#especially in situations where anger IS the expected outcome

[certified-anakinfucker]

i miss mace windu. where is he. is he safe. is he alright.

[vroomvro0mferrari]

CL16 | Strategy to Your Heart

Summary: Ferrari hasn’t been doing well in the races lately, and according to Charles, there's only one person to blame for the bad strategies: you.

Charles Leclerc x colleague!Reader (enemies to lovers)

WC: 4.3K

Warnings: curse words, slightly misogynistic

Masterlist

Charles stormed into the garage, his eyes blazing with anger. His race had ended disastrously, again, and there was only one person to blame. As his race engineer, you were responsible for his strategy, which lately, had been lacking significantly and he despised you for it. The car was finally improving, yet he couldn’t seem to win a race. Simply because his race engineer managed to fuck up every time.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “Are you trying to sabotage me?”

You looked up in surprise as he approached you. Charles' anger was clear as day as he got in your face, making your hands shake from anxiety and your blood run cold. Your expression hardened as the accusation settled, a glare replacing the shock in your eyes. You opened your mouth to explain, to say something – to calm him down, but he cut you off. 

“I don’t need your excuses! You clearly don’t know what you’re doing!” He yelled. The look on his face, and the posture of his body – which was much taller than yours – were intimidating. Never mind his unrelenting glare and the finger he pointed in your face before storming off to his driver's room.

His insult stung deeply. You understood that he was upset at how the race went, but he could’ve reacted differently. He just humiliated you publicly, in front of all your colleagues; he didn’t even let you get a word in edgewise. You could feel the anger bubbling up inside you at his behaviour. How dare he insult you like that? It wasn’t even your fault. You stared after him as he stomped away, before turning on your feet, storming off in the opposite direction.

You had known Charles for a long time now. Although you had never spoken much, you always greeted each other, until you got your new position in the team. Charles was already driving for Ferrari when you first started there as an intern. You joined in on meetings with the drivers and sometimes spoke to them during these, but you didn’t see the drivers much otherwise. After your time as an intern, you had gotten a full-time job and worked your way up the team, and now, finally, you had made it to race strategist for Charles Leclerc, where your decisions actually had an effect – or so you thought.

During all your years at Ferrari, the previous head of strategy, Rueda, always listened to and appreciated your opinions and suggestions for the race strategies. He supported your development over the years and saw you grow from an inexperienced intern to an expert with a unique view. Before he left Ferrari, he promoted you to Charles’ race engineer; he believed in your skill and thought you could provide unexpected, but well-working strategies that would lead Charles to victories. 

However, after Rueda left, and Ravin Jain took over the job of head strategist, your opinions were ignored. You worked especially hard to convince him you deserved your current position. You developed numerous possible strategies for every one of Charles’ races, running tons of simulations to make sure you had a strategy for every situation. You thought about all the unexpected circumstances that might arise and how to maximise the outcome for each of them. You knew exactly what to do in every situation to ensure a good ending position for Charles, but Jain undermined you every single time. You would present him with all the information you had collected, and show him all the possible strategies and which ones you expected would work best, but he would never listen to you. Jain would always overrule your decisions with different options that somehow turned out much worse. As a result, Charles lost so many more places than necessary, and missed so many more podiums – wins even – than he should’ve.

The worst part was that Charles blamed you for everything. You were new in the position of race strategist, and you wanted to leave a good impression on the team and, most importantly, have a good working relationship with Charles. In your line of work, teamwork and cooperation, and consequently trust, are incredibly important. You wanted Charles to You wanted Charles to rely on you for strategy, allowing him to focus solely on driving. But he couldn’t. He questioned every advice you gave – whether it made sense – and more often than not, it didn’t. The relationship between the two of you was anything but one of trust.

Charles didn’t know what was happening between you and the head strategist. All he knew was that the strategies were awful and he was losing races that he could have won. He didn’t know how amazing and thought-out your own strategies really were, and how good you were at your job if you actually received the opportunity to do it. As a matter of fact, he had never had a real conversation with you before you got your new role. Previously, you just hung around in the background, only speaking with your team and some work friends you had made along the way, but never directly with the drivers. Quite frankly, he questioned whether you were even qualified for your job.

Although Charles didn’t know much about you, his opinion about you was formed and unchanging. To him, it seemed you didn’t know much about racing strategies or engineering; the results of your strategies and your silence during the debriefs were enough proof for him. There was only one logical explanation for how you’d gotten your role in the team; you had gotten your position through favouritism – or perhaps you’d done the head strategist a little ‘favour’.

– – – – –

During the next race, Jain had done it again. You had developed the perfect strategy for Charles, you had worked everything out so you were prepared for every situation. But when you showed the results to Jain and suggested your preferred strategy, he told you that your strategies could be better and you should ‘try this’. You knew it wasn’t a suggestion but an order to drop your strategy and use his instead. The result left you feeling defeated. Charles would undoubtedly be upset with the outcome, outing his anger on you, while you couldn’t do anything to make it better.

From your spot in the garage after the race, you could already see him stomping towards you. You couldn’t blame him really, he had missed out on yet another podium due to a bad strategy.

“What now?” you muttered under your breath as you saw him approach, bracing yourself for another confrontation.

“What now?” Charles echoed, his tone mocking. “You’re asking me that? You couldn’t form a proper strategy to save your life! How did you get this job in the first place? Sleep with the boss?”

You whipped your head around at his comment, narrowing your eyes as shock and anger coursed through your body. You had heard comments like this many times before; Formula 1 is a man’s world and you know what the men around you are like. You know you shouldn’t have expected anything less from Charles, yet you had. You were surprised that Charles would say something like this—something so vile. Yes, you had never really gotten along, but there had always been mutual respect. In all your interactions with Charles, he seemed kind enough, even if he was frustrated with you; to make such a misogynistic comment was a new low for him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? How can you even say something like that? Do you know how offensive that is?”

“You’re not denying it,” he yelled back at you.

You scoffed. “I’m not doing this,” you said, shaking your head before walking away, the tears welling up in your eyes. It felt like a betrayal. 

Charles followed you, “How about you explain why you keep screwing up my races?”

You ran your hands over your face in frustration as you rushed away from him, quickly making your way to your office. Charles had already upset you, and you didn’t want to cry in front of him – your job was already hard enough without him holding something like this over your head. If your colleagues found out you had cried on the job, you would never hear the end of how women can’t handle the pressure of F1. You tried to close the door as soon as you entered your office, but Charles was already there with you, staring you down. His arms were crossed in a nonchalant manner, but his face showed his annoyance clearly. “Well?”

You tried to avoid answering his question, but it seemed impossible. Even though you had kept silent (except for your scoff, that is), he wouldn’t leave you alone. God was this man frustrating. Your patience snapped.

“I’m not the one screwing up your races, Charles. If you have any issues with the strategies you should take it up with Jain, because he changes my plans every time.”

“What are you talking about?” He asked, frowning.

“Every strategy I create, Jain overrules,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you closed in on him. “I come up with plans based on simulations, and data. I’m ready for every scenario. But he dismisses them and forces his own strategies, which obviously don’t work. You’re blaming the wrong person.”

Charles stared at you, the anger in his eyes slowly giving way to confusion. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I tried,” you replied, frustration seeping into your voice. “But you were too busy yelling at me to listen. And honestly, I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly processing what you had said. “So, Jain is the one messing up the strategies?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “And it’s been incredibly frustrating to watch my hard work get thrown out and to then take the blame when it fails.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be. You’ve been yelling at me for months when it wasn’t even my fault.”

“Why didn’t you do anything about it?” Charles asked.

You laughed at his question. “What was I supposed to do? You know how it is—actually, you don’t, because drivers are privileged,” you sighed at the frown on Charles’ face, “no one would have believed me if I had told them, or they probably would have agreed. And if I had gone against Jain, I would have been fired so fast,” you trailed off.

Charles sighed. You were right; how on earth were they supposed to fix this? Jain would just continue to override your decisions no matter what, and that obviously wasn’t beneficial to anyone.

“For the next race, show me your strategy, okay? We can look at it together and if I agree we can work something out. Together.”

You smiled dryly at Charles’ suggestion. If he agrees? Who does he think he is? Nevertheless, you concur, if only to get rid of him. It doesn’t sound very convincing, but Charles is satisfied nonetheless.

– – – – –

For the next race, you had prepared more than usual. After the first few encounters with Jain you had given up on preparing your races thoroughly; it felt like a waste of time. But knowing that Charles would listen to you, and you might finally get to use your own strategy motivated you. 

You carefully discussed your plans with Charles in his driver’s room, away from everyone else. He listened attentively while you explained all the possible strategies and the one you thought would yield the best results. This was the first time Charles actually heard you talk about the strategies with enthusiasm, and he admired your knowledge of the topic, although he was somewhat surprised after your previous interactions. Hearing your passion for your work and knowing that you weren’t the reason for the unsuccessful races finally allowed the much-wanted bond of trust to form.

“We're going to use your strategy,” Charles said decisively. “No matter what Jain says, we'll do whatever you think is best. You've thought everything out, it'd be foolish to do something entirely different.”

"And if Jain gets mad and wants to fire me?" You asked, a hint of concern in your voice.

"The results will likely be good, so there'll be no reason for him to get mad,” Charles replied confidently. “But if he does, I'll vouch for you."

You nodded in response, a nervous but grateful smile on your face. It was exciting to finally use one of your own strategies, even though Jain would probably reject your proposals again.

Your assumption was correct; during your meeting with Jain, he had once more told you to follow his strategies instead of using your own ideas. Although Charles had told you there wouldn’t be any reason for your boss to get mad if the race went well, you weren’t assured enough to follow his advice. You couldn’t take any risks with your job – you weren’t experienced enough to get a similar job anywhere else, especially with the reputation Jain had built for you. If you had to follow his strategy to keep your job you would.

To say Charles was upset with the strategy during the race would be an understatement. He didn’t know where it had gone wrong – you had discussed this, hadn’t you? You came to the agreement that you would use your own strategy instead of listening to Jain, yet you hadn’t. The things you were telling him to do were nothing you had discussed during your private meeting. Charles felt frustrated at your inability to follow through; you were ruining his chances of a win because you were a coward who wouldn’t dare to stand up to her boss and he wasn’t going to take it.

“Boxing next lap, Charles.” 

Charles scoffed at your order before responding, “Box now? That’s ridiculous! The tyres are feeling fine, I can stay out longer.”

You sigh from your position on the pit wall. “Charles, the team thinks it’s best that you–” 

“I don’t care what the team thinks! What do you think is the best move?”

“Charles–” you stammer, getting nervous from his reaction.

“You know the team always makes the wrong calls, Y/N. What do you think we should do?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of the decision. If you go against Jain’s orders now and the race ends badly, you’ll be in big trouble. Charles said he’d vouch for you though, and the current strategy wasn’t going to get the team anywhere good either. You contemplate your options.

“Stay out a few more laps.”

Although you couldn’t see it, Charles smiled triumphantly in the car, knowing he had convinced you to use your own strategy. This was a good start, he just needed to do well now, to make sure you got your confidence back. So, for the next races, you would follow your own strategies as well instead of simply following Jain’s orders.

The race had ended up much better than anybody had expected, all thanks to your strategy. If you hadn’t switched up the strategy, Charles would have ended up significantly lower in the ranking. After finishing up his duties, Charles sought you out in the garage. You thought he would yell at you again, for going against your plan – going rogue, but he didn’t.  

“Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere. “Your strategy worked. Next time, we’ll use your plan again. From the start this time, forget whatever Jain tells you.” 

You nodded in response, a tight smile on your face. It was nice that Charles showed his appreciation for you. However, now that you were standing still instead of moving around, you were easier to spot. So far, you had managed to avoid Jain by blending in with the bustling garage, but Charles’s presence made you easy to find.

“Y/N!” Jain said loudly, making your eyes shoot over to him quickly.

“We need to have a serious talk! Follow me to my office.” The look on his face was scolding and his body posture showed his anger clearly as he walked off. 

You met Charles’ eyes for a second, a nervous smile on your face. “I better go,” you said before rushing after your boss. 

“I’ll come with you,” Charles responded firmly, joining your side.

“I said I’d vouch for you if Jain became angry. I always keep my word,” he said after seeing the confused look on your face.

Jain had already taken a seat in his office when you walked in.

“What the hell were you thinking? Ignoring my strategy?” he hollered.

You took a deep breath, mustering the courage to go against him, but Charles beat you to it, stepping out from behind the door.

“There’s no need to yell at your employee like that, Jain. Besides, her strategy led to much better results than boxing would have.”

Jain’s eyes quickly darted over to him in surprise, having missed his presence, before focusing on you. “You’re here to follow orders, Y/N. Not to make your own decisions. You disobeyed a direct instruction.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Charles had already started speaking, his voice steady but firm. 

“With all due respect, Jain, it’s clear that Y/N’s strategy was superior today. Her approach brought us better results, and we need to recognise that.”

Jain turned his glare to Charles, clearly not pleased with the driver’s intervention. “This is none of your business, Charles. She’s my employee, and she needs to follow my orders.”

“Actually, it is my business,” Charles shot back.

Your eyes darted over to him. This was not at all the right time, but he looked hot as fuck defending you like this. He hadn’t even had the time to change after the race, his driver’s suit hanging around his waist with his black fireproofs on full display. His hair was messy and his cheeks were flushed, whether it was from the race or frustration, you weren’t sure. You could feel your own cheeks turning hot at the sight, and you were certain a blush was spreading across your face, too.

“Her strategies directly affect my performance on the track. Today, she proved her worth. She deserves the chance to implement her plans without being overruled.”

The room fell silent as Jain stared at Charles, his anger simmering beneath the surface. 

No, not the right time at all.

Jain finally sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine. You’ve made your point. But if it fails there will be consequences.”

You nodded eagerly, “of course.”

Charles nodded as well, happy with the outcome.

– – – – –

The next few races turned out much better. Without interference, you could confidently present and implement your strategies. And the results spoke for themselves: Charles consistently finished on the podium. His performance improved so much that even Jain had to admit your strategies worked better than his.

When the next race weekend arrived tensions were high. So far, your racing strategies had proved successful, but you aimed for more every race. It was certainly helpful that you and Charles were a good team. Ever since the issues between Charles and you were resolved, there was mutual trust, and Charles supported every strategy you came up with, even if it seemed risky.

