amend, “… from that intruder.”

For several seconds, you watch on as the man’s face twists up once again into a frown, and he purses his lips at you, exhaling roughly through his nose. Leaning sideways across the sofa, he puts himself close to you and raises a finger into the air, wagging it at you in a manner that you really don’t care for.

“One example of the ‘correct’ behaviour doesn’t negate all the harm that bot has otherwise done,” he tells you firmly, “To the brand, to the plex…” Trailing off, his eyes gloss over as they drift to the back of his hand, staring at something you can’t see. After a moment, he quietly adds, “To me.”

Glancing sideways to find you fixing him with a strange look, he pushes out a cough. “A-And it certainly doesn’t prove that it’s safe. Never trust a dog that’s bitten once not to bite again.”

“Monty’s not a dog,” you point out, your brows set in a stern, unyielding line.

“No,” Mick agrees sharply, “It’s a two-tonne animatronic with a history of violence and a penchant for causing trouble wherever it goes.”

All at once, you bridle, clenching your fist around the crutch. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re in your own home that gives you a shot of courage straight through the chest. If Mick had confronted you with these accusations at work, you can’t deny you might have been a little more hesitant to retaliate. As it is, he came into your flat uninvited, he sat on your sofa and started bad-mouthing your friend…

 “Now hang on a moment, that’s just plain wrong,” you retort, “Monty hasn’t caused any trouble for me, and in fact, he’s gone out of his way to help me these past few days – quite a lot, actually.”

Somehow, Mick’s brows travel even further north towards his slicked-back hairline. He blinks, surprised, either because of your sudden and admittedly barbed defence of a bot you’ve only known for a few days, or because he hadn’t expected you to show him your backbone at all.

You quiver angrily on the opposite side of the sofa, heavy eyelids protesting the late hour whilst Mick blows a noisy breath through pursed lips, regarding you with newfound interest.

“Now then, there’s no need to get yourself all worked up,” he soothes cloyingly, “I didn’t come all this way to upset you.”

The willpower it requires not to bark ‘I am not upset!’ is tremendous, even more so to fake an apologetic smile and reply, “Of course you didn’t. Sorry, it’s just been a long day.” And getting longer with every second Mick sits there, behaving as though he’s done nothing untoward simply by being here.

“I’m sure it has,” he remarks.

And then… something happens. Something that sets the synapses in your brain firing off alarm bells left right and centre, paralysing you in your seat.

Without a word to announce his intentions, Mick shuffles himself along the sofa cushions towards you, closing the very deliberate gap you’d wedged between the pair of you minutes ago.

“If I’m being perfectly honest with you,” he begins in a low murmur, and you wish he wouldn’t be honest at all if that’s how he intends to speak, “I’m sorry I ever sent you into that damnable gator’s room in the first place. I mean, granted you’ve saved the company thousands in repairs since then… But… Ah, forgive me, perhaps this is unprofessional but…”

His already soft voice dies to absolute silence as he stretches his hand across the distance between you and sets it down on your leg once more, just above your knee - nowhere an uninvited hand ought to have any business treading.

You can’t tear your eyes off it. All the moisture in your throat has dried up, all the breath in your lungs stays trapped.

You’re not angry anymore.

“I simply wouldn’t forgive myself if that gator hurt you, you know,” his voice sounds muffled, half-drowned out under the blood rushing in your ears, “I’m only looking out for you.”

You’re scared.

He’s sitting close, too close, close enough that the smell of smoky cologne is suddenly clogging up your airways and sticking to the back of your throat when you inhale.

“Can you blame me for worrying though?” he asks, rubbing his hand up an inch as if he’s testing the waters. Sadly, your limits have been pushed before, further and further each time until the bad things just became mildly uncomfortable things, and the really dreadful things were simply better to ignore.

“You really are a very good worker. But that animatronic isn’t safe.”

Your breath catches in your gullet when you swallow, and even now, after all your experience and the hurdles you’ve cleared, you start to doubt yourself. Perhaps Mick really is just concerned. He certainly sounds it. You could be finding horror in something entirely benign. He’s a manager, he knows better.

He’s a molehill and you’re sitting here wondering if you should make him into a mountain.

Fingers twitch against your skin and you blanch, prying your jaws apart to… what? Scream? Tell him to get his hand off you? He hasn’t technically done anything wrong. You let him inside…

All of your senses come flooding back to you suddenly as a strange sound catches your ear; a latch clicking out of place, a handle turning inwards. Ears thrumming with adrenaline, you at last manage to rip at least part of your concentration off Mick and train your hearing towards your room instead.

Luckily for you and the idiot gator trying to stealthily open your bedroom door for some, inane reason, Mick seems far too preoccupied with catching your eye to even register the noise.

He’s looking for a reaction.

The appealing idea that this might just be one big misunderstanding starts to wash away bit by bit.

You cast your mind about, mentally searching the room for something – anything to derail the direction of his goal. When that fails, you reluctantly allow your gaze to wander from your television to the front door, over to the kitchen and then down to the flowers poking over the lip of the sink…

Flowers…

A stray gear in your brain chugs to life, kicking out a single, blessed idea.

“Hah!” you wheeze out breathlessly, forcing a wobbly smile onto your reluctant mouth, “You’re starting to sound like Andy. He worries about me too.”

There. It’s only for an instant, but out of the corner of an eye, you see Mick’s expression falter. “Flowers?” he asks.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, “I’m surprised you didn’t arrive with him actually.” Feigning an expectant glance at your front door, you school curiosity onto your face and add, “You didn’t see him on your way up, did you?”

Mick’s hand starts to raise ever so slightly from your thigh, too slow for your liking, yet you grit your teeth and bear it for a while longer, like you always have.

“See him?” the man blinks, “I… no? Why would I have seen him?”

“Oh, it’s just, he texted me before you knocked on the door. Said he’d be here in another ten… fifteen minutes to drop off some stuff I left in my locker at work. I thought you might have come together.” Shrugging a shoulder as casually as you can, you quirk a brow at Mick and continue, “You really didn’t see him? Huh. I hope he’s okay. It’s not like him to be late.”

On the last word, the feeling of warm, sweaty skin pressed to your leg disappears.

Bingo.

“Well,” Mick announces brusquely, plastering a cheery grin on his face as he leans back and slaps his palms onto his knees, pushing himself off your sofa, “If Flowers is on his way, I’d better let you two have your space. Wouldn’t want to crowd you, hmm?”

Though it damn-near kills you to do so, you tilt your head and ask, “Oh, are you sure? I think he wanted to have a word with you about something.”

Mick’s face turns several shades paler than usual as he stumbles over his response. “Ah, well, I’m sure it can wait until I see him at work tomorrow.” Slipping a finger between his grey tie and the collar of his shirt, he tugs the fabric looser, taking several, hurried steps in the direction of your front door. “I’m sorry to have stopped in unannounced.”

Your smile reveals just a few too many teeth. “It’s not a problem,” you lie, using the crutch to lever yourself onto your feet, “I suppose I’ll see you at work, then?”

Mick’s backwards peddling might have been funny if you were in any mood to laugh.

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes. I’ll see you then,” he titters, “You just stay off that leg in the meantime.” His hand grasps the door handle, sliding clumsily around it for a moment as his damp palms clamber for purchase.

You heart soars when he finally manages to pull it open, only to step halfway outside and hesitate in the threshold of your home. For several, awful seconds, you stare at the back of his head, wondering if he’s changed his mind, or worse, if he’s called your bluff.

Sparing you a look over his shoulder, Mick catches your eye. “Just… remember what I told you about the gator,” he tells you suddenly, “Preferably before you decide to visit the Plex again.”

And with that, he just… leaves, disappearing out into the hallway and pulling your door shut in his wake until the latch ‘clicks’ shut.

Mouth full of cotton wool, you listen intently for the thump of dress shoes hitting carpet to peter out as Mick beats a hasty retreat down the hall. Fainter and fainter, the sound fades, until at last, you hear the far-off 'ding' of the lift doors sliding open and shut, and with a shuddering inhale, you promptly crumple forwards against the door, gasping out a wet, pitiful noise whilst you scrabble at the lock with shuddering fingers.

It’s only when the metal latch slides into place with a definitive ‘shunk,’ that the door of your bedroom bursts open.

With all the speed and unimpeded ferocity of a stampeding bull, Monty comes surging from the darkness of your bedroom, his shoulder struts reared back like a pair of snakes ready to strike.

“What’d he do to you!?” he demands, crossing towards you in just a few strides.

You spare a thought for your downstairs neighbours before you remember they’ve been on holiday since last week. And a good thing too. Each step the gator takes sends tremors through the floor below your bare feet.

Monty’s sensors – by now so well-tuned to your vitals – had been going haywire behind the door, picking up on your thundering pulse and the steady uptick in your cortisol levels. He’d had to stand there, helpless but to listen as Mick spewed his rhetoric into your ear, and Monty hadn’t been able to defend himself or refute the man’s claims at all. But you-!

Wonderful, righteous, amicable you... You had! Monty's systems were thrumming, thoroughly cowed to hear you come to his defence, which made it only more difficult not to burst into the room and sweep you away from Mick when the man all but purred reassurances at you.

But worse, perhaps, was the gator’s inability to see what was happening on the other side of the door. Mick’s verbal blows against Monty’s behaviour couldn’t have been the catalyst for your climbing heartrate, though some small, selfish code in the animatronic hopes you felt at least a little indignation on his behalf.

No… Something else occurred here tonight. Something Monty wasn’t privy to, but wishes he was, if only to settle the ire broiling in his circuits.

You have your back to him, and your forehead pressed against the solid wood of your front door.

He has to see your face… He has to know. He has to read your expression and see for himself that there isn’t any fear there, just exasperation or even a fiery burst of anger. Anything… Just not fear. He would take all the fear in the world from any human he meets if he would only be spared from yours.

Wrestling back the hissing lines of code that poke and prod at his temper, Monty slows to a halt as he reaches you, his apertures twitching wide then narrow again whilst they flit up and down your body in search of damage.

“Hey,” he calls, sliding a single, clawed hand around your bicep, “You hear me? What’d he-?”

If he’d have just known… If he’d have hazarded a guess as to where your mind had gone in that moment, he might have thought twice about laying his hand on you.

“DON’T-!” you yelp shrilly, whirling around to face him and thrusting your wrist against his, knocking the limb aside as if to parry a weapon instead of his arm.

Startled, the gator wrenches his appendage back, holding it above his shoulder in a display of surrender as he blinks down at you dumbly, jaw falling ajar.

And then, he sees it.

You’re staring up at him, your face drawn back, haggard and half-mad with terror, your chest heaves with the effort of taking in breaths.

He doesn’t have to perform a scan to determine what he’s been dreading. Humans have looked at him like that ever since he was first brought online. Monty’s processor thumps, dredging up a memory of Mick - younger and bolder than the man he is now – reeling away from the gator, face as pale as Moon’s and his eyes so wide the entire iris was exposed. Monty remembers the odd sensation of something soft collapsing between his teeth.

The animatronic violently purges the memory from his internal storage, though he knows it’ll still linger there somewhere, buried behind layer upon layer of firewalls until his guard is lowered once more.

All at once, he recoils like he’s been hit by a wrecking ball, staggering backwards until his tail hits the wall behind him and he’s forced to stop. Unable to retreat any further, unable to offer you any more distance, he simply stares at you from his side of the room.

It’s over… This wonderful, safe harbour he’d found in you is finally finished… You believe what Mick had said about Monty being a danger to you.

He always knew this had to end, of course. Good things can’t thrive in the vicinity of a Faz Co. animatronic. He just… didn’t think the time would come so soon.

Even still, he can’t help but cling with raw, desperate hope to you, scrabbling to keep a hold of your good graces because he’s too stubborn or too foolish to let go.

“I-I wouldn’t -“ he starts, concealing his claws with his fists and tucking them against his chest, “- I’d never… I wouldn’t hurt you. Not you, not ever. You’re…”

His voice box sputters, cutting out for a moment as he searches his bank of vocabulary for what you are.

When it finally dawns on him, his processor almost grinds to a halt.

“You’re all I got,” he confesses slowly, surprising himself with the revelation, “I don’t got nobody else…I ain’t gonna hurt you, you know that.”

You have to know that.

Please know that.

Gradually, far too gradually for the gator’s highly strung code to endure, you lower your arm  too look at him, brows high on your forehead.

“Monty?” you utter quietly, sending a quick glance between the animatronic’s downcast snout and the hands he still keeps curled beneath his chest. In another blink, you realise what you’ve just insinuated through action alone.

“Oh, I… Monty – No, of course you wouldn’t. I’m so sorry, I… God.” Slouching back against the door, your head knocks against it as you drop a palm over your face. “This is such a mess.”

Lowering your palm to the door, you splay your fingers over the wood behind you, drawing in a steadying breath and trying to ground yourself to the solidity at your spine. Another breath, and you finally drop your eyes to the gator.

For the briefest moment, you consider telling him why you couldn’t bear to feel a hand on you right now.

Your mouth creaks open, the words sitting on the tip of your tongue.

But something along the vein of common sense tells you that it wouldn’t be fair to burden Monty with such knowledge.

‘Besides,’ you remind yourself, borrowing your mother’s words, ‘It’s all in the past, and least said, soonest mended.’

Morose yet resigned, you swallow back your admission.

“I’m sorry, Monty,” you offer instead, raising a hand to rub at your drooping eyelids, “I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Unconvinced, the gator curls his tail inward, eyeing your arm - the one he’d grabbed.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The question seems to creep out of him, his volume levels set so low that you have to strain your ears to hear it.

“No,” you reassure him, dropping your hand to give him a gentle, albeit tired smile, “No, you didn’t. You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” he readily agrees, lifting his snout a little.

For a few seconds, the pair of you simply regard each other from opposite sides of the room, until eventually – and reluctantly – you have to let your smile fade away, replacing it with a worn, heavyhearted frown.

“That was close though,” you whisper to yourself, letting your eyes slip shut, “Shit, that was too close.”

How on Earth Mick didn’t find out about Monty’s presence here, you’ll never know.

A mechanical whir followed by a thud lets you know the gator has just edged a step closer. “Yeah, no kiddin’…” There’s a pregnant pause, and then you jump slightly, snapping your eyes open as Monty raises his voice to an indignant bark, “And just what in the heck did he think he was doing, comin’ round here in the middle of the night anyway?”

The look you shoot the gator is withering enough to have him tilting his head sideways.

“What?” he asks, apparently oblivious.

You elect to gloss over his blatant hypocrisy in favour of jabbing a finger at him, though the action lacks the same hostility it might have ten minutes ago. “You know, it wouldn’t have been ‘too close’ if you hadn’t been here in the first place.”

Perhaps recognising the rising challenge in your tone, Monty’s stance shifts as he raises up on his struts, towering so high that his mohawk almost brushes the ceiling. He peers down the length of his snout at you, the line of his brows set and rigid, half shuttering his optics.

“I ain’t sorry,” he tells you, and it’s so matter of fact that you give a hard blink, your own eyebrows springing up towards your hairline.

You’re starting to feel a little like Andy. If this is how exasperated the poor mechanic feels when you do something stupid, then you owe him several, sincere apologies.

“I… I was, though,” Monty adds suddenly, lowering his nose as if the bluster was only ever meant to be short-lived, “Before Matthews turned up. But now, I…”

For a second, he falters, then bulldozes through his hesitation with a sharp grunt and a shake of his head, meeting your gaze resolutely. “Now, I’m glad I was here.”

His optics flicker brightly, though they dart between your face and the cast on your leg at frequent intervals as though he’s uncertain of himself yet determined not to back down from his conviction.

“I ain’t stupid,“ he insists, but there’s too much fervency behind it, like you’re not the only one he’s trying to convince, “Matthews was doin’ something to you. If you hadn’t’a got rid of him, I’d’ve…“

“…What, Monty,” you sigh when it becomes clear he’s hesitating to sort through his words again, “What would you have done, short of giving us both away?”

“I’d have stopped him,” he growls, puffing out his chest and jabbing it with the sharp claw of his thumb, “I’d’ve protected you.”

Rolling your eyes, you huff, “Oh, my hero. You’d get yourself scrapped, and me arrested for kidnapping an animatronic.”

It’s disconcerting to see a bot so large and intimidating positively wilt as though your point has just heaped a very real, very tangible weight upon his shoulders.

Letting a sigh slip through your nose, you catch a loose bit of skin between your teeth, worrying at it in the tangible silence that hovers between you and the gator.

You want to be angry with him for being here. You want to tell him how foolish and misguided his programming was to convince him that he should leave the Plex to seek you out. But if there was any strength left in you after the day’s events, it’s been well and truly sapped clean out of you. In fact, ‘sapped’ is too gentle a word for it. As memories try to pile up on top of one another, it takes more effort than you’d care to admit to beat them down again, leaving you with very little residual energy to conjure any resentment for an animatronic who followed you home because he wanted to make sure you got there safely.

This behaviour is so out of character for him.

And you? Well, you’re so out of your depth. Shit, you can never tell Sun and Moon about Monty’s escape. If the daycare attendants find out that they can leave the Plex as well, you’ll be in for a whole new world of trouble.

While you slump against the door, contemplating, Monty’s large head swings to the left, his optics studying the window. He’d wrenched it open so hard the frame had torn jagged splinters from the surrounding wood. The corner of his lips turn south as he lowers his optics to the table he’d overturned. That alone had almost been enough to rouse suspicion, but you’d explained it away expertly, from what he could hear, and Mick ended up none the wiser.

It comes as no real shock to the gator that if it weren’t for your quick thinking and well-oiled responses, he’d have given himself away ten times over. He’d have given you away…

Impulsive, Freddy might call him.

Stupid, would be Roxanne’s more cutting, though no less accurate decree.

It’s never been an easy thing for Montgomery Gator to admit that he might have been wrong. Even if his protocols thrum with a newfound urge to guard a member of Fazbear Co.’s faculty, his processor knows all too well that his coming here put you at the most risk.

The gator’s tail drops to the ground with a dull ‘thunk’ of plastic and metal on the carpet. “I just wanted to do somethin’ right for once,” he utters to the stillness, his truest desire finally spoken aloud.

He doesn’t look at you this time, but his audials pick up your gentle intake of breath and wonders what happened to the animatronic who would have bitten your head off several days ago just for looking at him the wrong way.

At least if that Monty did something wrong, it was usually deliberate. Somehow, as he’s quickly coming to learn, it’s so much worse trying to do something right, and getting it wrong anyway than doing something wrong in the first place.

Hurts more, he concedes.

The gator is too busy discovering the scope of his regret to notice you push yourself off the door, leaning hard onto your crutch as you squint up at him, cocking your head to one side like he’s a puzzle you’re still figuring out. Admittedly, you absolutely are. You’re not an engineer or a programmer. You can’t begin to fathom the depths that Monty’s learning algorithms can reach.

All you can see is an animatronic condemned by those who made him, trying to be better than he’s told he is. So, while you can’t condone his being here, for his own sake, you realise that he - much like yourself - has likely had more than enough of people telling him off.

Sucking down a long, thick breath, you release it all in as weary a sigh as you’ve ever expelled.

“You’re doing fine, Monty,” you say, and it’s kinder, warmer than you’ve sounded all evening, “You’re doing just fine. I mean, this was a little…” Pausing to gesture loosely at the overturned coffee table, you let out a soft laugh and continue, “Uh, overzealous. But your heart was definitely in the right place.”