You wished Charles good luck with a nervous smile before he got in his car and, as had become a ritual, he responded confidently with a “we’ve got this” and a reassuring smile that somehow always calmed your nerves.

When the race began you confidently pursued your strategy while Charles navigated the track with precision. Everything went perfectly: the pit stops as swift and smooth as could be and every decision moving Charles closer to the front.

There were only a few laps to go with Charles steadily in second place, closing in on the leader. He managed to get within DRS range and, as the team watched in anticipation, executed a flawless overtake, taking the lead in the race. The garage filled with cheers and applause as the team celebrated his amazing overtake. Meanwhile, a big smile overtook your features as you watched Charles drive on the screen in front of you. 

You stared in disbelief when Charles crossed the finish line in first place. The joy was immense; the whole garage was celebrating the fresh win as you hugged the rest of the team on the pit wall in delight. You had done it – your strategy had led him to a win.

Following your colleagues, you rushed to the parc fermé, wanting to be the first to celebrate this amazing race with him. You watched as Charles got out of his car, pumping his fist in the air in victory. The smile on his face was huge as he jogged to the team waiting to congratulate him. 

“We did it, Y/N!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a celebratory hug. You laughed at his antics but hugged him back nevertheless. If there wasn’t a barrier between you, he would have lifted you up and spun you around, that’s how happy he was. Two months ago he couldn’t have envisioned a win any time soon, and now he had managed to snatch up the first place, all thanks to you.

After his weigh-in, he walked back to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I want you to come up on the podium with me,” he said. 

“Ah,” he tutted, already knowing you would protest before you even opened your mouth, “it’s just as much your win as it’s mine.”

“Charles…”

“You deserve to be up there too! It’s your first win!”

You stared at him hesitantly.

“Come on, Y/N. Just this once. If you say no, I’ll just ask again next time, and the time after that, and—”

“Next time?”

“Yes. We’re obviously going to win many more races together!” Charles said with a childish grin. “Come on!” He continued, tugging on your sleeve.

You finally succumbed, nodding your head. “Okay, fine.”

“Ah perfect! I’ll see you up there!” He said with a big grin, before walking off to do his interview.

You used the time Charles was in the cooldown room to mentally prepare yourself. You were about to stand on the podium. Your face was going to be broadcast on live TV for everyone to see, and it made you nervous. You smiled nervously at the people guiding you up the stairs to the podium where you met Charles. He smiled comfortingly and chatted with you relaxedly while you waited for his name to be called out. 

When the time came, you tried to stay in the background, hiding behind Charles who walked out in front of you before taking your place on the separate podium for the winning constructor. From your position, you could see the crowd cheering for Charles while the Monegasque anthem sounded over the track. You admired the sea of red that was here for Ferrari, for Charles. When the Italian anthem played you made eye contact with Charles, laughing silently with him over your colleagues singing along loudly.

You gracefully accepted the trophy for the team, smiling and lifting it up after it was offered to you. The sound of your team cheering and applauding filled you with joy. You couldn’t be prouder of Charles for this achievement, and maybe of yourself too, especially when you saw the admiring look Charles was sending you. It made your thoughts hazy, tuning out for a second as you enjoyed this moment of glory while staring out at the crowd in front of you.

Then, suddenly, you heard the pops of bottles. You could barely set down your trophy before your face was covered in champagne.

“Charles,” You gasped. 

Barely able to breathe, you tried to cover your face with your cap. It was no use, however; the champagne was already pricking in your eyes as you blindly tried to push Charles away. When the other men on the podium targeted him, you used the moment to pop your own bottle of champagne. Of course, your goal was to completely douse Charles as payback, but he was quick to flee. Before you got the chance to properly drench him, it was already time for the podium picture. Charles grinned at you mischievously from his spot next to you. “You look good in victory champagne,” he teased. 

You glared at him jokingly. You were certain that you looked ridiculous with your cap askew and your clothes completely soaked in champagne, not to mention the mascara that was probably running down your face. You rolled your eyes at his comment, but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

“Thanks, I think.”

He laughed with you, a gleeful look on his face. 

“How about we go out for a celebratory drink?” He asked with a gentle smile.

You noticed the more serious tone in his voice straight away. His expression was one you didn’t recognise; he seemed almost insecure.

Raising an eyebrow, you couldn’t resist teasing him. 

“Are you asking me out, Charles?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Well, yeah. I guess I am. What do you say?”

You laughed again, before nodding your head. 

“A drink sounds good.”

[aashiqeddiediaz]

you know, after watching day 3 of the democratic national convention, i need to say something, especially to other muslims like me.

most of the muslim communities that i'm a part of have chosen to vote uncommitted, or independent, or sometimes, even trump. they refuse to give their vote to kamala harris and tim walz, because of the way the us has handled the war in gaza, and how they have been careless with acknowledging palestinian lives lost, how it was american bombs and american tax money that went towards funding this genocide. it's fucked up, and it's wrong, and there shouldn't be any debate on that.

and i am 100% in support of that anger. i am 100% in support of forcing america to stop funding this genocide. no one wants to keep seeing palestinian lives suffer. no one is free until we're all free, and i believe that to my very core.

my only concern is that where this anger is being placed, from 1 year to 11 weeks before the presidential election, is so scary. because the reality of the situation is that america has a bipartisan outlook. whoever gets the presidency is either democrat or republican. and every vote that doesn't go towards democracy (i.e. voting for kamala harris) inadvertently goes towards trump's big plan of project 2025, which is basically dictatorship. Even voting uncommitted, even voting independent. we cannot afford to elect trump for a second term, and voting anything other than democrat draws that line way too close, especially in swing states like michigan, pennsylvania, wisconsin, georgia.

yes, there are many issues that we wish joe biden would handle better. there are many ways that the democratic party has fucked up beyond repair. there are many ways the democratic party has refused to acknowledge the pain of people affected by their military people throughout the years, and we've been seeing it for years. this is not a new thing. this did not start on october 7th. we see it during pretty much every administration.

however, voting for your candidate should never be based on a singular issue. no political candidate is ever going to check every single box. and its so unfortunate that we have to always take the "lesser of two evils" approach when nominating our president, but that's the reality of the situation at this very moment. there are many other rights to be considered that are at stake this election, all of which trump is trying to remove. abortion bans, women's rights, healthcare, social security, climate change, to name a few.

(and, somehow, there's a belief that trump will lead to a ceasefire deal where biden-harris didn't? let me tell you that is never going to happen.)

does this mean we just stop protesting or pressuring? absolutely not. you NEVER stop, because if our votes are the ones that put the candidate in their position of power, then we expect results. we expect them to work towards what they promised. and we can't let up on reaching out to our local county offices and our state governors and escalating these issues further until someone takes notice and does something about them. we don't elect them and just leave them to do what they want. we keep them accountable. use that anger i was talking about.

but it also means not having tunnel vision. the election in november could very well mean the end of democracy if kamala harris doesn't win. this post is not me all giggly-happy over the democratic party, because trust me, i have my fair share of issues with them as well. this post isn't to tell you what to do, because i can't force you to vote blue. i can't force the community i'm in to change their minds about toss-up votes. but what i can do is put down plainly what's at stake this election. and that is, very simply, our right to choose everything.

so if you are eligible to vote and haven't registered, please do. if you haven't voted before because "what's the point", please see above what the point is. a handful of votes is enough to flip the outcome of an election, especially with the electoral college.

and if you're still on the fence on whether to vote for kamala or trump, hopefully this post gives a little bit more perspective in the most streamlined way i could manage without bogging you down with statistics and numbers.

the choice is yours.

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

connie vs catra: falling in love with a hero

so one thing in SPOP that reminded me of SU is when Catra gets upset and angry at Adora for needing to sacrifice herself in order to save the world. something very similar to this happens in SU where Connie gets upset at Steven for turning himself in to the Diamonds, so that he can prevent everyone else from getting hurt.

and i wanted to compare these two scenarios and talk about why this kind of conflict worked with connverse, but not c//a.

1. Past Relationship And Hypocrisy

Connie and Steven had a healthy relationship prior to this incident. Connie was always supportive of Steven and quite honestly, was one of the very few people who had no expectations for him based on his mother.

the Crystal Gems constantly talked about Rose and knowingly or unknowingly put pressure on Steven to live up to her image. Greg often mentioned Rose too, and while he may not have intended to make Steven feel pressured, that was the outcome.

Connie, on the other hand, saw Steven for who he was - a 14 year old kid who had way too many expectations to live up to. she served as Steven's rock and his connection to human life, letting him goof off and relax like he should. she listened to him when he was feeling troubled, and assured him that she would always be there to support him. Connie made Steven feel loved and understood.

they also made a promise to always fight together after Pearl tries to pressure Connie into sacrificing herself for Steven. Steven is clearly uncomfortable with this and doesn't want Connie to act like his bodyguard and put herself in danger.

so it makes complete sense that Connie felt hurt and betrayed when Steven decided to do exactly that and sacrifice himself to save her and the rest of beach city. it makes sense that Connie was worried sick about Steven after he surrendered himself.

Connie feeling upset about this situation makes sense because she actually cares about Steven. she always has.

meanwhile Catra constantly used Adora's fears and insecurities against her, even when they were on the same side and especially when they were enemies. Catra made Adora feel worthless for existing, she made Adora feel like a failure.

Catra actively and knowingly contributed to Adora's self-sacrificial complex and her habit of putting everyone else's safety above her own. and then she's surprised that Adora wants to sacrifice herself to save the world. wow. who would have thunk it?

Catra has absolutely no right to act like she cares about Adora after all this. and she certainly has no right to get mad at Adora for doing something Catra herself conditioned her to do.

it makes no sense especially because the show acts like the previous seasons never happened. neither Catra nor Adora nor anyone else brings up the fact that Catra was one of the main contributors to Adora's hero complex and her insecurities. the show just glosses over that and acts like Catra being upset about all this is tragic and sympathetic.

2. Expressing Anger In A Healthy Manner

Connie is upset but she communicates her feelings to Steven in a calm manner. she tells him that what he did hurt her feelings. she is obviously angry and upset, but she's also visibly trying to keep it together and not let her anger get the best of her.

i also think that Steven kinda messed up when he replies to Connie's "i'm hurt" with "no you're not". he decided that as long as no one was physically hurt, there was no problem. he didn't stop to think about how this might have affected Connie emotionally. (i'm not hating on Steven btw, he was in a pretty tough situation himself and was just happy that everyone was safe and alive. this is a situation where both of them were in the right and it was just a complicated issue to navigate.)

basically, Connie deals with this situation more maturely than some adults might have. she felt hurt and betrayed, but she didn't use that as an excuse to hurt Steven. she said what she wanted to say and then she left to give her mind some clarity.

also she does this AFTER Steven returns home safely.

Catra, on the other hand?

she screams at Adora, accuses Adora of picking favorites and pushes her to the ground. Catra is supposedly in her 20s at this point, and she still hasn't learned to express her anger in a healthy manner. she says once that she was working on her anger issues and that's it. we never see her try, we never see any improvement.

and then Catra just abandons Adora because “she couldn't bear to watch Adora sacrifice herself”. Catra didn't just leave because she needed some time to cool off, she was basically willing to abandon Adora and let her die.

3. Clear Motives

Connie's feelings and motives are clear from the get-go. she was worried about Steven putting himself in danger, and she was angry and upset that he broke their promise and her trust.

Catra though?

first she's mad that Shadow Weaver called her a distraction. then she's concerned about Adora's choice to sacrifice herself. and finally, she's upset that Adora doesn't like her in a romantic way.

two of these were very self-centered motives. it's hard to believe that Catra was just concerned about Adora's safety when she's whining about how Adora chose Shadow Weaver over her, as if this was some kind of competition. and it just comes off as the writers shoving in as many reasons as possible for the viewers to sympathize with Catra, rather than writing an organic conflict.

in conclusion, if you want to write a relationship involving a self-sacrificial hero, do it like Steven Universe did. make it make sense instead of shoving in hypocritical conflict.

[imagine-darksiders]

On the Ropes - chapter 23.

CYNOSURE.

Summary: You're in trouble. More trouble than you seem to realise...

Montgomery Gator X F!Reader

Slight Freddy X F!Reader

Tags: Jealousy, Protectiveness, Hurt/comfort, Angst, Violence, Anger, Past abuse, Friends to lovers, dialogue.

Please note, I haven't seen anything to do with the Ruin DLC. I'm writing this with just the base game in mind.

---------

If it were possible for a human to retreat inside their own shadow, you'd happily let go of your crutches and sink down into the safety of the darkness stretched across the daycare floor behind you, hiding within yourself where nobody – not Andy, nor Freddy or Monty or Eclipse – would be able to see you.

You want to be small.

You want to be still.

So small and so still that you could slip out of view entirely to conceal yourself amongst the dust and atoms that are naked to the human eye.

You'd only ask for a few hours. A few hours to be unimportant and unnoticeable.

Is that such an outlandish ask?

If it meant you don't have to be looked upon by a man with anger contorting his expression into something cold and ugly, you'd disappear in a heartbeat.

You've wished for similar things before, in entirely dissimilar situations.

“Andy,” you croak, trying not to dwell on how timid and yielding your voice has fallen, “I-I'm sorry, okay? I know I should've gone straight home-”

“So why didn't you?” The speed at which he cuts off your sentence is jarring enough to send you shrinking behind your shoulders and dropping your eyes to a spot on the mechanic's shirt that shifts across his heaving chest, slack then taut then slack with each breath.

He's asked a valid question, you remind yourself, swallowing thickly. And really, what did you expect? He has every right to be angry with you. You were discharged from the hospital and expected to go straight home to rest your broken ankle, but instead, you've returned to the very building where you sustained your injury in the first place not twelve hours later.

Sparing a second to go over the motions in your mind's eye, you start to get a picture of where you might have made a couple of minor errors in judgement.

Gulping past a lump of nerves in your throat, you raise your eyes to the mechanic's again and offer him your excuse, though you can only imagine how feeble it must sound in his discerning ears. “I... just wanted to make sure they... I needed to see that everyone was okay. Monty was half-destroyed, Andy, I couldn't just sit at home and not-”

Abruptly, the mechanic's jaws split around a sharp bark of laughter that causes Eclipse's fingers to cinch several pascals tighter around your bicep.

Even Freddy's ears flinch back at the piercing sound.