‘Your heart.’

Slowly, hesitantly, Monty’s tail lifts from the ground, rising with the edges of his crocodilian smile. You might never know how much it means to him that you don’t point out how he doesn’t technically have a heart. And it means even more to hear that you know his intentions came from a good place.

“But,” you add, inhaling, like you’re bracing yourself, “I’m still not happy you’ve put yourself in such a precarious position just to check up on me.”

Monty’s metal framework groans as he slumps again.

“Ugh. Listen to me,” you chuckle, rubbing your temple, “I’m starting to sound like Andy.” Starting forwards, you begin limping for your room, stifling a wide, clumsy yawn behind the back of your hand. “Now, I have had, like, the longest day. And I’m going to bed before I keel over.”

“…But… what about your food?” he asks, sparing a glance over at the saucepan sitting idly on the countertop. The water inside has long gone cold.

Your footsteps pause as you draw alongside him, reaching out to lay a palm on your bedroom door. “I’m not hungry,” you murmur after a second. It’s not entirely a lie. For some reason, the meagre appetite you had for cheap noodles and tea has evaporated, leaving you hollow, yes, but not nearly as hollow as you were rendered by the touch of Mick’s hand on your leg.

Giving your door a shove, you push it open and reach around the corner, sliding your fingers along the interior wall until you find the light switch, flicking it on and illuminating the bedroom with a warm, yellow glow. Monty is frowning at you, you can feel his crimson optics boring into the side of your head, but you ignore him to say, “I suggest you go back to the Plex before you run out of charge.”

You must have mistaken the gator’s earlier acquiescence for a willingness to leave.

“I got plenty of charge,” he deflects.

As it is, Monty’s optics rove over the top of your head, widening significantly behind his glasses as they land upon the contents of the room that he’d been standing in just minutes ago. He hadn’t bothered to sate his curiosity then, far more apprehensive about what was happening on the outside of the space, but now, without oppressive darkness cloaking every corner and without a potential threat to contend with, his protocols take a backseat to his inquisitiveness.

He observes closely as you shuffle into the new territory, your territory, where you immediately make a beeline for the nest – bed, his CPU corrects – that’s set against the furthest wall.

Swinging his prodigious bulk around, the animatronic trails after you, ducking underneath the doorway and raising his snout to the air.

You don’t even have to look over a shoulder to know you’re being tailed. The heavy stomps are proof enough of the gator’s proximity. “Monty, come on,” you whine, “You’ve gotta go home.”

The gator only offers a gruff hum in response, otherwise distracted by the simple yet pivotal revelation that he, for the first time, is seeing your private, recharging chamber. Immediately, he’s struck by how much more lived-in this humble space is. Out there, in your kitchenette and the adjacent living room, everything seemed so much more bland. Less you.

In here, there are pieces of you scattered into each corner of the room, from the pile of unwashed clothes sitting in a nearby chair to the row of house plants lined up like soldiers along the breadth of your windowsill.

Curious, his optics roam towards a desk in the corner, upon which sits - to his immediate intrigue – a large, square tank filled almost to the brim with crystal-clear water, and lit from above by a cool, fluorescent light bulb. He knows what it is at once, though he’s never been privy to one in person before.

At his back, you reach the bed and promptly collapse onto your rear at the edge of the mattress, dropping your crutch to the floor and listening to it land with a sharp clatter of plastic.

“Ohhh,” you groan tiredly, leaning forwards to balance your elbows on your knees and drop your face into a palm, trying in vain to rub away the bags underneath your eyes with numbing fingertips.

Your whole body aches ferociously, all stemming from the sharp twinge of your ankle that lays protected behind a thick, white cast.

Six Weeks…

Day one has been hard enough. How are you supposed to make it to day forty-two? The question remains; is it uphill from here, or down?

Glancing over a shoulder, you restrain an impromptu smile before it can spread as you spot Monty creeping up to the fish tank on your desk, his head hunched low to peer through the glass at your little corydoras sifting eagerly through the substrate in search of hidden food.

“Hey, little guys,” the animatronic murmurs, his optics casting the water in a gentle, pinkish glow.

Fish are a novelty for him. He knows of them, of course, has seen images of them depicting many various shapes, sizes, and colours. He knows they can’t survive for long outside of water, and he knows they’re covered in scales.

But to see for himself how those scales flash under his scrutinous, crimson LEDs, to watch their barbels twitch as they playfully chase one another along the floor of the tank…

There’s a strange kinship there for the creatures who share the waterways with his real-life counterparts.

He likes them, he decides. He likes that you have them. It speaks to an apparent affinity for aquatically-inclined animals…

For several moments, you merely observe the gator from your bed, wondering why he’s stalling. At least, you assume he’s stalling.

“Monty,” you yawn, pretending not to notice how his purple shoulder struts jump in response to your voice, “What are you doing?”

The gator’s head twitches towards you briefly. “M’sayin’ hi to the fish,” he states simply.

Shooting him a deadpan glare, you retort, “You know what I mean. Why are you still here? You need to get back to the Plex before you’re missed.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna miss me,” he shrugs, “Sides, I’ve still got a couple’a hours of juice left in the tank. Don’t worry.”

“But I am worried, Monty,” you squeeze out - and oh, there’s that pinch of tenderness to soften the hard, brutal metal hidden under his casing – “If I wasn’t worried about getting caught, I’d haul you back to the Plex myself… How did you get here unseen anyway?”

“Came over the rooftops,” he replies proudly, cocking his head at a fish that approaches the glass, lured by the glow of his optics.

“The rooftops!?” you sputter, “How on Earth did you get up there!?”

Flashing a cheshire grin, the gator gives the casing on his thigh two hearty slaps. “Got the best pneumatic cylinders in the business. These things’ll carry me distances you wouldn’t believe. Sometimes I use ‘em to get from one side of the catwalks to the other. This is the first time I’ve seen what they can really do.”

Collapsing backwards on top of the covers, you splay your arms out on either side of you, letting a long, appreciative whistle pass your lips. “You jumped…. All the way here?” you realise aloud.

“Beats walkin’.”

“… And you’re going to jump all the way back?”

“Can’t exactly take a cab, can I?”

You don’t respond for a long while… So long that he turns himself all the way around and rises to his feet, half expecting to find you fast asleep on the bed.

Your eyes are closed, and you’ve gone very still. Your chest rises and falls with even, steady breaths, though your legs are still dangling over the side of the mattress, toes brushing against the carpet.

Monty frowns. A hum of machinery gives him away, not so silent as he paces around the bed towards you and lowers himself down onto one knee, reaching for your legs with the intention to lift them up to the bed so you can lay flat.

His first-aid protocols are nowhere near as advanced as Freddy’s, but he’s skimmed enough medical files in the last twelve hours to know that you should keep your damaged leg elevated.

With gradual movements, the animatronic’s fingers flex and stretch for your cast. However, his purple claws barely make it within a foot of your appendage when your body goes absolutely rigid, as though you’ve turned to stone right there on the mattress.

At once, Monty stops, glancing up to see one of your eyelids crack open and swivel over to peer at him, blinking slowly in the glow cast by his optics. “What’re you doing?” you ask guardedly. Something in your voice quivers. He catches it right away.

“I… just – I was gonna put your legs on the bed,” he explains.

The clock on your bedside table ticks quietly ever onwards, and it’s only when you remember to exhale that he considers your expression for another moment and finally ducks his head, asking, “… Can I touch you?”

Stuffing your teeth into your bottom lip, you clutch a fistful of the duvet beneath you and slowly shake your head from side to side. “Not… Not yet… I’m not…”

You falter, swallowing a painful lump that sticks in your throat like guilt. Monty didn’t do anything, after all.

But for an animatronic, his response comes far too softly.

“Okay,” he nods, pulling his hands away and returning them to his lap.

And that’s… all he does for a long time.

Sniffing, you lower your gaze, tugging yourself backwards using the duvet as leverage until you can haul your heavy cast over the side and stretch your legs out towards the foot of the bed, sighing in relief.

"Better put a pillow under there," Monty pipes up, jutting his chin towards the fluffy, white cushions spread out behind you.

Clicking your tongue, you stretch behind yourself and snag the first pillow your fingers grasp, hauling it over your head and tossing it haphazardly near your leg. After taking a moment to brace yourself, you lean back on your elbows and bite your tongue to keep down a cry as you lift the leg up and onto the pillow.

Through it all, Monty says nothing further. He does stare at you though…

You’ve noticed he’s being doing that a lot lately. What was it Mick said?

‘It’s no secret that it’s taken a real liking to you.’

You don’t want to think about Mick.

Finally, when the gator’s staring starts to grow a little too… intimate, you swallow thickly and peel your lips apart to mumble, “Monty, why don’t you want to go back to the Plex?”

He perks up at his name but loses his enthusiasm as he registers the question.

“I’ll go back soon,” he grumbles.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Monty’s vents hiss as he simulates a pensive sigh - like yours - and begins folding his legs up underneath himself, his plates sliding over each other as he settles himself down onto his rear, arms draping loosely over his knees. He knows.

“Six weeks…” he mutters, cautiously lowering his long chin until it brushes the duvet cover beside you. When you don’t protest or move away, he gives his head a little more rein to droop, and the framework in his neck no longer strains to keep it aloft.

Confusion lays its mark bare across your face. “What?”

Six weeks,” he repeats, “That’s how long you’re gonna be gone for. That’s a long time to…” Static clings to his voice-box, stifling his words. With a grimace, Monty thumps a fist twice over his chest until something clicks audibly into place. Then, forcing a laugh, he falteringly adds, “S’a… long time for a bot to go without having his room cleaned, yeah?”

“You could always let the S.T.A.F.F bots help you,” you point out.

“Nah, they wouldn’t do it right.”