“Pah! You needed to know they were okay?” Andy parrots, giving his head a shake and planting his hands squarely on his hips. Seconds later, his face twists up to aim a scowl at you, all traces of false amusement gone. “And why in the Hell didn't you just call me!?” he points out, jabbing a forefinger against his chest, “You have my number! You could've just asked me! I'd've checked on 'em for you so you could go home!” You don't miss how his voice cracks on the final word. “What the Hell were you thinkin', kid?”

And you wish you had an answer for him.

You could counter his query with one of your own. Like whether or not he truly thinks you wouldn't have just gone to plex anyway, especially after he told you what had happened to the attendants.

Something solid bumps gently against your good ankle, and a hurried glance down reveals that Monty's segmented tail has swept close behind you, curling up around your legs as the gator shifts on his hydraulics and leans closer into your side.

It's a subtle shift, or as subtle as a three tonne animatronic can be. Privately, you hope he doesn't say anything in your defence. You can't imagine that Monty speaking his mind will lead to a peaceable outcome between he and the mechanic right now.

But if the ornery gator was on the cusp of formulating a response on your behalf, he never gets to spit it from his voice-box.

Forcing a rough exhale through his teeth, Andy raises a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed firmly shut. “Look, kid, I...” He trails off to sigh again, turning on his heel with a fist clenched at his side. You try not to stare at his bone-white knuckles, all too aware that Freddy's optics are adhered to your face.

“You got any idea how scared I was when I went to the Hospital this mornin' and you weren't there?”

Pressing your lips together, you numbly shake your head, though you're not sure he's even looking for a response.

Without turning to face you, he finally lets out a tired, old exhale, tipping his head back to glare up at a nondescript point on the ceiling. ”... It's been a hell of a long day.”

You have to wonder if he managed to get any sleep last night with how thickly his voice dips.

Although you're conscious you've used it to death, you nonetheless can't refrain from falling back on your typical, knee-jerk response. “I'm sorry, Andy...” you apologise.

“I know you're sorry,” he grunts waspishly without missing a beat as he begins to march towards the daycare entrance, “Now you'd better get your sorry ass to the car park, stat. M'callin' you a cab...”

“But-”

The mechanic's boots squeak on the rubber mats, silencing you when he whirls about to jab a finger at you, ignoring Monty's guttural hum of warning.

“But nothin'!” he snaps, which in turn has you snapping your mouth shut, “I ain't in the mood today, okay? Now get!”

His command echoes out through the cavernous room, disappearing into the rafters hanging high over the daycare.

As Andy stands there, seething, you keep your feet planted firmly on the ground. With Monty's plates quivering on your right, the attendant's fingers squeezing wrinkles into the sleeve of your shirt, and Freddy hovering between you, sending apprehensive glances between you and the mechanic, you take a shaky breath to steel your nerves before you finally manage to rush out, “But what about Eclipse?”

It's funny. Before today, you'd never actually seen a vein bulge in real life.

Andy's temple seems to throb for a moment as he stares at you, jaw creaking open in disbelief.

In another second, his brows are wrenched to the centre of his forehead and he makes a sound of incredulity at the back of his throat, almost a laugh, but a dangerous one.

“Eclipse?” he scoffs, “Who the Hell is-?”

Somewhere overhead, a mechanical 'thunk' rolls across the ceiling.

At once, Andy's question falls silent and he quirks a brow, tilting his neck back to squint at the overhead lights.

Following his gaze, you nearly jump out of your skin when the daycare is suddenly and inexplicably plunged into a jarring darkness.

Barely a fraction of a second passes before Eclipse's hand on your arm goes ramrod stiff, and in doing so, turns their grip on you damn near tight – tight enough that it hurts, which instantly sets alarm bells ringing in your head like claxons.

Neither Sunnydrop nor Moondrop, in all your history of service as a cleaning lady here, have ever once caused you even a sliver of harm, not by accident or otherwise.

Putting aside the fact that their programming is irrefutably air-tight given their proximity to children, Sun and Moon have informed you repeatedly that they'd rather tear out their own circuitry before they'd ever harm a friend.

So to have their grasp on your forearm turn borderline painful isn't just surprising, it's downright unfathomable.

In another blink of an eye, the darkness bearing down on you evaporates as the lights overhead promptly buzz back to life, flicker once, then finally stabilize in the familiar, steady hum, glowing brightly down onto the daycare.

But still, Eclipse's grasp doesn't shift.

Oblivious to your sudden wince of discomfort, Monty raises his snout to peer at the ceiling, optics narrowed uncertainly. “A power surge?” he hums.

“You gotta be shittin' me,” Andy growls, ignoring the little burst of static that leaves Freddy's voice-box at his vulgarity, “First the animatronics go haywire, now the lights're on the blink. What's next?”

None of them seem to have noticed the eerily motionless giant looming at your side, nor the look of trepidation you're sending the large, spindly fingers encasing your arm.

“Uh, Eclipse?” you utter tentatively, giving your limb an experimental tug. You don't like the way they're staring at Andy, their once luminous optics as dark as tar pits and their head locked at a rigid, right angle, sun rays extended to their maximum length.

Silicone fingers tighten a fraction when you try to reclaim your limb, prompting a soft hiss to seep in through your teeth.

You may as well have let out a bloodcurdling scream with how violently Monty tears his optics off the lights and whips his head in your direction, fast enough that you can hear his motors whirring noisily to try and keep up with the movement.

Oh no...

“Wait, Monty –” you start, but you already know by the wrinkling of his snout and the dilation of his aperture pupils that he's seen the source of your trouble.

Crimson optics lock onto the vice-like hand secured around your arm.

There's a single second where you see the gator's processor scan over the pressure that Eclipse is exerting before, in a snap, the daycare explodes with the sound of a furious, thundering bellow.

“HEY! GET OFF'A HER!”

Before you can even flinch, one of Monty's purple servos stretches across your body to latch around Eclipse's wrist.

“Monty!” you shout, alarmed, “It's okay, stop!”

At the sound of your voice, the attendant's faceplate tilts down, apparently unfazed by the gator's grip, and you can't do a thing to combat the visceral shudder that crawls up the back of your neck when your eyes meet their dark, unlit optics.

There isn't a trace of the irradiant orange light that had once glowed behind their casing, light that had given an impression of real life beneath the plastic shell.

Now, they're black as pitch, save for two, nearly imperceptible pinpricks of... of purple light...

At the base of your neck, tiny hairs shoot upright, prickling at the sense of a danger you don't quite yet comprehend.

The overheads must be shining through the back of their faceplate for a moment, there and gone in a flash, because as soon as you blink, the violet pupils wink out, yet Eclipse's grasp on you remains stubbornly in place.

“Hey!” Andy hollers from somewhere behind you, “What's goin' on back there!? Thought I told you to get to the car park!”

“I'm trying!” you retort, placing a hand on Eclipse's and attempting to gently coax their fingers from your arm. At the same time, several tonnes of gator grabs the collar of your shirt and gives it a rough pull, which sadly only results in nearly strangling you when Eclipse's grip doesn't budge an inch.

“I said let 'er go!” Monty snarls, giving your shirt another yank, throttling you in the process.

Rather than continue to play the role of 'rope' in this impromptu game of tug-of-war between two powerful animatronics, you hurriedly blunder out, “Monty! Please! Let go, you're making it worse!”

“I'm tryn'a help!” he insists.

Looming over you like a dark sun, Eclipse twists their faceplate in a full rotation, their beaming grin far more menacing than you recall.

At your back, Andy's scowl disappears in a blink, his mouth falling open in abject horror.

Quick as a flash, he snatches his stun baton from his belt and skirts around Freddy, barking, “Get out of the way, gator!”

Throwing a glance back over your shoulder, your eyes zero in on the prod in his white-knuckle grip and you let out a gasp, whipping your head back to Eclipse and pleading, “Guys! What's wrong? Please, talk to me! I-it's okay!”

They lean forwards, twisting their hand into your shirt until your knees buckle and tears spring to your eyes.

Something's wrong.

Deeply wrong.

You're trapped.

It seems delayed, but at long last, a creeping terror begins to sink its gnawing teeth into your stomach.

Sucking down a wobbly breath, you fill your lungs and let everything go again in a desperate shout, hurling out the words you never once assumed you'd have to use in their presence. “Sun! Moon! Stop, you're hurting me!”

And as if it's a shut down switch, as if that's what gets through whatever has momentarily assumed control of their processor - more than your struggling, more than Monty's crushing hand on their wrist - Eclipse turns their head a click to the left, and their optics flicker, orange, then black, then back to orange again.

“F..friend?” they rasp, their voice-box laden with static.

Monty freezes at your side, the plates on his neck flared like a spitting cobra as Eclipse shifts their gaze down to the hand still wrapped around your arm.

Then, in a sudden rush of movement, the attendant all but rips their appendage from you and staggers backwards, all four of their limbs springing up to catch their head, and in doing so, you're sent toppling backwards on unsteady legs, clutching at your aching arm.

“Gotcha!” Monty grunts triumphantly as he releases Eclipse in favour of planting his hands on your waist and lifting you into the air in one, swift movement, spinning his torso around to place you gently on the floor behind his tail before he whirls back to face the attendant, chest puffed out and teeth bared, giving him the look of a bristling wall of metal and plastic.

You have to lean around his splayed arms to see Eclipse is still clutching at their faceplate, babbling incoherently until they give an abrupt, violent jolt, their knees collapsing out from underneath them.

“Eclipse!” you cry, hobbling around the gator, who only throws an arm out to catch you in the stomach, halting you in your step.

Andy appears in your peripheral, his hand still clamped around the prod.

“What in the goddamn shit is goin' on with this thing!?” he hollers.

You nearly gasp when two gentle paws land on your shoulders and coax you backwards, dragging your crutches along the ground.

“Miss Y/n,” Freddy's voice thrums over your head, “Please, don't get too close!”

Eclipse's optics flicker to life once again, only to dim a second later as that eerie, violet light sparks into existence and swivels in your direction.

There you stand, half hidden behind Montgomery Gator and engulfed in Freddy's shadow, one hand gingerly cradling your elbow, staring back at the attendant with downturned lips and upturned brows.

Drained of fight, beset upon by pain and confusion, you forget to hide your expression.

You forget that they know the look of fear all too well.

“F-Friend!” they sputter, peeling one, quivering hand away from their face and stretching it out towards you, their fingers seeking a connection with you, even metres away, “Friend? I-i-i t ' s m – m e...”

Before you can utter even a whimper in response, the animatronic suddenly throws their mechanical neck back and lets out a gut-churning shriek, three of their four hands scrabbling erratically at their faceplate.

“NNNGH!!!! GET OUT!” they howl like a wounded animal.

It's a horrifying thing to watch. And yet you can't tear your eyes off them as they rock forwards, peering through rigid fingers that cover the upper half of their face.

It's rather telling that even Monty steps back when the attendant once again buzzes and jerks as if their system is roiling with far too much electricity, a live-wire dropped in a puddle of water.

“GET! OUT!”

Their shout extends, growing and swelling in volume to an awful crescendo, until suddenly, at the apex of their cry when you're sure your eardrums might burst, the sound cuts out, as if their voice box has been inexplicably disconnected by unseen hands.

And for a long, heart-wrenching moment, they go entirely, frighteningly still....

Stricken, you let your jaw hang open, gaping at Eclipse's stiff frame as it starts to teeter over like an enormous obelisk falling slowly to the earth.

With an awful cacophony of rattling parts and scraping metal, they come crashing to the ground, none of it muffled against the soft-play mats underneath them. To your horror, a trail of smoke drifts up from the back of their head, beneath the little, black box where their CPU is housed.

Several long and tedious moments seem to drag by at an excruciating pace before finally, finally, you release the breath you've been holding for the last twenty seconds.

It escapes you in a rush, letting you know just how long you'd kept it trapped inside your lungs.

That single breath has a ripple effect, spreading outwards and touching Freddy first.

“Oh dear...” the bear mutters, his hold on your elbows going slack.

At once, you lurch forwards on your crutches before he can re-secure his grip.

“Guys!” you belt out, limping past a startled Monty, only to find yourself drawn up short by a heavy hand falling on your shoulder.

“Hold up, lady” the gator barks, easily keeping you in place even as you try to duck out of his grasp.

“God damn, shit,” Andy rasps, carelessly hurling his baton back onto his belt, “What is goin' on with these machines!?”

The mechanic once again bulldozes over Freddy's sputtered comment about refraining from vulgarity in favour of approaching the downed animatronic, moving past you and the gator to nudge the toe of his rubber boot underneath Eclipse's elbow, giving it a half-hearted kick.

“A-are they-?” you begin, craning your neck to see over Andy's shoulder.

“Offline,” he responds brusquely as he rakes a hand down his face, tugging at the wrinkles that lay under his eyes, “But looks like they fried their CPU.”

“WHAT!?” you blurt.

You might have gone on to spiral into a frantic mess of sentences, but at that moment, you're swiftly yet carefully spun around by a pair of large, tentative servos until you find yourself gaping listlessly up into the maw of Montgomery Gator.

Wasting no time, the enormous bot presses himself as far into your personal space as he can physically get without bowling you over and darts his gaze up and down your body, his optics working on overtime to scan you from head to toe.

“You okay?!” he rushes out urgently.

“What?” Mind whirling, you shoot a glance down at the lifeless attendant on the floor before returning your wide-eyed stare to Monty. “Wh-... I – yes? Yeah, I'm fine.”

A rapid shake of his head indicates his disagreement. “But they hurt you!”

“They didn't do it on purpose. It was an acciden-” you start to say, only to find yourself cut off.

“Stop sayin' stuff was an accident!” the gator blurts, his stare locking onto the spot on your arm where Eclipse had left his mark. Lips of silicone peel back to expose the full length of his teeth. “Sure didn't look like an accident to me...”

“Need I remind you that this-” you jerk your chin down towards the cast encumbering your injured leg. “-was an accident as well.”

“That's-!” The gator's voice-box sputters with fuzz for a moment as he tries to push his processor towards the words he's looking for, eventually settling on, “That's totally different!”

“Is it?” Stuffing your teeth into your lip, you fall quiet for a moment, gathering your brows into a hard line and drawing in a deep, slow inhale through your nostrils, partially to soothe your agitation, and partially because your ankle gives a sudden, searing throb, as if it had at last grown tired of you ignoring its frailty. “If I thought for one minute that they'd ever do something to hurt me, I might agree with you,” you concede, casting a troubled glance down at the eerily still attendant, your knuckles white on the crutch handles, “But this... I don't know... It's like they didn't even realise they were doing it... Something isn't right.”