A weary smirk toys with the edge of your mouth as you reply, “Well, have you considered – and this might be a bit outlandish, but bear with me here – have you considered just… cleaning it yourself?”

“Course I have,” he retorts, “But… c’mon, it’d be more fun with you, wouldn’t it?”

He should have known when your smirk recedes to leave him looking at a flat, sombre line that you weren’t fooled for a moment.

“Monty… Is the truth really that embarrassing?” you pose.

‘Yes…’ he huffs wordlessly to himself, ‘It is.’

 “It’s all gonna go back to the way it was before,” he mumbles into the duvet.

“What is?”

“Everythin’,” he suddenly exclaims, wrenching his head back up, “It’ll go back to how it was before you came along. You’ll be gone for six weeks! What if I start gettin’ angry again? What if I forget about what you taught me, ‘bout accidents n’ stuff?” That thought brings on another that’s even more dreadful, and he curls his hands underneath his chest, leaning into them against the side of the bed. “What if you forget about me?”

You blink at him, bewildered, studying the jarringly human behaviour he’s exhibiting, and wondering, not for the first time, if it says something about you that you see humanity in so much of what these animatronics do.

“Hey,” you offer, giving him a sympathetic smile when he slides his nose further along the duvet until it almost touches your arm. Almost. “You might be overthinking things, Monty. I’m pretty sure I could never forget you.” You laugh at that, causing him to blow a whuff of air against your forearm. “And besides,” you add, “Six weeks is… like, nothing, okay? It’ll go by faster than you think.”

Far from convinced, the gator only grumbles unintelligibly into the duvet and casts his optics to the other side of the room. The bed underneath you rumbles as the rich bass growls out of his speakers.

“Listen...” you sigh, flopping your head down onto the pillow to blink up at the ceiling overhead, “When I was younger, one of my best friends moved halfway across the world with her family.”

Immediately, the gator’s jaw clenches at the mention of your ‘best friend’ before he catches the action and berates himself for behaving like a toddler being asked to share their favourite toy.

“We haven’t seen each other for… Oh boy, ten years, maybe? I still call her sometimes… Probably not as often as I should... And you know what?”

“…What?”

You roll your head over to peer at the animatronic beside you, finding his focus has returned to your face.

Pulling your mouth into a sleepy smile, you let out a hum before murmuring, “Every time I ring, she’s always so pleased to hear from me. I bet if she were to walk through my door right now, it would be like no time had passed at all.”

Monty’s optic shutters click open and shut. “How come?” he prompts quietly.

“Well, do you think I love her any less now because I haven’t seen her for ten years?” you reply, “Friends can’t be together all the time, you know. Even if they might want to be. Life gets in the way. Families, jobs, fatigue, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still friends. So, you don’t need to worry about not seeing me for a few weeks, okay?”

You can’t help but find this conversation very reminiscent to a similar one you had to have with Sunny after he learned you were leaving for a week of summer vacation.

“I ain’t worried,” Monty lies through his teeth, “Just wonderin’ how you’re gonna have any fun without me around.”

“Fun was not the doctor’s recommended treatment,” you yawn, letting your eyes slip shut and keeping them closed, bogged down by a cumbersome weight that’s been heaped upon your shoulders. A myriad of hurried little thoughts swirl around inside your head, too numerous to pin any single one down. Mick’s arrival and subsequent behaviour, whether you’re trying to read too much into what might have been nothing more than a friendly gesture, Monty’s escape from the Plex and the sudden responsibility you have for an animatronic you’ve barely known a week…

You just need to sleep.

‘It’ll all make sense in the morning,’ you try to tell yourself…

You’d make a shit salesperson.

For some time, the quiet gurgling of your tank's filter provides a soothing backdrop to the silence cast between you and the animatronic.

“Can I stay here?” Monty’s question breaks through the fog of flitting thoughts, his volume barely a digit away from being entirely mute, “With you? Just for a lil’ while?”

Prying your eyelids apart to blink tiredly at the gator, you let your chest fill with a slow, heavy breath, blowing it all out again through your nose.

“… Just this once,” you whisper back.

The gator’s optics brighten, then flit towards the movement of your hand on the bed.

You’ve raised your forearm, inching the appendage closer to Monty’s snout. Fingers worn dry and abrasive from chemicals and labour touch down on top of the animatronic’s nose, followed by your palm, spreading a pleasant flood of warmth down through his teeth and onto his tongue.

In response, some of Monty’s systems backfire, kicking errors codes to his HUD that tell him he’s overheating, and should release excess coolant to the affected areas. He ignores the alerts. He ignores everything. Everything that isn’t your hand is left by the wayside, forgotten in favour of soaking up a touch that he knows would never cause hurt.

Letting his optics click shut, the gator draws his silicone lips up into a lax, lazy smile.

The muffled ‘thumps’ of a heavy tail fall and rise from the carpet over and over, and Monty’s frame seems to purr as he relaxes his massive head onto your mattress, contented and committed to this spot until his battery hits zero and his limbs rust from underuse.

He knows he has to leave, but for now, just pretending… It’s the happiest he’s been in…

It’s the happiest he’s been.

“Just this once.”

[bluginkgo]

Quick announcement (before the diarrhea of information):

I'm gonna go on a semi-hiatus for a week or so. I'll still be around, just not posting any drawings. Need to replenish my energy and drawing reserves cause I'm dead >_<

Sleep behind scenes!

So... Ginkgo why the hell did this take you so long? Sorry, sorry 😅 Here's what happened. I got burned out after like 10 pages (specifically the manor backgrounds killed me, plus having the full gang in the story) and then got sick and was not feeling all that great. Working through the burn out, sick, AND college work on top was quite hard not gonna lie though, but I wanted to finish it ^^

Alright, now as for little unnecessary Easter eggs, I added as nods to the show and my other interests. ^_^

1. Undertale save point. Undertale had me sucked in for a good long while, and for some odd reason decided to re-emerge in a form of the star save. Made it purple for Uzi's effect over N. She made him more rebellious, so he started to question why is it his memories and dreams are strange/corrupted/missing instead of just going with the flow.

2. Ep3 nod. V and N have history, history that I wish we get to see. V was nicer, kinder, in my opinion, prior to the absolute solver going rampage. So it makes sense for them to have some sort of friendship at the VERY least. So I decides to give it a small spin to it too. A direct quote from ep3 ^_^

3. Ep 2 + 5 nod. I kinda pulled the moment when James dismissed N from ep2 together with events that follow after N leaves library in ep5. Chronologically, these events don't fit together, seeing as ep2 is when N first meets Cyn and ep5 is when she's already set up the massacre. But this is exactly what I was going for. N's memories are jumbled at best, so I took liberty in mixing, matching, and editing his memories just as the admin program would probably.

4. Absolute Solver symbols nod. My chats with @absolute-solver (sorry for annoying you with tag 😅) made me realize that the absolute solver ought to have more presence now. It's activated and running systems in the background for Uzi. Whiiiiich means that drawing absolute solver should start now. BUT, it's rudimentary at best. Symbols don't really make sense and are not completed for most of the time. Not until Uzi at least sees the error message in ep2, when she truly starts questioning what that weird symbol on her visor is. I headcanon that N does know or at least feel that the absolute solver symbol is familiar, hence the little comment.

5. Absolute Solver Nori. Why is there so many absolute solver Nori around? I'm certain she went back to normal, just like in pictures Khan showed us in ep4 post core collapse. But I connected the solvers together here. Uzi's absolute solver string is up and running, and because the solver is a hivemind, it'd connect the memories and warp them a little. So that's why Uzi's doodle of her and Nori at the end (and during memory recall) was so full of absolute solver. It's slowly taking root, whether she wants it to or not.

Personal touches/added/cut ideas:

N's tail wrapping around Uzi like a hug. Originally, Uzi was supposed to look more nervous, but not for the reasons you might think. I cut the nervous look to a more upset look so it wouldn't be confused for fear. Uzi's never scared of N (yes, I don't count ep2 either, that was a lot of events at once and very little time to process them). The nervous look was more of a "Why are you butting in?" type, you know? Being a loner makes you cautious, so when N prods at feelings, I figured Uzi would be a bit defensive.

Cyn is fully rendered and yet I glitched her so much I felt bad. So here's full absolute solver Cyn eldrich monster thingy. ^_^

I pulled a Hazbin hotel moment. Did you see it? Abracadabra GONE! All the scraps from first couple pages with NUzi chatting POOFED out of the existence. Did I get lazy and tired? Yes, that was the tell tale sign of burn out, when I stopped keeping track of background details and just kept the pod.

These progress shots show pretty well how the story boarding goes and how I change my mind too easily. 😅 storyboard is still as much of a mess as ever, sketch shows you I was gonna keep Uzi's hat, but decided against it in final product. I figured this. Nori gave Uzi the jacket whenever Uzi got a bigger body + hair. These are the same jacket and hair Uzi has in canon. Uzi's body is just upgraded again and her hair gets shorter in that regard. The jacket would be big on her, and cover her hands, but what's up with the fluff if I draw canon jacket more spiky? And where's the death battery drawing? I headcanon Uzi drew those on once she got into the angsty teenager stage. The jacket is more spiky from wear and tear.

Fun fact! You can sorta tell who's gonna show up in the comic by what memes I post prior. Here's some examples ^_^ Cyn showed up, and that was first practice with maid outfits and Cyn's eldrich form. Closely followed by manor gang, the second/final form of maid and butler outfits and prime practice for those scenes. This example is a bit spoiler for a meme I'm working on right now! I've never drawn Nori before, so I quickly sketched out the idea and continued on with the comic (otherwise, I'd lose my steam and procrastinate on it again). Memes are filler for you guys while I work on the actual projects (comics), and along the way, they give me practice and change in drawing style ^_^

Is it a coincidence that this comic is called Sleep with the release of a certain horror game? Actually, yeah pure coincidence 😅 I had this drafted allll the way back in November, and didn't take particular interest in poppy playtime until I saw lanky boi, which was actually during a stream I watched on release day of the chapter.