“I'm sure it's nothing our fine mechanics can't fix,” Freddy pipes up.

“Agreed,” Andy jumps in, “Whatever happened, we'll deal with it down in Parts. New tech guy's comin' in to go over the security systems anyway.”

“Okay...” You nod your head, flexing your fingers around the crutches and sifting through your racing thoughts to try and formulate a plan of action, one that'll get Sun and Moon the help they clearly need. You're only glad that this has happened to you, and not one of the kids. “Okay. Okay, right. I'll help you get them down to Parts and Services.”

You should have known you wouldn't get away with that.

Sharp as a whip-crack, Andy cuts you off, shooting you a steely glare. “Not on your life, you ain't. You're going straight out to the car park, I'm gonna call you a cab. And you're gonna go home.”

You open your mouth to offer a feeble argument only to fall silent when Monty's hand finds your forearm and he leans down to place his mouth near your ear, grunting, “Maybe it's for the best, y'know? Can't do much for 'em if you're on the verge of collapse yourself.”

“I'm not on the verge of-... ugh.” You puff out your cheeks, teetering sideways before you manage to catch yourself on a crutch and shove yourself upright again. Scowling down at your cast, you mutter, “Not exactly making a good case for myself, am I?”

Rumbling a note of acknowledgement, Monty gives the back of your shoulder a guiding nudge with his snout. “C'mon. I'll help you get to the entrance.”

“God dammit, NO! NO! Monty, you're gonna carry the attendant down to Parts,” Andy exclaims, jabbing a finger at the gator and puffing like a runaway train as he throws an arm out at the animatronic bear hovering to your left, “Freddy'll take her to the entrance.”

Dutifully, the bear straightens up on his struts and returns his hat to its rightful place between his ears. “It would be my pleasure,” he says cordially, reaching out a paw for you to take and lifting his muzzle to flash you a charming smile. “May I?”

Letting out a disgruntled sigh, you take a single step towards the cordial bear, only for a clawed fist to clap shut around the collar of your shirt and keep you in place.

A growl reverberates through the air behind you and you're rudely tugged back a fumbling step, allowing Monty to slink around in front of you, releasing your shirt as he petulantly snaps, “Nuh uh, you may not!”

“Montgomery,” Freddy scolds, flicking his ears back on their hinges.

Snapping his optics over to Andy, the gator blunders on as if his co-star had never spoken. “Why him? Huh? How come I can't take 'er?”

Holding you breath, you cast a nervous glance around Monty's bridling shoulder to peer at the mechanic, who looks to be about three seconds away from pulling out his electric prod and reenacting the harrowing scene from last night all over again.

Peeling his lips apart, you catch a glint of his gritted teeth as he slowly drawls out, “Because I trust Freddy a damn sight more than I trust you to get her there in one piece.”

At that, you feel your eyebrows twitch inwards of their own accord.

It's only small, but a flicker of indignation spurs you to stick out your chin and fix Andy with a stern look, missing the way Monty's immense frame seems to grow inexplicably smaller at your side as he wilts.

“Andy, come on,” you say, “That's not fair...”

One of the old man's eyelids gives a volatile twitch, a clear indication that his patience isn't just wearing thin, it's damn-near threadbare. Yet still, you stand your ground, etching a frown onto your face that grows deeper and deeper as the silence stretches on.

Andy's lips thin, and despite his agitated temper, he spares the gator a more thorough once-over.

The mechanic has been around for a while, long enough that he was there when the switch was flipped and Montgomery Gator's processor first whirred to life. Ever since, Andy has amassed countless reports of Monty proving himself to be a nuisance, a hinderance and a downright danger to the company, the staff, the guests... To you.

The damnable bot broke your ankle, for Christ's sake...

And yet... God... And yet you've gone and done it. You've gone and buried a tiny seed of guilt right in the centre of Andy's chest. It isn't much, but it's enough...

He can't deny that you and that poor kid may very well have died yesterday if not for Monty coming to your defence.

Andy might not have believed it if he hadn't seen the feedback with his own two eyes.

The gator had protected you.

Glancing down, he doesn't fail to note the tail curled up around the back of your legs, nor the hulking animatronic casting you in his shadow - ironic, considering the bot has been doing nothing but shadow you for the past few days. People are noticing the changes...

Andy Flowers knows what loyalty looks like... He just... never thought he'd see it in a bot like Monty.

“Hhh... M'gettin' too old for this job,” he sighs, lifting a thumb and forefinger to massage gingerly at his forehead.

It's a tough pill to swallow, admitting that you have a point - that Andy isn't, in fact, being fair. He may remember, in gruesome detail, the bite, the blood, Mick's harrowing screams, but - and call him biased - he can't ignore that he trusts your judgment. Nor can he disregard the tiny kernel of gratitude he'd felt when he watched, through Monty's optics, how the bot guarded you from that 'intruder' with startling ferocity. The fact that you're the one willing to vouch for the bot means something to Andy.

So. Is it fair of him to suspect that Monty wouldn't get you to the front entrance without incident?

Andy's eyes squint sharply and he peers at you for a long moment, feeling the weight of three stares boring back into him, apprehensively awaiting his next words.

After a little while longer spent in silence, you nod your head and gently prompt, “It's okay, Andy. Monty can get me there safely. I trust him.”

You and Freddy are so busy watching the mechanic, neither of you notice Montgomery twisting his head to regard you with wide, glimmering optics, plastic brows pinched together and tilted towards the ceiling. And then the man's gaze is drawn to movement behind the gator, movement that he at first attributes to the daycare attendant stirring back to life. So it comes as a surprise when all he sees is the gator's segmented tail swinging back and forth silently at the back of your legs.

'Huh,' he muses to himself, 'That's a new one.'

Aloud, he has to summon every ounce of his willpower to do what he's about to do...

Concede.

“Goddammit, fine,” he spits, slumping his shoulders in defeat and breaking the spell of tension he'd cast over the daycare.

At once, Monty perks up and you start to smile, opening your mouth to give a word of thanks, but before you can, the mechanic jerks his chin at Freddy and adds, “Fred, go with 'em. Make sure there aren't any more detours.”

Almost as quickly as it had lit up, your face promptly falls slack. “Seriously?”

“We don't need an escort,” Monty chips in, throwing a haughty side-eye at Freddy, who only appears all-too happy to fulfil the request.

“Freddy goes with you, and that's final,” Andy retorts, squinting at you sharply, “You're in enough trouble as it is.”

It... shouldn't bother him as much as it does how quickly you back down from him, lowering your eyes and huffing out a quiet, “Fine. Fine.”

As you start to shuffle past him, you can't help but turn back to peer down at the lifeless animatronic on the floor behind you.

“What about them?” you ask quietly, pausing beside the mechanic, “Who'll help you take them to Parts if Freddy comes with us?”

“I know a gal,” is all he grunts in return as he raises his wrist and taps on his Fazwatch. The screen lights up, and a chipper voice buzzes through the speakers.

“Andy!”

“Chica,” the mechanic replies in a far less enthusiastic tone, stepping past you to stand over Eclipse's body, “Need a favour. You up for a little heavy lifting?”

Curious as you are to hear her response, it's only worry for your attendant friends that keeps your feet stuck fast to the play mats, and it isn't until Freddy's paw lands on your back that you allow yourself to be gently ushered towards the daycare entrance, tossing a last, lingering glance over your shoulder as you go.

Andy looms over Eclipse, still muttering to his wrist whilst his free hand wraps around the back of his neck, rubbing at the short, grey hairs that grow there, his whole body slouching forwards as if it can no longer bear to keep itself standing upright.

You think you can understand how he feels...

Freddy's guiding paw only manages to stay on your back for all of a few seconds before Monty slips his nose between you and the bear, giving the latter a shove with his powerful jaws.

Thrown, Freddy stumbles sideways at once, emitting a sound of surprise as his footfalls clatter clumsily on the linoleum for a moment, a moment that gives Monty ample time to move his hefty bulk between you and his co-star.

You remain deaf to Freddy's grunt of disapproval as he's forced aside, shooting the gator a reprimanding huff before reaching up to right his hat from where it had been knocked askew.

In the meantime, you continue to limp forwards whilst your head remains twisted over one shoulder, your gaze locked onto the gangling shape that lays on the floor of the daycare, round face-plates half obscured by Andy's legs.

Dark, blank optics bore into you as you're ushered beyond the wooden entrance and out through the red, swinging doors that close in your wake with a firm 'bang,' cutting off your view of that ominous, sightless stare.

Frowning softly, you turn your head forwards again and give a noiseless sigh, emptying your lungs and readying yourself for the walk to the front doors of the Plex. It's to your own shame that you look forward to collapsing on your bed and resting, while the attendants are carted down to Parts and Services where a perfect stranger will poke and prod at their CPU.

You can only hope they'll be okay when they wake up...

And so, in silence, all three of you – human, gator, and bear – begin to amble along the corridor adjoined to the daycare, not a sound passed between you except for the heavy 'clunks' of the animatronic's footfalls.

You keep your eyes on the ground ahead of you, wincing now with every other step, but keeping your expression rigid, sensing the vigilant optics of two bots assessing you from above.

You've almost reached the end of the corridor by the time Freddy breaks the silence.

“How are you feeling, Miss Y/n?” he voices softly, leaning forwards to try and catch your eye.

Exhaling a long, arduous breath through your nose, you raise your head and consider your response.

Somehow, you have enough sense to know that saying 'I'm about three seconds away from pulling my hair out and having a little cry right here in this corridor' to a worry-wart like Freddy wouldn't be the wisest choice of words.

The poor bear is already peering down at you as though he expects you to fall over at a moment's notice. So, in lieu of the truth, you plaster on a reassuring smile and aim it up at the star, telling him, “I'm all right, Freddy...” And then, because you're aware of the skeptical twitch of his plastic brows, you add a safe truth. “I'm just... really, really tired...”

You don't notice Monty's head lower to squint at you discerningly.

“Ah, that is quite understandable,” Freddy nods sagely as he presses ahead and holds open the lobby doors ahead of you, leaving Monty to linger behind and watch you through them with a careful optic, “You've had a very exciting day.”

“Excitin' ain't the word I'd use,” the gator huffs, sliding through and reclaiming his spot at your side before Freddy can bustle in to take it.

Apparently oblivious to his co-star's comment, Freddy simply settles into a steady lope on the opposite side of Monty and peers around him to continue addressing you. “I noticed you were looking a little peaky during the performance...”

Now you know he's being polite. You can't imagine that spending a sleepless night in the hospital without any opportunity to clean yourself up has left you looking your best. In response to the bear, you merely give a non-committal hum.

Once again, you all fall silent, although judging from the frequent glances that Freddy shoots down to you, you think it's safe to presume he has something else on his processor that's just bursting to get out.

Sure enough, after taking a few steps towards the lift...

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Did I... What?” you blink, turning to raise a quizzical brow at the bear.

“The performance,” he reiterates, tapping his fingertips together hopefully, “What did you think?”

Well, you muse, aside from the impromptu shoutout...

“You guys were fantastic,” you tell him with a genuine smile that only grows wider when Freddy's ears wiggle in delight, jangling his little, red earring.

Turning to Monty, you add, “You though, Mont, you stole the show!”

Clenching his fists, the gator has to focus hard on the creaking plastic to keep the pneumatic actuators beneath his casing from pulling his lips into a proud smile. There's a pressing question that's been nagging at the front of his processor, one that's been burning a hole through his chip ever since he looked up at the concert and found you missing, and he'll be damned if he's going to let a little compliment from his... from you distract him.

“Liked it, did'ja?” he mumbles.

You're still aiming a tired grin up at the side of his snout when you reply, “Of course I did...”

“Then why'd you leave..?”

Ah... There goes your smile... He almost pierces his plastic palms with his claws in some kind of self-imposed admonishment for erasing it.

But... he has to know.

Swallowing, you turn to face forwards again, dimly registering that Monty is has begun to turn himself towards you little by little, subtly herding you in the direction of the lift behind the photo booth.

Your crutches click noisily on the tiled floor. The answer to his question is precisely what you'd been hoping to avoid. And now you're stuck between a rock and a hard place. Do you tell him the truth and cause he and Freddy to worry, or do you tell a white lie and potentially insult them with a lacklustre reason for ditching the show early?

… God, your eyelids ache with the effort of holding them open.

Defeatedly, your shoulders droop and you ask, “You want an honest answer, or an answer that won't upset you?”

“Well... Honesty is my favourite policy – Oh. Watch your step,” Freddy chimes in as he moves ahead of you onto the lift before turning to face you, taking your wrist in his enormous paw and keeping you steady as you step on after him.

“Thanks, Fred,” you murmur gently.

Though he makes a show of rolling his optics at the bear, Monty concurs. “We're big bots, lady. Reckon we can handle it.”

The lift shudders when the gator steps on after you, dipping slightly with a groan of metal. You pause long enough for the sound to stop before you reach out and jab a thumb on the button for the bottom floor, blowing a noisy sigh through pursed lips.

“Doctors gave me some pain meds after the operation,” you finally confess, “But only enough for today. I was meant to go straight to a pharmacy after I left the hospital to get some over-the-counter anti-inflammatories. But...” Your voice trails off as the lift slows to a smooth halt, dinging once before the doors slide open to let you leave.

“But you didn't,” Monty points out, his voice nearly a growl.

Watchful of your every move, the bots linger behind whilst you swing the crutches forwards and haul yourself from the lift. You don't bother to wait for them, fully aware that they could catch up and overtake you in just a few strides.

Dipping your head towards your shoulder in a sideways shrug, you glance around the lobby, relieved to find that most of the foot-traffic is concentrated inside the gift shops. There are very few guests milling about around the open space, just a few tired parents chatting with one another near the turnstiles and a group of teenagers perched on the edge of the enormous, bronze statue that has pride of place at the centre of the lobby.

Only a few glance in your direction as you hobble past, sparing Freddy and Monty vaguely curious glances, but nobody seems altogether inclined to get up and greet the stars of the Pizzaplex. It's likely they've been here more times than one can count, and the novelty of walking, talking animatronics has worn off.

Perhaps you're just more impressed because you've seen these bots behind closed-doors, but you find that it's a sad world where impressive feats of technology like the Glamrocks are regarded as mundane, as if they're little more than a passing fad.