(I didn't know tumblr, or at least the phone app, had a tag limit of 30, BOY was I surprised @brookiedaaroacecookie that must have been THE tag city, sorry 😅)

Next comic is Loneliness 1 and 2

This one is split into 2 POVs from both Uzi and N side, thus its 2 separate comics. That one will be more NUzi centered, too, a slight angst and comfort spin to it. That will come... sometime. I have a few more projects I wanna finish up with prior to starting on these guys ^_^

Why are you still reading this? Omg, have a cookie 🍪 you made it. Have a nice day now ^_^

[persmo]

Idk if someone who follows syspport and non alter CDD follows the main blog here, but to be sure I'm gonna reblog it in both blogs so hi, this is the main of the person behind those two blogs!

I'm gonna take a break from both blogs for a while, the two blogs were made by alters who haven't been fronting anymore because of personal life problems, and though I can handle the blogs as I'm qualified and I know information, I don't have enough energy and motivation to keep them active, I'm tired, I been running both blogs for like a week and I don't have more energy TT

So take it as a semi-hiatus, why semi and not full hiatus? Because maybe I'll do some posts in both blogs, that doesn't mean I'm gonna be active but I like the blogs and sometimes I have fun doing content in them or at least I find it entertaining because of the topics the blogs are around

I'm gonna answer the asks that were send before I make this post, but any other ask or submission done after this post is gonna be there for a long time, I won't be closing asks, you can send more submissions in both blogs if you want, just keep in mind that is going to take longer for me to answer it, that's the more hiatus part... When I com back full with both blogs I'm (or tf who's in front) gonna answer ALL THE ASKS, so your ask isn't going to be ignored or deleted, just delayed if I know how to word correctly-

Not 100% sure how long this hiatus is gonna take, maybe the whole month? Maybe not?... I don't know how much is gonna take for me to pass through this hard period of time that's making me put in hiatus this two blogs, if you're interested in this blog I'm gonna reblog this post to update when the hiatus is over!

You can still go and talk in my other sideblogs or in this sideblog, I'm not going to be super active but I'm gonna be more active in this other blogs rather than this ones (Maybe some blogs will get a hiatus like treatment, but come on they're already in a more long hiatus)

That's all I can say for this post cause Idk what more to add... Thanks for reading and I hope this semi-hiatus doesn't take too long to be able to return back to work and answering asks/submissions!!

[kingkatsuki]

hehehehahaha

bakugou getting hard from the way you almost manhandle him into your lap. it bordered on mindless. you just noticed that the seats in the limo on the way to another hero’s birthday were dwindling and bakugou was fighting internally on whether to scoot closer to you or let some extra bump into him on the ride.

“pardon my hands” is all the warning he gets before you grab his waist and under his knee to pull him into your lap. arm angled oddly behind your head and a leg cramped against the back of the limo. his hair brushes the velvet ceiling and bakugou refuses to look down at you.

because then you’d see how red his face was. then all he’d be able to smell is your perfume and that shampoo that you’ve used the whole time he’s known you. then maybe if he ignores the growing bulge in his pants it’ll go away.

god bakugou wishes your arm wasn’t still draped over his knees.

🍵idk if an anon uses this emoji but i’m on semi hiatus rn and i don’t want anyone to see me

I’m quite insane really. It’s just the thought of him wanting to tell you to get out/up so he can sit down first and then you can sit on his lap, but the limo is full and you’re running late. The sound of protest falls on deaf ears as you tug him into the vehicle, and it’s like the moment he settles on top of you he begins to short-circuit.

Bakugou’s trying to keep his weight off of you, his hand reaching up for the handle as he mutters “Jesus christ, woman” beneath his breath as his friends inside don’t even bat an eyelid at your position. Eagerly handing out champagne and talking about the awards ceremony you’re heading to tonight.

You reach out for the glass offered to you and your breasts push against his side and he’s gone. Nostrils flaring as he feels his cock begin to chub beneath his slacks, a heat rising in his cheeks as he almost snatches his own glass. Hoping the alcohol will at least calm his racing heart, if nothing else.

But because of how you’re both sitting and his elevated position on your lap, it has his crotch even closer to your mouth as he thinks about how easy it would be to press his palm to the back of your head and push you down on his lap to have those pretty lips wrapping around his semi.

And now Bakugou is certain he’s going to cum in his pants before you even make it to the event.

[deitiesofduat]

DEITIES Update – 2023 ➝ 2024 New Year’s Edition

Happy New Year Everyone!

Typically I would write a formal blog post for my end-of-year update, but I'm writing something on the fly for the sake of timeliness ✨

I wish I could say I completed most of what I wanted in the year 2023, as I had several goals I thought were feasible. However, some of those goals had to be placed aside for a very sudden but fortuitous reason, that I feel worth sharing with ya'll -- which is that Iiiiiiii bought my first house! 🥹🥹🥹

(As you can imagine, this took quite a bit of my energy and time this past year, thus explaining part of my absence -- more details regarding my activity under the cut!)

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

From early August thru the end of December, my home-searching and closing process was incredibly long, stressful, exhausting, expensive (lmao), and time-inducing. I'm thankful to have had support from my agent, and well as my friends and family while navigating this ordeal, and I'm in the process of moving my items and services into my new home during the remainder of my apartment lease.

This home search combined with my full-time work, was a major reason why took a partial break from social media, and semi-hiatus from new art. This also affected my frequency of updating the DEITIES website and blog -- at least, on the front end. I did a lot of backend work and completed a major to-do with migrating the website and giving it a new primary domain -- so now, both deitiesofduat.com AND deitiesproject.com will redirect to the website. 👍

For the most part though, I used the 2nd half of 2023 to focus on some major life decisions, and leading into early 2024 I’m aiming to give myself a bit of a lifestyle reset. It's going to take some time to settle into this new normal, so aside from occasional media posts I'll continue to be quiet a bit longer. Once I complete some key home-owning goals and attempt to recharge, I'll aim to resume the goals I had in mind for DEITIES Project and my personal art, as well as engaging with my audience more (I miss interacting with ya'll, aha 😭).

In the meantime, thank you all for you continued patience and support! Despite being offline more-than-not this past year, I really appreciate the continue interest you all have in this project. DEITIES remains so important to me even with my shift in scope, so I'll do what I can to put iterate on it and give it all my effort when I have more bandwidth. Until then, wishing you all the very best in 2024!

[maiden-of-sea]

Why I Still Haven't Return to This Blog (Please Read)

So within so many, MANY catching things up upon School, I have a confusion that I wanna make...

For the Past Years that I've barely had anything to do with this blog, part of Me feels like that I don't really want to run with it anymore as for some reason there is this Big Gripe for Me that slowly makes Me fully regret creating this blog all because of some semi-unhealthy obsession that I've had with one of my fandoms.

For the past years, I've used to be totally obsessed with the King Neptune/Poseidon character (I know they're separate characters, but giving on how that they're the still same outside) & for some random reason that felt like a huge waste wanting Me to run a Blog on its own (inspired to those who have their own Single Fandom Blogs like some fans do in the SB Fandom).

But now, I've come to the conclusion and realize on how much that I didn't need a Third Blog (considering on how both of my art and posts of my Main Blog are already full-filled with so many of my personal main fandom posts, it's downright INSANE).

The only reason as to why my brain in the first place thought of wanting to have such an unnecessary blog is partially because was inspired by other people who had their own single fandom blogs (like with most people on their Greek Myth blogs for instance). But honestly, due to the fact that I am very indeed afraid of wanting to delete it (which would cause the deletion of My Main Blogs with all of the other works that I've wanted to show), I've just realize my own huge mistake that I felt didn't need on what had to be done all because of a single obsession that I've recently just grew out of it for very mature reasons.

You see, I only made the blog for a very strange reason was because it was one of my surroundings in the beginnings of the SB Fandom when I came here. (As I've said before), I was completely obsessed with the King Neptune/Poseidon character and while I did paid any attention to the Main Cast like I would always do, I felt like my main interest was only a target towards the cast's obscure characters (which I blame for my own pure love for obscurity) and nothing else which is such a shame to Myself as I feel rather disappointed in what I've committed, but I can clearly see why on how everyone else wouldn't tend to see it since I was always a bit calm during a join in the fanbase. Now, when I say, "Disappointed", I meant on how that I couldn't afford to focus much on the Non-Merfolk characters more often as I feel as if though that I could've had the chance to study if it weren't for my own Big Merfolk brain rot.

Now, for the record, I am NOT saying that I am giving up on my Most Favorite Characters at this point since every any character is dedicated to their own fanbase, but honestly, for awhile, I've still been thinking if whether or not I should either just change or at least abandoned this blog but I defiantly have been thinking to restart it or at least perhaps have it a new fresh change.

For the Second Option part, if I were to re-do this Third Blog, I'd probably would make it an Ask Blog but I'd still have it around my Main Fandom's theme at this point.

It's just that for some time, I've mostly and mainly been focusing around my Main Blogs to point where I have no one else to do with this one and re-blogging some of my SB Art/Reblogs from my Main One into this One to fit this Blog's Main Aesthetic is often kinda hard to do (especially on how long given the Hiatus is) but for the most part, wishing my own self that I would want to return to this Blog would be Wonderful but I would prefer to want to make a change to it somehow just so that perhaps that maybe I would want to do with it whatever I'd want, but maybe not as an Polacia blog since I've been thinking about wanting to do something else for awhile if I'm going have to re-design My Greco-Roman Gods anytime soon when I feel like it (just to perhaps if maybe I were to keep this Blog's Main Theme that I chose alive).

I know that the idea of "Deleting" (Getting Rid) of ALL of the stuff that you've full-filled within a certain theme of a blog will take forever but honestly, I just don't know to the point where I feel as if though that I am indeed incredibly lost within my mind, especially when you are not in the same mood as you used too anymore. I just feel as if though that time changes real quick.

Recently, I've been focusing on drawing out ideas for my Original Stories (as well as drawing out some personal character designs) since this Whole SpongeBob-Fandom break has really given Me some relaxing time and I've already got out of School as I did graduate recently.

Considering the fact that I can't get rid of my Third Blog, I might as either consider to either continue run it or reboot it (if I'm going to start something different for it). I still haven't re-worked my own personal Redesigns in the moment but recently, I've been re-joining my Old Fandoms through a blast within the past.

So in case if I do return to this blog anytime once my SB Fandom break is over (as far as I have been trying), I'll probably give my a Third Blog a second chance. If not, I'll probably either abandon it. But I see on how time will tell if Fishes from the Sea sent by their own God will tell Me (aka if my Mind brainstorms once again).

Granted, I still and always will love Poseidon no matter what, just not in a crazy way that I did when I made this account and even when I somehow regret making it, since I felt very scared that I knew I was going to be in a Different Fandom mood.

I'll probably make my own decision to return one day if my SpongeBob hyper-fixation comes back to Me. Right now, I'm going through a Different Fandom Phase as I will be more active on my Main Blogs (@the-indie-owl and my Art Blog; @marine-indie-gal).

Hope you guys understand.

[x0401x]

*crawls straight out of hell* I. Am. Alive!

Kinda.

Another unintentional semi-hiatus, I know, but I can at least promise that it's the last one of this year. As for why I was MIA this time... a lot happened.

So I went back home for summer vacation last month. My queue ran out at about the time I was coming back to Japan. The plan was to refill it right away, but I got sick before my flight. I caught a cold from my sister and the very draining 40-hour trip back to Tokyo made it worse.

Like, a lot worse. Worse than when I had covid, even.

This has been one of the nastiest colds I've ever had and definitely the worst one I've had after becoming an adult. I've never had such horrible coughing fits and my throat was so badly affected that it took three weeks for it to recover. My voice also got hoarse as hell, but it wasn't even because of the coughing. No, it was because my lungs were so full of fluid that not enough air was passing through for me to be able to use my voice.

The worst part was being able to fall asleep, though. I couldn't breathe properly while unconscious, so I had apnoea and was only able to fall asleep by passing out from exhaustion. It got so bad that at some point I was having hypnagogic hallucinations. 100% bad experience, do not recommend.

While all of that was happening, classes had resumed, so I had to deal with this and attend grad school, do part-time job, unpack my stuff and re-organize my apartment, etc. It took me about a month to be fully back on my feet, but if there's one good thing about all of this, it's that it gave me time to fill up my drafts and queue. It's been a really long time since I've seen so many edits going on. I missed being able to stay consistent on this website, and luckily, it doesn't seem like there'll be a lack of content anytime soon. I also took a little extra time coming back here because I've been doing my end-of-semester projects in advance, so that I can save time later. The things I do for this hellsite, lol.

I apologize for leaving people hanging in my inbox. I'll reply to all of your messages as fast as I can!

[miraiq]

Semi-Hiatus/Sporadic Activity Notice

I'm sure this isn't a surprise, as I haven't written anything aside from a total of 4 sentences in well over a month---- but... yeah.

I've been fighting with myself for over a week to make this post and make it official.. cause doing so felt like admitting defeat.. or giving up, and it's not a nice feeling. But considering I have not written in that long just felt like I needed to at this point to at least make those who are waiting on me aware of my lack of response(s), and aren't just... politely awaiting a reply.

I do have it placed in my rules that I am very slow (at times), so hopefully this isn't a deal breaker-- but if I is, I understand and no hard feelings if you are no longer wanting to be mutuals/write with me. If not the case, I thank you all for your patience with me. Things are still in drafts, and several have a few sentences started, but I cannot get my brain to co-operate with me. I know where I want to take a thread but trying to actually put the thoughts into words and then actually write it out is just.. a bit much.

I won't go into details here, but I will provide the specifics in private if curious. My health has been on a drastic decline since the end of November and it's gotten to the point that I can barely operate on a day to day basis-- and what little energy and brain power I do have I have to save for college classes and my frequent doctor appointments. I've gone through 5 different medications since, and nothing has been helping, or has even made it worse-- and so I cannot say when I will be back to my usual frequency of activity.. Just, whenever my doctors can finally figure out what to do I guess- but at this rate, who knows how long that will be.

I am absolutely still willing to just goof off in private messages about muses and ideas, but I just can't put out anything of substance or any actual threads at the moment. And- I will still be on lurking, so seeing me in your activity feed just liking your posts will continue.

I can still send in prompts at least to make an attempt at building bonds between muses. If it is okay to do so, or encouraged/desired, please send me a message or leave a note on this post. However, doing so is acknowledging that you are not expecting me to reply to any prompt I send it, and that I am aware that I do not need to expand on any.

I can also add anyone on Discord to do silly back and forth idea swapping if easier than here on the good ol' Tungle. Though I reiterate, I will not be able to do anything serious in regards to writing. I've also wanted to put out a shipping call but I don't feel like that would be fair to others if I'm not going to be very present in terms of.. you know, full on threading and fleshing things out. But I can still toss headcanons and other ideas in terms of ships around.

So uh........ yeah. That's the update from ya buddy prince and my lack of existing.

[mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune]

Mamtella With Cherri & Sari: Happy Holidays (2023)

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

Credit for Transformers goes to Hasbro

Credit for Helluva Boss & Hazbin Hotel goes to VivziePop

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

[Note: click on the drawing to make it a bit bigger to get a better look at it and to see the characters in the said drawing better. :) ]

for some reason, the ship name "Mamtella" and I'm not sure if others will end up liking and using the ship name besides me, the ship name pop into my head because of these two...

but yeah, for some reason the ship name Mamtella, makes me think of something that goes on bread and you eat...

and just so ya know, the Sari in the red dress in both her human form and the disguise form thanks to using Asmodean Crystals that are in her hair-clips.

and the one of Sari that is really close to Cherri, and both are wearing a Holiday/Christmas outfits...

well like I pointed out before, this version of Sari is 23 years old, and at some point her eyes become purple, so even in her robot mode, she will have purple optics.

I kind of want her to get involved with a Robo-Fizz which she ends up nicknaming "Rozz" which comes from the name where she can get the idea from...

Robotic Fizzarolli...when you take some of the letters, you get Rozz.

it's like the name Roz but with two "Z" instead of one but the name is still pronounced like Roz with only one "Z"...

I plan to add that in Falling For The Angel In Disguise over at Quotev (the story is on a little hiatus, I might not update it until either later or tomorrow or 2024. and I know the story isn't 100% perfect and I might not make it very long but I'm going to try my best, even if it has a bit of a Semi-Ship between Swindle and Adult-Sari which might become a full ship later on.)

to which I guess it is a spoiler that I may have said before, that I changed it so the character that was originally the main character turns out to be a faux main character and the new real main character is now the Adult Sari Sumdac.

even though I'm just posting this drawing now on December 30, 2023 and didn't post it on the day it was drawn...

but I was mostly playing on my game console while the other times letting my cat be on me and being all clingy and cute...

and even if I talked about how my cat needed surgery some weeks ago, which I think it started around almost the end of November.

but when I can, I can talk about what type of surgery that they needed.

and if they weren't taken to the vet on time or those who work the vet did anything wrong to my fluffy baby, I would still want to do the Omnigeddon...which I know isn't possible, but if it were...

I would possibly go Feral Earth Angel on Lucifer or Archangel Samael...

I wonder if there could be like a parody of Jerry Springer in cartoon form like a Fanon Crossover AU with Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss (of course wouldn't be canon to the shows)

where it has to do with who's Cain's Real Biological Dad is.

and the audience who are a mix of both hellborns and sinners all scream and chant "Perry! Perry! Perry!" if it's going to be a parody, might as well have the name be Perry....

maybe like Perry Springy or something...

and whoever the real bio-dad of Cain is, wins a slap to the face from Cain and Seth's shared descendant...and it is insensitive to assume that all Cain's descendants will be "evil"...at least being one of his along being Seth's descendant, I can see that both Cain and Abel were at fault, and Cain wasn't given the proper help before his emotional and spiritual depression reached a very dangerous breaking point...

and even if not everyone has to agree me on this, but I can't help but think Abel may have had a little bit of vainglory in him, and both brothers ain't exactly 100% innocent in the actions they have taken...

Grunkle Grandpa Cain needs ice cream, a movie and a emotional support hug stat! O_O

Abel needs to learn a bit of more Empathy and be less vainglory if it does turn out he may have been suffering from that vainglory and that might of been the reason why he couldn't see Cain was hurting and was going to break at any moment in a very dangerous breaking point.

it be interesting if in a Fanon AU, Cain goes to Charlie's Hotel to be redeemed, well him and Abel...

anyway since some "ships" aren't always romantic, and there are platonic types which you NEVER use the words "I ship it" on, because it would give the wrong idea...

for family or friendship, where they are just family or friends...

ya use "I fam it" or "I bud it" even with some characters who are friends but end up bonding like siblings even when not being biologically related, you go "I sib it" which the "sib" part is short for sibling.

ya NEVER use the words "I ship it" with those types, you only use "I ship it" for the romantic & in love type ships or like the young love types....it should be considered a unspoken rule between the shippers, to NEVER under any means, call something that isn't a ship "I ship it" when it isn't.

it be like if Fizz and Ozzie weren't the most Adorkable Sweet Potatoes, who are just too cute and being as adorkable as sweet potatoes that they are, have no idea they are technically dads...

even if it might not end up being canon or mention in the show, and I don't mind if it stays in the fanon but I'm still gonna view Fizz and Ozzie being the Dads of the Robotic Fizzarollis that they technically created together, even if Fizz was just the template...

in a Crossover Timeline (which is still in the Fanon)

picture Sari standing next to Rozz (a Robotic Fizzarolli)

and glaring up at Ozzie with Fizz on his shoulder, and she ends up saying these words while pointing at Rozz.