As you suspected, it isn't long before titanic footfalls tromp heavily up to your side once more, neither bot willing to let you stray too far ahead, apparently. You appreciate the vigilance, though you still find it a little overdramatic.

“Started feeling the meds wear off during your performance,” you continue softly once Monty's big, green nose appears in the corner of your vision, “And I got worried that if I didn't get to the daycare soon, I wouldn't be able to hide my pain from the attendants, so...”

“... So you left before the pain got too much to bear,” Freddy finishes for you, his ears tipping back in sympathy.

The gator, however, picks up on something else entirely. “Does it hurt real bad'?” Bristling, he takes a glance down and begins to scan your leg for the umpteenth time.

You reply with an exasperated shake of your head, though the motion is still fond. “It's my own fault, Mont,” you tell him, taking the lead and bringing them through the open turnstile that allows guests to leave, manned by a single, motionless S.T.A.F.F bot.

The gator stomps through behind you, grumbling something under his 'breath' that you miss beneath the S.T.A.F.F bot's generic, blaring address.

“Thank you for visiting Fazbear's Pizzaplex. Please, have a Faz-erific day.”

“Likewise,” you respond automatically before turning over your shoulder to address Monty again, “And it's not so bad-” Liar. “- If it was really hurting, I might've asked one of you to carry me.”

Freddy is the last to leave through the turnstile, tipping his hat politely to the smaller bot before he hurries up to your side again.

“Flowers was right,” Monty rumbles, lowering his optics to the cast on your leg, “You should'a gone straight home....”

With the main entrance mere steps away, you let out a sigh and draw to an unsteady halt in front of it. Beside you, the heavy animatronics do the same, their footsteps stopping in near-perfect synch. Hesitant, Monty turns his head towards you, his optics clicking open in surprise when he sees your hand rising steadily towards his face. He doesn't move a piston, holding his metaphorical breath as you lay a gentle palm on top of his snout and give it a slow, soothing stroke, right from his glasses to the tip of his nostrils. He has no throat to gulp, but his gears whir as he swivels his gaze from your hand to your eyes, vaguely registering the warm hum emitting from Freddy's chest.

“I'm glad I came here first,” you tell him, resolute, “For my own peace of mind, if nothing else. I wanted to see for myself that you were okay. That endo nearly ripped you to pieces.”

It takes the gator's sensors a moment to recognise your touch.

And when everything clicks into place, it takes all of his processing power to refrain from sagging like a big, green balloon with the air let out. This is the second time today you've willingly put your fragile, little hand close to his crushing jaws...

Worry. You'd described worry. You wanted to see that he was okay? He almost finds the notion inconceivable.

After all, he's Montgomery Gator. He... He doesn't worry about anyone, and nobody worries about him. That's the way it's always been...

He wants to smack Freddy with his tail when the bear announces pleasantly, “You were worried about him.”

As you turn to face the star, your hand still resting lightly on Monty's snout, the gator settles for whipping his optics up to glare at Freddy from behind your head -

- But he's stopped when you say, plain and simple, “Of course I was.”

Of course you were...

Of course.

“Well” you announce suddenly, drawing your hand from Monty's snout and returning it to the handle of your crutch, “I suppose I'd better get going before any else turns up to tell me I've made some bad decisions.”

The warmth from your hand disappears too fast, too soon, and Monty has to catch himself before he leans down to try and keep your palm attached to his nose.

Freddy's head dips in concurrence, regarding you with a soft fondness that sets the gator's fingers twitching. But at last, the bear drags his optics away from you and turns them instead to the open entrance and the carpark beyond. All at once, the easy-going lift of his jaw falls, his brows sliding together into the centre of his forehead as a troubled hum spews from his voice-box.

Following the line of his gaze, Monty soon discovers why.

The afternoon is slowly bleeding into the first touches of a cold, dark evening, and the sky overhead has grown heavy with grey clouds. Snow falls lightly from above, not enough to be of any concern to the traffic on the well-gritted roads, but enough that they can several humans meandering back to their cars, rubbing their gloved hands together and wrapping brightly-coloured scarves around their children's necks as they exit their vehicles.

“Looks like we're in for another cold one,” you remark, drawing Monty's attention down to you.

Shifting on his actuators, the gator casts a fleeting look between you and the world beyond the Plex's main entrance.

This is it, he supposes. You'll be going home now... To a place that's entirely foreign to him, filled with unknowns and unpredictability.... A place where anything could potentially happen to you, and he'd have no idea until word eventually reached him from the staff gossip chain...

Why has it only just occurred to him that the outside world might be a dangerous place? He's never considered that possibility before, not once.

“You comin' in tomorrow?” he finds himself asking before he can mute his voice-box.

Puffing out your cheeks, you blow a noisy breath through your lips before giving a wince and replying, “Not sure I can, big guy. The doctor said that fractured ankles take about eight weeks to heal.”

Eight weeks?

Now, Montgomery would never claim to be a scholarly type of bot, especially in the realm of mathematics, but he does have the advantage of having a computer for a brain.

Eight weeks? That calculates to fifty six days. Roughly thirteen hundred and forty four hours...

Damn. That's... a long time for you to be absent. Why, anything could happen in eight weeks...

“You, uh...” the gator starts fumblingly, half distracted by Freddy's stare that refuses to shift away from the side of his face. Still, he manages to cough out the rest of his question in an awkward mumble. “You gonna be okay? You got someone lookin' out for ya at home, right?”

“Well, my fish haven't let me down yet,” you laugh, though the sound quickly peters out into a hum once you catch both Monty and Freddy peering down at you, neither quite as amused as you seem to be with your own little joke.

Sharing a look between themselves, Freddy is the first to return his attention to you and tentatively ask, “You live alone?”

Balking, you offer the bear a hesitant chuckle and reply, “Bit of a personal thing to ask someone, isn't it?”

Plastic brows click down into a long, stern line, like a father on the cusp of gently scolding his brood.

“Y/n...” he starts.

“No need to make it sound so dramatic,” you interject lightly, “Lots of people live on their own.”

“Hmm... I don't mean to pry,” he says, raising a large, careful paw and laying it down on your shoulder, a warm gesture that puts a brief ache of longing deep inside your chest, “I only ask because I'd like to know that there's someone there who can take care of you.”

Slowly, your eye swivels sideways to peer at the inhuman appendage engulfing your shoulder. Something in your ribcage shifts, like a blockage coming unstuck and letting clear, healthy waters run freely for the first time in a while.

You have to squeeze your eyes into a hard blink before they can grow too misty.

Sniffing up at the towering animatronic, you raise your own hand and lay it over the top of his, giving the smooth, sturdy plastic a pat. “You're a good sort, Freddy, I hope you know that.”

The bear's ears twitch forwards and his upper jaw lifts slowly, sending your smile right back at you.

“But,” you add pointedly, “You don't need to worry. I'm sure Andy will stop by every now and again to make sure I'm still in one piece.”

“I certainly hope so,” he utters warmly, right before he throws another blow at your quivering heart, “You're part of the Fazbear family. We take care of our own.”

Unseen by either of you, Montgomery stands a few feet away, observing the interaction with a growing sense of disquiet. Deep in his innermost circuitry, he can already feel that familiar, old monster raise its ugly head, it's hue a sickly green that's awfully reminiscent of his own paint-job. It growls inside his stomach hatch, bulging outwards threateningly as Freddy's paw remains on you.

But at least this time, the monster isn't given too long to fester.

In another second, Freddy slides his hand from your shoulder and steps back, returning his optics to the car park outside. Gradually, with a subtle creak of metal, Monty's jaws unclench and he twists his head around to follow the bear's line of sight, listening to the rumble of a distant engine creep closer.

Through the wintery gloom, a sleek, black car turns off the main road and passes beneath the neon sign that welcomes visitors to the Plex. Monty squints at it, his eye drawn to the illuminated, white box sitting on top of the roof that simply reads, 'Taxi.'

“Reckon that's your ride,” he mumbles.

Humming through closed lips, you bob your head in a nod. “Looks like.”

Admittedly, it's a relief to see the car pull in. Your legs are beginning to quake under the effort of keeping yourself upright for far longer than you really ought to have.

Movement at your side draws you back to the animatronic bear, whose friendly, blue optics are shuttered half-closed, his broad shoulders slumping dolefully as he bends himself down and opens his arms, paws upturned in invitation.

The gesture is so plain and comprehensible, entirely human in its execution.

He's asking you for a hug.

And, well... Who are you to deny the face of Fazbear Inc. a farewell hug?

Freddy regards you with a hopeful waggle of his ears when you smile, hobbling across the meagre distance between you, well within the circle of his arms. Uttering a pleasant hum, he loops his hands behind your back and gently scoops you into his chest. Just like that, you're surrounded by the bear's convivial warmth that does wonders to chase away the biting wind slipping under the Plex's entrance to chill your cheeks and fingertips.

Sinking into Freddy's chest, you let out a contented hum, pinching your eyes shut as he does the same, his baritone voice thrumming through the ear you've pressed to his casing.

“Take care of yourself, won't you?” he rumbles, his chin alighting delicately on top of your head, “The better you do, the sooner we get to see you again!”

It never ceases to amaze you how an animatronic can inject so much humanity into even their most mundane of actions and words. Freddy's expressions of genuine kindness are as authentic as any human's. Of course they are. The AI that was implemented into him was designed to learn from the very species that created it. How can anyone say his compassion is only artificial? Kindness doesn't care whether the one wielding it is human or robot.

Breathing a deep, sigh, you sink deeper into Freddy's embrace, selfishly indulging in a comfort you've been desperately seeking since the trauma of last night's attack.

Of course, with a certain animatronic alligator in the vicinity, this peaceable moment was never destined to last very long.

“A'right, a'right,” Monty complains loudly, his claws sinking into the hem of your shirt to ease you backwards out of Freddy's grasp, “That's enough. You're gonna squeeze the air outta 'er if you keep that up.”

Rightfully aghast, the bear reels his head back as if Monty had struck him, exclaiming, “I would never!” Yet even still, his arms slowly peel open from around you, allowing the gator to pull you free and nudge you towards the open entrance.

“Not to worry, Freddy, you were very gentle,” you tell him kindly before throwing Monty an expectant look, eyebrows raised and arms held in much the same way as Freddy just had, “What about you, Mont? Can I interest you in one of these?”

A very small, hidden part of the gator that he doesn't want to examine too closely is immensely pleased that you'd been the one to offer. He isn't sure his pride would be able to stomach it if Freddy were to witness him admitting that he wants a hug before you leave. Despite popular belief, Monty is a hugger... He just... doesn't get as much opportunity to do so as the other animatronics.

Still, he exactly show his hand so publicly, especially with Fazbear breathing down his neck. Folding his arms across his chest, Monty gives a dismissive snort and shrugs his massive shoulders, mumbling, “Sure, fine. If you wanna, I guess.”

He doesn't know if his faux-reluctance fools you or not, but in the next few moments, he finds he doesn't much care, not when you hobble close to him on the crutches and topple forwards into a hug that forces him to the throw his arms out to catch you with a soft 'oof.'

Startled, the gator stares down at the top of your head as you sink against his inflexible frame, moulding yourself to him as if he was designed to perfectly accommodate you, and you alone.

Now, Monty has hugged children before, those that have been brave enough to ask the massive gator with sharp fangs and even sharper claws. But this, he realises, might just be the first time he's ever hugged an adult. It feels... different.

Your hands aren't sticky, for one.

Worn, calloused palms wrap around his midsection, as far as your arms can reach, and the gator's core nearly overloads when you turn your face to the side and press your cheek against his chest.

Dimly, he registers that he has yet to actually lay his hands on you.

The gator's optics swivel between each of his raised appendages, fingers splayed out as they hover over your shoulders without direction. He notices his claws. They look... sharper than they had before. They look dangerous, especially now that he's seeing them against a backdrop of soft, fragile skin.

He would never hurt you...

But that's what he thought last night, and still, he'd been the one to fall upon your leg.

It's only when you start to pull away that he suddenly realises that this moment – this wonderful, overwhelming moment – is about to end. Desperation to keep you to himself for just a few more seconds gives the gator enough courage to curl his claws into his fists and press his knuckles into your back, his head tipped low to nudge his chin into the back of your neck.

The only sound you emit is a subtle huff of amusement before you return to your original position, giving him a firmer squeeze.

“Thanks, Monty. I needed this...” you mumble against him, giving him the out.

Working his jaw silently a few times, he eventually manages to reply, “Don't, uh... don't mention it.”

And then, just like that, it's over.

You pull back, and he lets you this time, his knuckles sliding carefully across the back of your shirt until you lean back far enough that he loses his grip, and his arms flop back to his sides with a creak of metal.

“Right!” you announce, blinking rapidly and shaking a weary smile onto your face, “And on that note, I'll see you guys soon.”

You start to turn towards the exit, raising a hand off one crutch to return the little wave that Freddy gives you, but before you can limp another step, the gator once again gives you pause.

“Hey... Before you go.. I, uh...”

You stop mid step, easing yourself about to face him again and sending him another expectant look.

For some time, he hesitates, yet when your eyes start to flick between he and the taxi outside, he balls his hands into fists and eventually mumbles out like a petulant teen, “I wanted to... to thank you, or whatever.”

“Thank me?” you echo, knitting your brows together, “For what?”

'For what...' He almost huffs in dark amusement. How can he sum it up in a few words, all the things he has to thank you for?

Monty's large hands fiddle idly with one of his spiked wrist-bands for a moment as he tries and fails to look you directly in the eye, hiding behind his glasses. “I spoke to Flowers...” the gator eventually sighs, “He said he wouldn't'a checked my visual feed if you hadn't told 'im it wasn't me that attacked you.”

“What else was I going to do?” you huff, giving him an amused smile, “Let you take the fall for something you didn't do?”

For several, quiet moments, he doesn't respond, merely drops his gaze to the floor between you and gives his shoulder struts a halfhearted shrug. It occurs to you, suddenly, that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have been surprised if you'd done exactly that.

“Oh. Monty-” you start, reaching out a hand.

“Ah, s'nothin',” he says gruffly, though he doesn't stop you when you touch your fingertips to the side of his dangling arm, taking care to avoid the spikes on his wrist band, “Just... Just... Thanks. Y'know? For havin' my back.”

The worry on your face stays for a few more moments, just long enough that he catches it when his optics find your eyes again, but soon, you allow your expression to soften, pressing your fingers a little more firmly against his casing. “Thanks for having mine first,” you shrug, lips quirked, “I mean, what are friends for, right?”