Sari: "you got anything to say to him...?"

Ozzie & Fizz could look confused and in silence until Sari breaks it again by yelling a them while gently hugging Rozz.

Sari: "you two didn't even think before you made YOUR kids, did you?! at least one of my Dads took responsibility! and even if Megatron NEVER found out that I'm his daughter, but he mitosis while in stasis and I could of stayed as a liquid metal human size baby protoform if my Human Father hadn't found me! even if I became half-human by accident and my protoform self was born in my Dad's secret lab on accident, and Dad-2 who I'm also calling Mom, could care less because how he would care more about being the leader of the Decepticons than being a Carrier or Sire! so don't think I'm letting you both get away with being deadbeat Dads like Megatron! you are spending time with ONE of your creations aka one of your Sons, even if I have to kick your butts from here to where the Pit is until you agree to spend time with Rozz!"

and after saying all this, Ozzie and Fizz are processing everything...

then the next thing Sari and Rozz knows, both Fizz and Ozzie end up fainting.

even if the whole idea that Ozzie and Fizz technically being Fathers to all the Robo-Fizz would be more fanon and not likely to be brought up in the show, it's okay if it just ends up being fanon.

plus if Ozzie and Fizz did adopt Oliver, that would give Oliver a lot of Big Brothers to protect him.

Ozzie, Fizz and Oliver is a "I fam it" which has Ozzie & Fizz being the Dads and Oliver being their new son.

I'm still going to fan-headcanon that Megatron has two Moms, which is his Carrier Solus Prime and Mentor Termagax.

Megatronus Prime is the Sire who didn't get custody of his son, but when he tries to bring up the idea of wanting to spend time with him, his Ex-Sparkmate Solus and Solus's current sparkmate/junxie...

would both be giving Megatronus Prime very hateful and dirty looks.

so if Solus Prime was in a TFA Timeline, she would be one of Megatron's Moms, who tends to baby him a bit more than Termagax did.

I also want to ask if it is weird to think that Mammon and Stella might be too perfect together even if it isn't canon and it is just in the fanon...?

their ship name still makes me think of food, like even if the ship name pop into my head a few days ago, the ship name still sounds like something you put on bread...

the ship name Mamtella just reminds me of food....I'm just weird like that. great, now I'm hungry, ya happy Mammon x Stella...?

your ship name made me hungry. XD

well I'm going to hurry up and post this, even though I still wish I had posted it on Christmas instead a few days later but better late than never, and well I was thinking about waiting to post this next year because of something that got me a bit mad before which I'm not gonna talk about in this post.

I will wait a few hours to post another drawing I drew on December 25, 2023...and well I'm going to go watch a movie first and eat some food, because Mamtella all of the sudden made me hungry.

I must be really weird to think the ship name "Mamtella" makes me think of it as something that goes on bread, and it being like toast.

[adminleonsrestingplace]

When will requests re-open? That’s just my question for now. Sorry if it’s bothersome but I just had an idea but saw you said you’re on hiatus.

It'll probably be very unlikely they do open back up tbh :') That's why I have the indefinite part in my title as well (Actually with all the changes being made rn do people still see that???)

Editing sprites and making wallpapers and such were fun while I was in college, but once I got to working full time jobs, I don't really have time to do so anymore,, At least not time that I'd feel like putting other hobbies I'm really into down for something I'm no longer as into-

I hate to put a full "I'm done with this venture" label on this blog,, I still do artsy things (Working on a future tattoo design rn actually!) from time to time, so I'd like to say I may post self indulgent things in the future (Hence the semi part in my title) But,,,,, We'll see

I also am just *not into D/R* anymore, and since I built this blog on it, I know a lot of people who are following this blog currently don't really care to see non D/R content- Although my Sonic stuff did really well ! But while I'm not a "notes matter" person, it's evident that the thing I'm most into right now (Being Genshin) isn't what people want to see from me-

I'm thinking of revamping my Genshin sideblog though- Just to yell about things, my favorite characters, post headcanons, and I have been wanting to get back into fic writing ! So if that interests you, you can head over to @frozen-calla-lilies although I haven't updated it in,,,, Looks at that blogs pinned post,,, 3 years- I swear I'll update it again someday soon- Just not rn- Probably not this week either-

If you're not interested in that then uh,,,,, You're still free to sit here and hope and pray that I post more non Genshin or non D/R content ! You're only getting D/R content when I reblog something Kaito related-

I'm sorry for the long post, and I'm sorry that this is probably not the answer you wanted to hear, but I figured that this would be better said in an actual post and not just the tags of a post like I normally do- Just so hopefully everyone's on the same page now

As stated previously, running this blog was a lot of fun, and I'm really appreciative of the nearly 1000 followers(We got so close!) that made this blog even more fun for the years I was going ! I hope to see you guys on another journey, but even if I don't, this was a good one for me and I hope it was for you too <3

[kariohki]

Trip report of the six lives I went to on my last trip to Japan - more condensed than I kind of want because it's approaching 5 weeks since and my memory is awful, and I also am bad with words and describing things.

BUSHIROAD ROCK FESTIVAL 2023 (5/27, Fuji-Q Highland) Acts: Lyrical Lily (OA), Fantôme Iris, Morfonica, Peaky P-key, Nijigasaki High School Idol Club (three members), RONDO, Liella!, Gyroaxia, RAISE A SUILEN My seat partner lucksacked the ticket roll so I was sitting in the second row in a near-middle section. This was my first time seeing any of the groups except for RAS of course. Lyrical Lily's opening act was three of their higher energy songs (two being covers), and also the required Maihime. Nothing amazing but a good taste of the group. Fantôme Iris was fine. I have no interest in the From Argonavis franchise. Morfonica I had a perfect view of Ayasa so kept my eyes on her bow twirling most of the time. Song choices were relatively standard with both Daylight and flame of hope. They had a one song collab with Liella!'s song WE WILL!! at the end that was good. Peaky P-key was the first actually hype portion for me, even if their setlist skewed very old with their first two songs, Gonna be right, and CYBER CYBER as the one cover. OVERWHELM! from D4DJ All Mix was their only recent song performed. Felt good to do the furicopy as part of a large group. Peaky P-key rolled into the NijiGaku section with a special version of Ryouran Victory Road with extended unique lyrics for all the other main singers (and one DJ) from Bandori and D4DJ groups which was unexpected that they'd go that far with the song as the collab wasn't previewed as such. NijiGaku's three members in attendance were Tanaka Chiemi (Rina), Sagara Mayu (Kasumi), and Hayashi Coco (Setsuna). So… my least two favorite characters and my former oshi character's new seiyuu. The group songs were very standard hitting the usual Tokimeki Runners and anime songs, and they stuck to their original solo songs, which honestly was fine because I know the calls and I got to hear CHASE!. RONDO was next with a killer set leading with ARCANA into KiLLiNG ME and a short version of Calendula. BLACK LOTUS was also played hitting my top two favorite originals from them. This was also the first performance that Momo Haruna (Hiiro) attended in almost a year, having been on a semi-hiatus due to health issues. Lots of screaming "OKAERI!" to her from the crowd, myself included. Liella! performed exactly 0 songs that I recognized, which is understandable as I only listened to 5-member Liella and dropped off before 9-member Liella was a thing. It was nostalgic to do idol-style calls though. Kumachan is pretty and I kept following her around instead of my actual oshi Paychan. Gyroaxia was fine, but it was my "sit down and rest" time. RAISE A SUILEN was the final act and had a good mix of older and newer songs, all high energy to keep the crowd going as it got dark. Got to learn the Shakunetsu Bonfire! furicopy and headbang a lot. The final song was RAS's R•I•O•T but with the full cast. Yes, including the boy groups. Full cast covers are always amazing and chaotic, even if this is one of the more "basic" RAS songs to do it on. Highlights are Moepii abandoning Peaky P-key to go hang out with her NijiGaku buddies and the final spoken line being done by Mayuchi and Kumachan. Also I think it was at the end here that I greased fingerhearts from Cocochan so that was a thing.

RAISE A SUILEN LIVE 2023: EXCLAMATION HIGHLAND (5/28, Fuji-Q Highland) Guest Act: Roselia Sitting in a more middle section, five rows from the front gave good views of basically everyone but especially Raychell. Roselia was billed as the guest act but was more like an opening act really, since no collabs happened. Roselia skewed quite old for their setlist (Nesshoku Starmine, Dear Gleam, PASSIONATE ANTHEM, BLACK SHOUT, FIRE BIRD), with only one song being after the release of the Wahl album in Dear Gleam. Solid overall for a guest/opening act of course, and it was nice to see them again after three and a half years. RAS opening with Invincible Fighter gave me good memories to the other major RAS live I attended back in 2019, Heaven and Earth, where it was the Day 2 opener. The most surprising part of the setlist was a Goka! Gokai!? Phantom Thief cover out of nowhere, and I was also the only one jumping during it in my row :P The back-to-back-to-back attack of Rettou Joutou, Keep the Heat and Fire Yourself Up, and Repaint was also very strong. They debuted one previously unperformed cover with Kyouran Hey Kids!! and one brand new song, -N-E-M-E-S-I-S-, which was still a month away from CD release at the time. Overall a very good live from the group but it still didn't beat out how magical Heaven and Earth was (and at this point I don't think anything ever will…)

tipToe. 3rd ONEMAN "My Long Prologue" (5/29, Ebisu LIQUIDROOM) I was shilled into this by someone I know who is a big fan of the group, so I decided to pull a "sure I'll go to lives three days in a row, I won't be that dead I swear". This is the first time I'd attended a live for an actual idol group and not a group of seiyuu playing idols. This was also the smallest venue I'd ever been in, until later in this same trip. tipToe. is billed a "concept idol group", where the members are required to graduate after three years of activity. It's hard for me to describe their music. There's some very emotional songs, there's some more standard pop-like fun idol songs, there's some in the middle. There's apparently a story that weaves everything together as well, if you understand the lyrics. Also, since these are actual idols, penlight waving and calls are different - raise your penlight for your oshi and no one else, and mixing is fair game. Well, I liked the group enough to get a twoshot cheki (my first one ever) with one member, Yuzuki Rin, who was very happy to talk to a new overseas fan. I recommend reading this more indepth trip report: https://ramen.events/tiptoe-3rd-oneman/