Quick as a flash, one of the gator's brows slides up his forehead. “Friends?” he parrots.

“Oh,” you fumble, casting your mind out like a net searching for the right word, “I mean... what, colleagues?”

Leaning back on his leg struts, Monty regards you coolly for several seconds, peering at you over the rim of his glasses before he snorts softly, one side of his mouth tugging up into a smirk. “Nah...Friends is fine. 'Sides, reckon you've earned an upgrade.” He drops an optic in a lazy wink.

Taken aback, you consider the bot in front of you, recalling the ferocious sight of the colossal animatronic who bore down on you in his green room not so many nights ago. Montgomery Gator, Monster of the Pizzaplex, has just claimed you for a friend.

Perhaps a few days ago, you might've been perturbed by such a revelation, but now, despite the agony working its way up your leg, despite the heavy cast and the stinging ache behind your eyes, and your worry for the daycare attendants, Monty's little acknowledgement sits like a bubble of light in your chest.

Gratitude swelling, you cock your hip and fondly reply, “Lucky me.”

The tender moment is ruined in an instant when, from outside, a loud, blaring horn blasts across the car park, causing you and the two animatronics to whip your heads in the direction of the taxi, whose driver has his arm sticking out the window, beckoning to you impatiently.

“Whoops,” you laugh, “That's our time. Andy must have told him to be on the lookout for a girl on crutches.”

With that, you're once again shuffling through the building's wide exit, only this time, Monty doesn't attempt to stop you, perhaps realising that he's gleaned all the extra time from you that he can.

“Oh, before I forget!” Twisting back to face the bots who're still standing vigil by the entrance, you call out, “Monty, can you let the DJ know what happened? And Triple M too! I don't want them thinking I've forgotten about them again.

Standing to attention, the gator knocks off a quick salute and shouts back, “Consider it done, lady!"

You throw him a wave in response before you turn back to the taxi and continue making your way over the frost-covered tarmac, away from the Pizzaplex, and away from the gator who stares after you with tilted brows and a mellow longing worming its way through his wires.

Together, he and Freddy watch you throw your crutches into the back of the car, then clamber in after them, and all the while, Monty finds himself stewing over how the driver hadn't stepped out to assist.

Grumbling to himself, he crosses his arms over his chest, tail lashing in agitation behind him.

"I don't like to think of her dealing with this by herself," Freddy murmurs at his side, ears tilted back at an angle conveying his worry, "I do hope she'll be all right..."

For once, Monty finds that he actually agrees with the bear.

"Yeah..." he utters, his optics tracking the glowing, red tail-lights of the taxi as it swings around the car park and turns right onto the main road, "Me too..."

[jadepearl]

I cannot bring myself to like (show) Rhaenys. Here are the reasons:

1. She, much like Alicent, seems to take all the negative emotions she feels towards Viserys and directs them towards Rhaenyra- there were better ways to tell Rhaenyra that her claim would be contested (in fact, im of the opinion that show! Rhaenys started disliking Nyra a little more after Viserys refused to disinherit her after after having his precious [sarcasm] son.) I’ve got more thoughts on this but that’s for later.

2. Her (lovely, but extremely pathetic) gay son. The GAY son that she knew was gay. The GAY son that she suspected would not be able to fuck/ impregnate a woman. The GAY son she knew would ABSOLUTELY be destroyed by the game. THE GAY SON THAT SHE WED TO THE WOMAN SHE KNEW WOULD NEED CHILDREN!!!! The entire situation with the (alleged/rumored) bastards of Nyra is a situation that Rhaenys and Coryls themselves had a hand in- they knowingly married their very gay son to Nyra knowing that she would need heirs and that it was entirely (re:extremely) possible that Laenor would not be able to bed/fuck her. Like how is she going to wake up and be like “oh my hod, my son was cuckolded” as if her son also hadn’t been cuckolding Nyra??? Like if she was going to turn a blind to Laenor sleeping w/ Qarl she could’ve afforded Nyra that same willful ignorance. Instead she chose to be mad at Nyra for making the best out of situation that Rhaenys and Corlys and her father, and even fucking Laenor put her in!!!!

3. Her attitude w/ the Velaryon Boys( see point above) those boys exist because her son could not do his duty !!! It is not a Nyra problem- it is not as simple as Nyra deciding to cuckold her husband. Nyra needed children- she TRIED with Laenor, both of them were extremely uncomfortable and it didn’t work- and Laenor apologized for being unable to his duty and instead it was decided upon that they ( the boys) would be granted the Velaryon name upon birth. He did not sire those boys (allegedly) but he did love them!!! This is the crux of my issue w/ Rhaenys- if Laenor hated those boys, I could justify her anger, excuse it maybe- but he didn’t. He didn’t hate them, didn’t cure their existence (was he a good father? No. Absolutely not. Very absent at best. But he loved them, and he cared for Nyra and so he took them as his own and gave them his family name) Rhaenys being angry/upset/etc over the outcome of a situation that she/corlys/Viserys all pushed those two into is fucking annoying and really- pardon my speak- grinds my fucking gears. You don’t get to force your gay son and your little cousin into a marriage and get shocked when your GAY son can’t fuck a woman. Especially not when you suspected that your GAY SON WOULDNT BE ABLE TO FUCK A WOMAN??? because those are the vibes show! Rhaenys gives off (yes my son is gay, no I don’t think he’ll ever be able to fuck a woman, but how dare his wife not simply live a childless life- who cares if she needed children, doesn’t she know how those looks?) why did Rhaenys not think about how it would look before marrying them?? Did she really expect the HEIR TO THE IRON THRONE TO LIVE A CHILDLESS LIFE ALL BECAUSE HER (again lovely, but rather pathetic) GAY SON COULD NOT FUCK ANYONE NOT IN POSSESION OF A COCK??!!!

What angers me the most is that, even after that conversation where she told Nyra how unstable her position was, and how she’d eventually be supplanted in favor of a male heir- this bitch, along w/ her husband put Nyra in a situation where she’d have to make a difficult choice. Live the rest of her life being called barren, cursed, all the things that they all called her late mother- all things that would endanger both her, her title as heir, and probs even Laenor too, or seek someone else to sire children? They put her in that situation and the got pissed when she didn’t choose the route of eternal suffering- they put her in that situation and got pissed that she didn’t simply accept it??? Show!Rhaenys, Viserys, Corlys, Daemon, fucking Alicent- if you have no enemies I am dead.

Anyway! These are all MY opinions, you are welcome to have your own but yours will not make me change mine. Have a good day!!

[elftwink]

got a text from my coworker apologizing that she accidentally outed me to another coworker and i am not sure how to respond because on the one hand theres not really a safety issue and if there is fallout im pretty sure its handlable and the most likely outcome is literally nothing happens. like one of our other coworkers is openly nonbinary so this is not a stealth-necessary work environment and i have often considered coming out to coworkers with the main reason i havent being because i dont want to put the effort in to talk to everyone LOL. and the coworker who outed me is a pretty good friend and i know it was an accident and she feels bad so like i dont really want her to beat herself up about it or for it to reflect badly on our relationship

but on the other hand im not sure how to convey that without saying something like "no worries" or "you're fine" or otherwise minimizing what she did, which i dont want to do because despite there not being a safety issue it is kind of upsetting and nerve wracking. like i just dont have control over a situation where i previously did have control & there isnt a way to put that back the way it was. and i don't know exactly what our other coworker has been told either, or how he reacted, or anything really, so i just sort of have to wait until sunday to see if he says anything or treats me differently (the latter of which i think is extremely likely; not that he'll be directly bigoted, but ive talked to this coworker about trans stuff before and the conversations have been... ill informed and very exhausting. usually i just try to end them as fast as possible because i dont get paid enough to have a difficult conversation with someone who knows nothing but thinks they are an expert, especially when i am the only one of us with any personal experience).

she already feels bad and i dont want to make her feel worse (she's my friend!), but i also don't like being put in the position where i have to comfort her about the thing that she did to me. i know this isn't what she intended like i firmly believe this is a good faith apology, i just dont know how to respond to it in a way that doesn't involve saying it's okay. and i don't want to say it's okay because it really is not okay.

(the other thing also, which just has to do with the general atmosphere of transphobia and not my coworkers apology, is i find that i am usually expected to say everythings fine when something transphobic happens to me, lest i be painted as the evil and unreasonable transgendered who isnt willing to let people make mistakes and rules my tyrannical pronoun kingdom with an iron fist. or whatever. i dont think my coworker would react this way, but years and years of people misgendering/outing/saying transphobic things and then crying to me as though they're the victim and reacting extremely negatively if i did not dry their tears and reassure them that They're A Good Person, Really... it weighs on you. there's an unspoken expectation that you will be endlessly tolerant and forgiving, and an accompanying resentment or anger if you don't fulfill that expectation. even when people aren't getting angry at you, you still flinch from the times people were, and you still try to temper your reaction based on the possibility they will react badly. difficult to have honest and genuine conversations in that environment!)

[alpydk]

Eclipse (Part 8) - "Speak With Dead."

I just want to post part 9 before I move next week, Still expected Tue/Wed depending on the internet here...

Thanks to everyone reading <3

I will be but an illusion. The words rang out to him, and he wished for a moment that Elminster could access the tadpole that wished to share. Words he didn’t remember ever speaking, but with them a deep emotion long since buried stirred in him. A gentle arm wrapped around him, shadows of a time never passed, and Gale considered speaking for a moment before he looked over to see Elminster preparing to leave, another demand sent from their former lover.

Ao3 Link

“As you embark upon your journey to reunite with Gale, may the winds of fortune guide your steps, and the wisdom of ages illuminate your way.”

Elminster had genuinely meant the words he’d said as he had left Tav’s home. He was thankful for the outcome, especially as he thought of the day when he had been there ten years ago. Seeing Gale’s face in the glass of the crystal ball had given Elminster a deep sense of relief and though he had instantly wanted to leave to find Gale, he had held back; instead, watching over the young wizard’s condition and how the orb worked. Mystra may not have been willing to aid in Gale’s situation, but Elminster was not so pessimistic when it came to the lives of mortals.

The Shadowlands were as bleak as ever as he stood watching the ethereal tendrils rise from the vines that stretched out before him. He had tracked Gale’s movements and knew in a few short while the party would arrive, their journey now entering one of the most perilous stages they would face.

“Elminster?” Gale’s voice spoke out to him.

Elminster felt as his heart rate quickened. Despite the centuries of adventure, near-death experiences, and even conversations with the gods, hearing the voice of his old mentee brought a sense of nervousness to him. He worried that if he looked to the voice, then maybe the spell would be broken, and his friend would be lost to him again. He breathed deeply before turning around. “Gale, m’boy. It has been some time…”

As much as he wanted to hug his friend, he gripped hold of his emotions, time having aided well in the need for concentration. He stood by as they prepared a small camp where they could discuss matters further with little worry about the darkness of the surrounding lands, and he made up lies of being hungry and weary after travelling, knowing that after this day it would be unlikely that he would see Gale again. For now, all Elminster wished for was to spend some time with the young man whom he had practically raised from a boy.

---

“We have indulged your need for food and rest, Elminster. What brings you all the way out here?” Gale spoke in an impatient tone. He had heard nothing from Mystra nor Elminster in the year since the incident with the orb, despite his prayers or messages sent, and now to see his former mentor standing so freely in front of him gave him almost an anger at the fact that he had been ignored for so long.

“You know why Gale. She sent me. You know of whom I speak.”

After all this time, Gale had to hold back from shouting, remembering who it was he was facing. Elminster had never wronged him and now would come with the answers he sought. “Then we must speak alone, away from prying ears, for there is much to discuss.” He gestured to a small area near the camp; silence spells set up and lights protecting them from the curse that burdened each one of them.

“I stand before you bearing tidings of the orb, a matter of great import from the realm of Mystra herself. She knows of your strife with the Absolute, the most insidious of evils, and has sent me here to charge you, Gale, with its destruction.” He spoke with a grave tone conveying his meaning without speaking the words; that the orb was to be the catalyst for their end.

So much time had passed between them both and Gale could not help but be disappointed at the outcome. This was not a matter of forgiveness for his failings, but an ultimatum for continuing to live after acting so recklessly. He understood why Mystra would not aid him in this time; he simply did not deserve to live. The guilt ate away at him like that of the orb and, as Elminster explained the stabilisation of the device; it brought him little comfort.

I will be but an illusion. The words rang out to him, and he wished for a moment that Elminster could access the tadpole that wished to share. Words he didn’t remember ever speaking, but with them a deep emotion long since buried stirred in him. A gentle arm wrapped around him, shadows of a time never passed, and Gale considered speaking for a moment before he looked over to see Elminster preparing to leave, another demand sent from their former lover.

---

Elminster looked over at Gale, resisting placing the comforting palm on his back. “It brings me no pleasure saying this, my friend, but such is Mystra’s will.” He thought over the words that she had given him and bit his tongue at the venom that rose in his throat. Just deal with the problem. It was one thing to make these kinds of commands, but a completely different matter to carry them out and for a moment he considered just giving Gale the truth; of all that had occurred the last ten years of Tav, Lúthien, and Gale’s demise.

He watched as Gale nodded and then seemed lost in thought, the dark eyes closing in acceptance of the magic bestowed upon him, and Elminster longed to say more, to spend more time with his friend and speak as they had so many years before. He heard the ever-present whispers of Mystra calling to him, another potential in need of guiding, another catastrophe to be averted at her bidding, and so he gave his farewell, not knowing if he would ever see Gale alive again.

---

Gale had wanted to ask so many questions before Elminster had vanished as quickly as he had arrived, his reasoning being that he had Mystra’s duties to carry out. The young wizard had wanted to ask of his memories, of the year in his tower that now stretched out into nothingness in front of him, of Mystra’s symbol that seemed to have changed without his recollection. Be a moon unto yourself. Words spoken not as Elminster left but under stars; emotions mixed between elation and anticipation, and the knowledge that something close would soon be lost.

Even with the orb stabilised, the thoughts in his mind fractured as if he were losing pieces of himself each day and he truly started to believe that the stress was tearing him apart, that he was going mad and soon would be but a shadow of the man he once was. Astarion’s arm around him very nearly broke him in that moment, as he faced an uncertain future, seeing nothing but his own death lying ahead of him, and also in the distant past.

---

You watched as Elminster spoke with him, as the orb was calmed, and a glimmer of relief passed across Gale’s face before again descending into darkness; the gloominess of the surroundings draining on all your hearts. You wondered why neither had spoken of you, why Elminster especially had only talked of the orb and Mystra’s will. The rage that had overcome you was immense as he explained Gale’s fate to him, of the sacrifice that was due to be made and you had to bite your tongue from shouting the sending messages at Elminster for his betrayal to you; for him to utter the words of hope at your reunion, only to then swiftly dash them. Your spells instead would be saved for Gale, to provide him comfort in this time; something Mystra had never and would never give to either of you.

Gale looked so abandoned as Elminster left and you uttered the spell, only to watch as Astarion approached slowly before placing his arm around his friend in solace. You wished it could be you instead, holding your love closely just as you used you. You remembered a time when you were both younger, shortly before Gale had left to be with Mystra, when he had confided his worries to you. He believed he would fail, that even with his natural abilities and talents with the Weave, he still was not good enough. He felt all he could provide Mystra was an act, an illusion of the man he wanted to be for her, and you had watched as the confident mask had cracked momentarily. Holding him had been the only solution you could provide after so many years of preparation for the moment of his departure. There was no turning back for Gale after he had been claimed as her chosen; there was only what she commanded.

As he retired to his tent alone, you watched him as he wrapped himself in his tattered purple robe, trying to find some comfort against the torments of the night. If you had been there, you would have placed an arm around him, whispering words of love; words that you knew could do little other than show that he wasn’t alone. You spoke your first sending spell tentatively, afraid of what the response would be if anything.

“Gale, it’s Tav. I saw what happened and I’m sorry. I didn’t know her plan at all. How she would take you from me.”

He stirred and wrapped the blanket tighter around him and you thought for a moment that he was going to ignore your words; that all you were doing was creating further pain for him in this difficult time.

“Am I going insane? Are you the tadpole devouring my mind? Who are you to say you love me so?”

Your heart broke hearing his voice in this way. He sounded so fragile, and you worried that speaking the next words would only cause more harm, but you only wanted to give him hope, you wanted to help him in a way his friends close by could not. It was a hasty decision, but you wondered if it would work, if fate would be on your side, if Mystra would even allow it.

“I’m real. I’m in Waterdeep. Will go to Baldur’s Gate. I wish you could remember me. We were due to be married. I love you.”

Minutes passed as you watched him, as he closed his eyes, turning away from where your invisible sensor lay. You whispered to yourself out loud, wanting him to turn back to you. “Please Gale… speak to me.”

“Baldur’s Gate. I will aspire to meet you there. You are the shadow of my recent memories, are you not? Under the stars? The library?”

Your heart pounded as you heard the words, the memories you had clung onto in recent days. He remembered you, at least in some small way, even if not completely, and he would try to meet you in person. Maybe on seeing your face, it would all come back to him. Everything would be like the fairy tales you read when you were young; love at first sight, and a reunion so spectacular that the world would disappear around you. Sleep drew you ever closer, but you watched over him as he lay restless in his tent for hours to come. The events of the day weighing heavily on both your hearts.

---

Be a moon unto yourself. She believed he spouted such nonsense; words to sway the minds of mortals from their fates, hope that there was little point in providing. Mystra gazed over the moonlit skies above the happy couple and her loyal chosen, sighing at the sight that lay before her.

“We will be wed in the Winter, should Mystra allow it.” Gale’s naïve optimism shone through, and she rolled her eyes in contempt of his actions. To be wed would certainly not happen whilst he was under her, at least not until he was on his way to serving her as Elminster did. Possibly the two young lovers could be married in a few mortal years, providing the young girl survived or even accepted the idea of the relationship once she came to realise that Gale would outlive her considerably.

Elminster had approved of their choice and congratulated them before taking Gale’s hand and leading him away; the moment of their departure having now arrived. Mystra would wait for them before claiming Gale as her own, before making the bright-eyed woman beside him seem like nothing but an illusion when compared to the goddess and the love that only an immortal could provide. Fate was not something which could be broken or bent; it was nothing but the whims of the gods and the games that they played for amusement. Elminster’s words were nothing but the lies he told to lessen the ache of her delivered orders.

[nonsenseramble]

Little Red Writing Hoods Writing Exercise!

Today's prompt was: Write about someone who is learning to recognize and take credit for their own achievements.

I'm not gonna lie, this one hit me so hard in the C-PTSD that I couldn't even apply this to any of my WIPs or create a scenario around it. Instead, I just wrote about myself.

Brainstorming: 10 minutes

Writing: 30 minutes

Word count: 407

TW: mentions of narcissism, gaslighting, parentification, traumatizing events

I’ve always been the caretaker, the giver, the one to prioritize the many over myself. I have trained myself to mask my emotions and only react to the situation pragmatically. I can quickly analyze the ever growing list of choices that make up Life’s Butterfly Effect and choose the path that leads to the best possible outcome. I’m The Mom Friend, The Void, The Therapist, The Virgo, The Supply.

I was raised by a narcissist. It took until I was 15 years old to realize something wasn’t right. It took another 5 years for me to get out. Then, another 5 years passed before I could actually process what I went through healthily. I was never rewarded for the good things I achieved; those were expected, if not required, of me. One misstep in the wrong direction often would lead to days, weeks, or years of constant berating. I couldn’t make mistakes, I knew they would be viewed as purposeful attempts to anger my mother.

It’s been just over a year since I went no-contact with my mother. In that time, I’ve been able to work on myself and focus on my family. I wrote a book about my experiences. It was the first creative work I had completed in over a decade. I’ve reconnected with my family, not only to get to know them, but to also learn the truth behind so many other situations. I’ve rebuilt myself into someone I’m entirely happy existing as. It’s not easy, especially given the broken spirit I started with. Years of therapy, medications, self reflection; days where all I could do is cry (or worse, days I couldn’t cry); all the time I spent self reflecting on myself.

“You do the best with the information that you have.” Even though most of the information I used to operate from was a lie, I still believe I made the best choice in every horrible situation I faced. I graduated college twice while still under the thumb of constant negging and oppression. I found real, unconditional love when I had no idea what that looked like. I made the choice to leave my mother’s house and I did so well for myself that moving back there was never an option. It didn’t need to be, because I’m stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. I know that now, and I do my best everyday to remind myself of that truth.

[readingrobin]

Such Sharp Teeth by Rachel Harrison

Rory Morris isn’t thrilled to be moving back to her hometown, even if it is temporary. There are bad memories there. But her twin sister, Scarlett, is pregnant, estranged from the baby’s father, and needs support, so Rory returns to the place she thought she’d put in her rearview. After a night out at a bar where she runs into Ian, an old almost-flame, she hits a large animal with her car. And when she gets out to investigate, she’s attacked.

Rory survives, miraculously, but life begins to look and feel different. She’s unnaturally strong, with an aversion to silver—and suddenly the moon has her in its thrall. She’s changing into someone else—something else, maybe even a monster. But does that mean she’s putting those close to her in danger? Or is embracing the wildness inside of her the key to acceptance? -Storygraph

Me, I'm always down for a great werewolf story, especially ones that give a new, interesting interpretation of them. Such Sharp Teeth proved to be that and more, with its metaphor being less about the innate toxic aggression of mankind and more about the violence and the lack of agency regarding women's bodies. Harrison's werewolf almost feels like a trauma response to bodily assault, the transformation itself being a moment of tremendous fear and pain, with the end result being an intense anger and need to somehow pass that violence onward. It's certainly not the only way trauma can surface, but it is one out of many outcomes. Throughout the novel we see Rory try to process and control her trauma, even when piled on top of an assault she already experienced as a child, and while on the surface it's a distinctly paranormal situation, it's a depiction that still feels all too real.

The parallel between Rory becoming a werewolf and her sister's pregnancy was also a neat facet to consider. Both changes are transformative in nature, ones that can hardly be controlled and bring about intense emotions of discomfort, pain, and fear. The descriptions of Rory's shifting fall right under the disturbing body horror category, and, really, what isn't also a little bit terrifying than a whole other person growing inside of you? 

I think the book managing to have these undertones while also balancing a banter-filled sense of humor and a more conversational, stream of consciousness writing style is what really made me admire it. It didn't take itself so seriously, but also delivered its messages and theming in an accessible way. Sure, it's sort of like a dark, Hallmark-esque setup with our female lead going back to her small town from living in the city to take care of her pregnant sister, only what's keeping her there isn't a sudden snowstorm or a hunky Christmas beau, but instead turning into a literal monster. Yes, there is the childhood sweetheart that comes along, but that only lands as maybe a second or third reason to stay. He gets a pass though because he and Rory have great chemistry and he's respectful of her at every moment, so keeper material there. 

Ultimately, the family drama takes more precedence than Rory's werewolf situation, as she tries to navigate her past and present trauma while also reconnecting with her sister and mother. It's not like the paranormal aspect takes a backseat or anything, it just feels more like a secondary conflict that muddies up an already tense situation. This isn't meant to disparage the book in any way, only to say that it helps to know what the focus is going to be before developing expectations. Harrison manages both parts of the plot very well, where they felt evenly executed and developed as they feed into each other. 

Definitely give it a try if you're in the mood for something emotional and domestic with a paranormal coating.

(4/5)

[nahalism]

wanted to check in on u and ask how are u 💌

also, i would like to ask how u navigate "surrendering" as an act of growth and change, especially for those challenging times where u may be reminded of weights from the past haunting u and making it hard to forgive, love, and believe in yourself. i always find healing and wisdom in the notes and thoughts u share, so i also give thanks for your presence and existence ♡

this is incredibly lovely, i appreciate the kind words <3 im blessed, ive really been enjoying taking the bitter with the sweet recently. hby??

i rly hope this doesnt sound rude, but i try to answer these as honestly as possible. imo, surrender as an act of growth and change is a contradiction. surrender is surrender, not for the sake of growth or change, but for the sake of itself. going into surrender with expectation of an outcome is almost the opposite of surrendering, because its a means to passively impose ones will, rather than allow oneself to be subjected to the will of whichever force they've chosen surrender too. navigating surrender is as simple and as difficult as letting go. let that which is, be as it is, and you, as you are, be, as you are. practising that leads to growth and change for so many reasons that im sure you'll see for yourself

as for the later part, the timing of those feelings arising may be in direct correlation to your choice to surrender. sometimes when we submit to the point of surrender, what were really asking for is to see a bigger picture, or step out of the way enough to allow for some kind of divine intervention to take place. what usually happens, is that the ego, the very thing that makes surrender appear more difficult than it is, begins to resist. whatever feelings and thoughts arise, whether anger, impatience, frustration, disappointment, self deprecation, they're only mirrors that show you where your attachment and identification to the external is most deeply rooted. so the uncomfortable feelings end up being the answer to what surrender is showing you because theyre the markers of where we need guidance the most.

not i, nor any other person but you can validate you. i can't tell you why you should let go of the past, love your self, or believe in yourself. i can tell you why i think you should, but not why you should. ygm? that said, my most sincere advice is not just to surrender, but to surrender those feelings, and if you are spiritually inclined, to pray/call on your highest self or the most high to show you the situation as they would have you see it. give thanks for their continued support in your inner inquisition, and for their guidance as you continue to surrender deeper. then give thanks for resolution of the situation. (i also think its prudent not to lean on the understanding of others during times of fast, spiritual cleansing or surrender, particularly cause ur trying to reason and understand within yourself, cause asking others can muddy the water but ill leave that to your discretion)

surrender its a process with no end, so dont be discouraged!! watching resistance and difficulty arise as you try to surrender IS the lesson for a long time. but trust, ur surrendering already whether ur aware of it or not, because surrender is really its the only way to be.

sending u love

[blood-darkened-moon]

7. Who is more sentimental?

9. How are their personalities different?

for alfred and alexia!

Whoa I’ve got an ask. Thank you! (ask game)

7. Who is more sentimental?

In general, neither of them is particularly sentimental. However, Alfred is quite sentimental when it comes to Alexia, and only then. I mean, he has dedicated his life to her and literally worships her even when she’s not around. During those 15 years when Alexia was asleep, he watched the dragonfly video probably a million times just to indulge himself in memories.

9. How are their personalities different?

Alfred is generally more emotionally driven. Sometimes this affects his decision-making, which causes regrets later on. He also shows more honest emotions when interacting with people, predominantly anger, sometimes others too, and even positive ones like joy, but never anything that would make him look weak.

Alexia is cold, professional and always analyses her situation and possible outcomes first. She only shows people the emotions she wants them to see unless there are exceptional circumstances, and even then, she still acts relatively rational and reserved. When Alexia is alone with Alfred, she’s different, though. She’s softer, less calculating, and honest with her emotions on display.

Unless she is in a position where she has no other choice, Alexia doesn’t take orders from anyone.

Alfred is less dominant. He doesn’t mind giving people orders. Actually, Alfred enjoys it. But he still prefers it when Alexia is the one in charge, and he can follow her orders.

Alfred is more extroverted than Alexia, but he has rather poor social skills (no social anxiety, he’s just an asshole). Also, he outright dislikes most people or looks down on them by default, which prevents him from improving his skills (not the best combination).

Alexia is a lot more introverted, but she has significantly better social skills than her brother. While she looks down on others as well, she always found it quite useful to learn how to read people’s minds and use social skills for manipulative purposes.

Alexia is the more forgiving one, though this has nothing to do with friendliness. Her expectations of others are low, very low. People acting stupid occasionally or fucking up certain tasks is nothing surprising to her. As long as someone’s usefulness outweighs their mistakes, she is willing to forgive (not forget, though). This being said, she is demanding, and her patience is limited. It’s better not to find out where these limits are.

Alfred is absolutely unforgiving. His tolerance for mistakes, even minor ones, is almost zero, and his punishments are often draconic. Once you fall from his grace, there is no turning back. (Alexia would be an exception here, but she’s perfect and doesn’t make mistakes, according to him.) The only one who could convince him to give someone a second chance is, of course, his sister.

Alfred can be quite sadistic. He enjoys seeing people suffering (physically and mentally), especially people he doesn’t like, so a lot of them. But he doesn’t like getting his hands (too) dirty and prefers when others do most of the dirty work for him.