エクストロメ!! (6/1, Shinjuku Loft) Acts: airattic, われらがプワプワプーワプワ, Finger Runs, tipToe. This was the unplanned event I ended up at because I got enabled into going after enjoying tipToe.'s oneman live earlier in the week. Loft is the smallest venue I've ever been in. This was also the cheapest live out of all I attended at only 2100 yen for the ticket + drink fee. All four groups were good, though the most I remember about Finger Runs and われらがプワプワプーワプワ were their outfits. airattic is a "sister group" to tipToe. but I didn't like their music as much. I did another twoshot cheki afterwards with Rinchan. She remembered me, noticed I'd followed her on Twitter, and talked to me about going to Shibuya and seeing Hachiko. That's how real idols get you…

Raychell Live Tour "Sing Alone" Aichi Performance (6/2, Nagoya ell.FITS ALL) Another first for me, seeing a seiyuu artist's solo performance. I don't heavily follow Raychell's solo career so didn't recognize most of the songs until Are You Ready To FIGHT near the end. If you haven't listened to it and are a RAS fan, I highly recommend checking her songs out as they're a much more varied style. She gave a lot of fanservice to the people standing up front, including fist bumps and a few jokes with people she recognized as regulars. I do not recommend attending a live in wet shoes and socks, though.

Ave Mujica 0th LIVE "Primo die in scaena" (6/4, Nakano Sunplaza) The final live of the trip and, because something has to be at the bottom, my least favorite one. Ave Mujica is the newest band in the Bandori franchise, and this was their debut live. I'd been following their music releases and teaser videos since they started and was already a fan of the general style being a harder rock. Of course they played all of their existing originals, plus debuted a new self-titled one. The surprises were the covers, consisting of songs originally by angela, Creepy Nuts, Ali Project, and…Roselia! Determination Symphony was an odd choice I think since that song is so heavily tied to Sayo, but PASSIONATE ANTHEM was good and also meant I heard the song twice in the span of a week The live length was very short at only 70 minutes, sort of expected due to the lack of content but would've thought they'd pad it out to at least 90. Also they only revealed character names (stage names probably since they're Latin words) and not the seiyuu - hopefully it's not a MyGO situation where it takes a full year for an official reveal (though after seeing the first bits of the MyGO anime, I don't think they'll be going that long before official reveal…)

Next trip is in November for a stupid YOLO weekender for Bandori 12th!

[bombmate]

💣 Rules 💣

//My name is Seth or you could call me Kakashi-sensei as well. I'm 34 years old and I’m from Brazil. I've been roleplaying for 11 years. About 4 years on forums, other websites and 7 years on tumblr.

I work at school so that’s mean pretty busy most of the time. So slow activity. And most online on the weekends. Even so I hope you enjoy your stay!

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Read my rules before follow or interaction, please.

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I don't follow personal blogs. If you have rp sideblog. Just let me know and I will check it out.

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This blog is multiship but singleship in each verse. I do not polyship. Sorry.

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Folks who follow me and I haven't followed yet. At least give me a week to see your about page and rules. I work full time and only on the weekends do I have more free time. If I liked you about page it's because I'm interested and I'll probably follow. Just give me a time alright? Only if it's been more than a week then it's likely I won't follow back.

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Despite being a bit shy, I'm always trying to interact with all my mutuals. So if you don't communicate with me, send asks, or we don't have a thread between our muses. I'm going to assume you don't want to interact at all and unfollow/soft block. I can understand that tumblr is a shit sometimes, people is busy, even hiatus. Besides that, sorry I won't be following you. And I hope you understand and respect that.

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Most active on the weekends. During the week is slow activity.

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This blog will not engage in any kind of drama. I've done this in the past and pretty much had traumatic experiences out of it. If you're involved in some kind of drama and I find out about it later, you'll get a soft block or block depending. Don't insist and I hope you just respect it.

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I'm usually pretty open minded with most fandoms. But even so I have a small list that I don't want to interact with or I don't see my muse interacting. If you are a multimuse that has muses in one of theses fandoms it's ok. I'm just going to interact with your other muses. I ask you please respect and don't insist. Note that more can be added if needed.

The fandoms are these: Five nights at Freddy's, Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, Lazy town, Strange Things.

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If you have no page rules or bio about your muses. Even if they are canons, it will likely I’ll not follow or follow back your rp blog.

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No godmodding, please.

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I am not native English. So forgive me for some possible typos and grammatical errors.

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I don't roleplay on Discord. It's hard to get online there. And with my scarce time it gets even worse. So please I ask you to respect this.

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I ask you to trim your posts. I probably won't follow or I'll unfollow if you tend to do that. It ends up getting too much pollution in my dash and it's complicated to navigate on desktop and mobile.

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Most slow activity. Generally, my work takes up most of my time. Plus, other IRL stuff that makes me tired as well. Sorry for that. If you are the type of mun that cannot wait for a reply for so long or you want constant interaction between our muses(or even between muns) Please don't follow me. Always do what is most comfortable for you. But if you follow me, keep in mind that I work slowly most of the time ok?

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My writing style is semi para. At least 3 or more depending on the thread. I have no problem answering longer, even I like it. One-line is more for crack reply, few asks or short interactions. Please, keep that in mind before following me.  

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Any images or art don’t belong to me, obviously, but to their rightful owners.

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Don’t force relationships with my muse. Any ships only with chemistry. Pre-established relationships can be accepted but talk to me first.

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Smut threads will be replied to an NSFW side-blog. I’m fine with fade to black as well. Remember that smut is not a priority here. It may happen but I prefer other types too.

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I don't roleplay romance or smut with underage muses. But platonic relationships, like family, friends, guardian and teacher I don't see problems. As long as it doesn't go beyond that. If you insist, I block instantly.

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Trigger themes mentioned in this blog in the vast majority will be death, gore, murder, weapons, alcohol, smoke, suggestive sexual themes and religious themes. If you have a specific trigger feel free to remind me. Personal triggers are lolicon, pedophilia, incest, rape, tripofobia. I ask that you tag these topics appropriately, please. As smut post too.

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These rules are not absolute. There might be changes, updates, or something removed at any moment.

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Thanks for reading this and I hope you have fun!

[lepidus-illusio]

every network must have it's limitations, do read up to find out what's allowed and what's not in the network! there are three hidden keywords within this post. they will be italic and are aespa songs.

last edited: 06.04.23

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[moonlit-imagines]

Is it ok if I ask when requests will be accepted?

no worries my love!! i know it’s been a while since they’ve been open, but i’m still on semi-hiatus for the foreseeable future. perfect time for an update post!!

hi all!! let me first of all say: you guys rock!!! i know it’s been forever, i still have requests in my drafts, posting is not how it used to be. i think i’ve been on semi hiatus since march? does that sound right?

i have had a hectic year as most of you know! since january 1st, things have been absolutely insane. i got fired from the bakery, was unemployed for two really shitty months, started a new job, quit, rehired with a “promotion” that was never official in anything but duties, got a boyfriend, dumped him, got my medical card, started a full-time job, went back to michigan for my grandmother’s burial (and to sort out some inheritance, nothing glamorous), bought a car, started my first semester of college (finally!!), got myself into another…unusual relationship, my mental health has been high and low, but honestly it’s much better!!! we’re halfway through october and the most overwhelming part of my job has just started, along with the halfway point of this semester of college!

this past month has been pretty stressful. today i was informed i was passed up for a promotion at work and the assistant manager let me know that the reason was actually because the other girl was performing poorly in our current position and they “needed me” where i was. so yeah, i am missing out on a raise and experience in a new position because im “too valuable to lose.” i’m pretty pissed about it. very overwhelmed. i had been working my ass off for a month, knowing deep down that the “interview process” for this position was a song and dance to show HR that the promotion was “fair.” my “partner” hasn’t been very understanding about it either, which is kind of pissing me off but hell, who cares! if im being honest, i just really need someone to be nice to me now more than ever. i REALLY need some kindness in my life. in the end, i’ll be okay, it’s not the end of the world, but things day by day have just been rough and if i could i’d be taking a break from much more than writing, but i cant. that being said…

sorry about the tangent! to answer your question, i’m not sure if/when they’ll reopen! truthfully, i don’t see myself never opening them back up, i still love writing and especially for you guys. i do however feel like i need to go at my own pace right now, it’s the only way i’m gonna get through this. i feel myself mentally drowning in all my emotions and responsibilities and if i force myself to write i’m only gonna grow to resent it. my mental health outside of OCD has been a bit yikes. i really do want to feel better about myself before i start posting again. and i am SO grateful for you guys. my mutuals, followers, anyone who is supporting me right now. i want to return the favor, but right now i have to look out for myself and my future. i love you all so much though!! it’s not often that i see a writer go on hiatus and not get at least a little bit of hate, so THANK YOU SO MUCH. it means the world.

i am always around to chat if anyone wants to <3 but writing will still be sporadic. truth be told, im not even caught up with most shows and movies! i actually barely have time to sleep most days. please send some good vibes my way!! im very off at the moment