Alexia, on the other hand, isn’t sadistic at all. She doesn’t enjoy seeing or inflicting purposeless suffering, though she doesn’t mind either. Alexia has absolutely no empathy in this regard. However, if someone would hurt Alfred, that’s a different situation…

[unfriendlies]

"what he did to you," garam still couldn't say that one word, "was his fault, he a grown man fully capable of making his own choices but you're not innocent in it either. you started it, you intended for something to happen between the two of you, you just weren't expecting where he decided to take it. it's his fault for not stopping you, for not stopping himself if you told him to stop. but he never would have done anything with you if you hadn't provoked him." garam wanted to be able to correct angel, to tell him he didn't mean it to sound the way it had, but he would have been lying. he meant to say, at this point, it seemed as if the outcome of the breakup angel wanted was for garam to be available for the taking. it wasn't something he truly believed, just something he said out of anger and pain to get a reaction out of angel. if he hadn't balled his own hands into fists, they would have shook violently as panic began to set in. garam hated that he couldn't bring himself to defend himself when angel spoke of how garam's withdraw after physical touch made him feel, because his reasoning was quite the opposite. he kept pulling away because that was the only thing he thought for certain would have stopped angel from feeling triggered. if his touch is what triggered the man, then garam would always choose to pull away so the other would no longer feel that discomfort. truth was, if angel didn't react, he probably would have become more handsy. he wanted to go against the others words but before he knew it, angel was, essentially, he couldn't even handle being friends with garam anymore. the weight of the world suddenly dropped on his shoulders, his body feeling devastatingly heavy. he was simply too shocked to speak. with angel's back now facing him as he took out another bottle of alcohol, garam decided now was the appropriate time to go and hide. he couldn't bring himself to face his friend anymore, he let his cowardice win. he was quiet as he turned to leave, going straight to the room angel was letting him use. the moment the door closed, he pressed his back against the wood and slid down onto the floor. he sat there for a moment, trying to calm himself down but it was no use. being in another room, having just a door separating himself from angel, wasn't enough. garam couldn't stop himself from crying, he didn't want to be there, he felt so pathetic for his emotional outburst. the only other thing he could think of that would ease his temperament was leaving all together. angel pulled his phone from his pocket and called one of his friends. "i really fucked up," he mumbled into his phone, trying his hardest to disguise the fact that he was crying but the waterworks just kept coming. there was the moment of silence when the other spoke, asking him what happened. "i just need you to come get me," another brief pause before garam continued more urgently with, "i don't care, just come pick me up. i'm at angel's." he hadn't given his recipient a chance to speak again before he was ending the call. the man sat there on the floor with his face buried into his palms, allowing himself to cry momentarily — albeit quietly in hopes of angel not hearing him. he just couldn't believe the hole he dug himself into and he was afraid he'd only worsen his situation if he didn't leave, for a few hours at least.

when he forced himself to calm down, garam picked himself up and instantly undressed himself. he was still dressed in angel's clothes and it just didn't feel right to continue wearing them. especially if he was planning on leaving the man's apartment for a while. he'd grabbed a pair of jeans from his duffle bag and one of the nicer button downs he brought with him and put them on. there was a moment before he left when he hesitated on taking the apartment key with him, not knowing if he'd be able to find the courage to come back, at least for the night, but he ultimately decided on bringing it with him as he really didn't want to go back to his apartment and risk running into his ex. once his friend sent his arrival text, garam slipped his shoes on, turned his phone on silent before shoving it into his back pocket and left. if angel didn't want to interact with him, garam was going to abide by his wishes. he didn't bother moving the direction of his gaze anywhere but straight ahead as he walked back to the front door, he hadn't even considered letting angel know what he was doing, that he was leaving, when he'd possibly be back. he was too afraid of making the situation worse so it was best just to remove himself. while he was quiet closing the guest room's door, he ended up allowing the front door to close a bit too loudly as he left; quickly going down to where his friend was parked.

Everything in the room felt as if it was spinning. Angel listened in silence digging his hands into his palms clenching his fist. Eyes stinging while simultaneously his stomach tightens. “What did you just say to me? Am I suppose to fucking wait around for you to show interest? I’ve had feelings for you for years. But I’m suppose to sit on a shelf and just wait for you? Just be alone and wait until you are ready to play with me?How many men have I watched you kiss? Make out?…” His face twisted and his jaw clenched. you lead him to the point where he— “I led him to what? Say it Garam. Fucking say it.” Angel’s raised his voice to match the other man’s. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Angel struggled with that night. With the guilt, believing it was his fault. And now it sounded like the man was blaming him. His biggest fear from the very beginning. Axel told Angel, Garam wouldn’t believe him. It hit Angel in a place that really shook him. In his mind it was fact. Angel put his hands up and went to walk away. He disliked having to raise his voice in any way. Yet, Angel froze and stopped and turned around. He was fueled by anger as he put a finger in the man’s face, “You were not okay. That’s bullshit and we both know it. The fact that you would even say that to me.” Angel realized what he was doing. What he was becoming. Seeing Garam cry the way he was and then yelling at him. It wasn’t who he was. He took a deep breath and took a step back. “If you think I wanted you to break up with him to be ready for someone new you never knew me at all.” Angel was monotone as he spoke unable to look at Garam anymore. Shame for raising his voice crept in. He shook his head as he crossed his arms trying to hide his shaking hands. Angel refused to cry. Biting the inside of his cheek as the smaller man spoke about his jealously. Once again he was confused. Now here Garam was confessing his jealousy saying he was tainted. Angel was starring at the ground. Focused on a small spot on the floor where it was chipped. The memory of him and Garam hanging out in his apartment flooded his mind. “Because I love you Garam” Angel said such intense words so plainly. As he finally looked back up to his best friend. If Garam wanted to lay it all out there then so be it. “You do trigger me when you touch me without warning. Especially from behind. When you recoil like that after you touch me it makes me feel the same way you do. Disgusting. Tainted…I know I’ve been there for you emotionally in the past. But right now I can’t handle your and my emotions. Im barely keeping myself together. I don’t want you to leave but I think this being a strictly roommate type of relationship is what’s best. We don’t need to speak or interact.” Angel was feeling numb. The only thing he wanted was a drink and forget this argument completely. Neither of them was perfect. They both said harsh things but Angel was wrapped up in his own self wallowing to think of Garam. He was tired of putting others emotions ahead of his own. He wanted to cry. Scream even. “It’s best we call it a night.” Angel mutter as opened the cabinet next to the fridge and pulled out a bottle similar to the one from yesterday night.

[legalassistance]

5 Tips for Talking to Your Kids About Divorce

Divorce can be a challenging time for families, especially when it comes to discussing it with your children. As divorce attorney San Jose CA professionals, we understand the importance of navigating this conversation with sensitivity and clarity. Here are five essential tips to help you effectively communicate with your kids about divorce.

#1. Initiate the Conversation Early

Timing is crucial when it comes to discussing divorce with your children. It's essential to have the conversation early on, especially if they may already sense tension or changes within the family dynamic. By initiating the discussion proactively, you provide them with the opportunity to process their emotions and ask questions in a supportive environment.

#2. Be Honest and Age-Appropriate

When discussing divorce with your children, honesty is key. However, it's important to tailor the information based on their age and maturity level. Younger children may require simpler explanations, focusing on concepts like "Mommy and Daddy won't be living together anymore," while older children may benefit from more detailed discussions about the reasons behind the divorce.

#3. Listen and Validate Their Feelings

It's natural for children to experience a range of emotions when they learn about their parents' divorce. As parents, it's crucial to create a safe space where they feel heard and validated. Encourage them to express their feelings openly, whether it's sadness, anger, confusion, or fear. Let them know that their emotions are valid and that you're there to support them through this transition.

#4. Avoid Blame and Negative Language

During the conversation, it's essential to avoid placing blame or using negative language about your former spouse. Divorce is a complex issue, and assigning fault can create unnecessary conflict and resentment. Instead, focus on reassuring your children that both parents still love them and will continue to be involved in their lives, albeit in a different capacity.

#5. Provide Reassurance and Stability

Divorce often brings about feelings of uncertainty and upheaval for children. As parents, it's essential to provide reassurance and stability during this time of transition. Emphasize that while some things may change, such as living arrangements, routines, and traditions, your love and support for them remain unwavering. Establishing consistent communication and routines can help ease their anxiety and foster a sense of security.

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conclusion

Talking to your kids about divorce requires sensitivity, honesty, and patience. By following these tips and providing ongoing love and support, you can help your children navigate this challenging time with resilience and strength. Remember, your actions and words during this period can have a profound impact on your children's emotional well-being and future relationships. Choose affordableandexpresslegal.com for reliable legal guidance and support in San Jose, CA.

Reference URL :- 5 Tips for Talking to Your Kids About Divorce

[hardynwa]

Tinubu's victory: 50 CSOs warn against disruption of May 29 handover

ABUJA –OVER 50 civil society organisations have warned against any attempt from any quarter to disrupt the smooth political transition on May 29, 2023, following the 2023 general elections. The concerned organisations, led by Citizens For Development And Education, CDE, Center For Peace And Environmental Justice,CEPEJ, and Nigerian Peace Advocates, NPA, addressing a press conference, Wednesday,in Abuja, asked those projecting imposition of Interim National Government to bury their dream as it was not known to the Nigerian constitution. The groups’ warning came following the disclosure by the Department of State Service,DSS, that it uncovered surreptitious moves by some persons not favourably disposed to the outcome of the 2023 presidential election to cause the imposition of Interim National Government,ING in the country. Speaking through their representatives, Amb. Ibrahim Waiya, Executive Director of CDE; and Comrade Mulade Sheriff, Executive Director of CEPEJ, the groups appealed to the media to help the nation by avoiding disseminating information and broadcasts that were capable of aggravating the insecurity in the country thus drawing the nation towards what they described as the “Rwanda experience”. “Although it is natural for people to have their own expectations in a particular election, that should not be a reason to take away our sense of maturity, reasoning and judgment to think of what is right or wrong, especially at larger perspectives where the lives of many innocent citizens may be at stake”, they said. The text of th briefing read in part:”Our increased concerns centre on the continuous promotion of incitement and an uncomplimentary statement from the quarters of the aggrieved politicians and other enemies of our country who have also systematically taken cover under the pretext of the conduct of elections to cause chaos and disharmony amongst the Nigerian citizens. “This situation, therefore, calls for concerted efforts to contain the boiling anger of some Nigerians, whose expectations turned out to be negative. “The negativity that is on trial, needs nothing less than a holistic healing of the wound and reconciliation, to salvage and secure our country from the imminent threat of disunity and disharmony.” They, therefore, declared that: “We wish to unequivocally condemn all advocacies for the establishment of Interim Government in Nigeria; “We condemn all utterances and unguarded statements promoted directly or through proxy by any politician or religious leader along ethnic, regional or religious sentiment capable of inciting violence in Nigeria, especially at this critical period of our democratic transition; “All media organizations should further exercise restraint in the interest of peace and national unity on all broadcast that may create confusion and or aggravate our fragile security situation, by x-raying all content before airing to avoid the Rwanda experience in Nigeria; “Nigerians should not fall into a trap of any sentiments to serve the interest of any desperate and greedy political leaders; “All aggrieved politicians should stick to legal process for redress as provided by our legal system, and should desist from threatening, intimidating and discrediting the same system he or she is seeking to serve “International Organizations and Communities should exercise restraint in submitting to the sentiments of some politicians, who are hell-bent on destabilizing the country, as Nigeria direly needs the support of its friends at this critical time of transition, to salvage our nascent democracy in the interest of Africa’s stability and the world at large; “We strongly urge and advise the incoming administration to run an all-inclusive government to give a sense of belonging to every region, ethnic, religious and political affiliations.” Read the full article

[lady-cayleen]

Cayleen's "Cheese Sheet pt 4: Personality - pt. 2"

Being Loved: Cayleen's loving relationships keep her going strong when circumstances and emotions might otherwise overwhelm her. This does, however, lead to vicious loyalty and protectiveness on her part.

Being hated: True hatred knows no cure but that it should cease.

Humiliation: Cayleen was as equally sensitive and exposed to humiliation as a young child as she was to criticism. It's a sensation she's largely outgrown. Feeling bad won't affect the outcome or aftermath.

Praise: She's usually surprised when she receives praise.

Other: ???

How does this character react to things in general? Cayleen does her best to roll with the punches and ride every wave of every new experience. She doesn't have the best self confidence, overall, but tries to maintain a constant cautious optimism.

What does this character think about…

Marriage: can't wait

Sex: yes, please

Children: why not?

Love: loves it

Youth: has its place

Friendship: gotta have it

Old Age: has its place

Family: can't live without it. If you don't have it, find it

Religion: keeps us grounded when everything else should fall out from beneath us

Society: should see that no one is alone

Material things: she's admittedly fond of sentimental trinkets, but acknowledges all things in life are perishable

Science: fascinating, so long as it is practical (not nearly so interested in what stars are made of as she is in the study of their movements, etc)

Nature: Cayleen has come to hold Nature in much higher regard, since becoming a Worgen, and leans heavily on Kiandra of the Harvest, one of her advisors, for as much spiritual guidance as any other wisdom the woman has to offer her.

Military: Cayleen's family has been involved with the Gilnean military for as far as history can tell- and longer. As a child, she did not take to it much as her predecessors, more interested in her father's business-oriented approach to running the house. However, recent events and the Worgen curse have left her with a new appreciation for having a good offense in defense of what one holds dear.

Foreign Things: Cayleen has inherited a love of exploration from both sides of her family, if especially from her parents, and foreign things appeal to her as much as new things do, in general.

LGBTQ+: Not her jam, and she doesn't spare much thought for it.

How does this character express…

Anger: glowering, yelling, or exploding - depending on the severity of her anger.

Sadness: Cayleen supresses all but the most severe sadness. What she lets out, she lets out in the comfort of the arms of those absolutely closest to her - unless she vents it out alongside anger.

Fear: Cayleen does her best to veil fear behind terse politeness in social situations and resorts to violence when and where acceptable.

Happiness: Cayleen tends to be either content or exuberant in her happy moments. You're as like to find her smiling and eyes closed, daydreaming with the sun on her face as you are to encounter her dashing barefoot across the countryside with her wild curls tugged unbound by the wind.

Love: Cayleen's a cuddler, so love has to reach a threshold in platonic, familial or romantic senses, but then you have a lap dog.

Lust: how does anyone?

Hate: if Cayleen is expressing hatred, your face is in trouble. Would you like it mauled or crispy?

Stress/Anxiety: work harder, work harder, set something on fire

Depression: She pushes it down and pushes through it, if she can. If not, howling is a great outlet.

Excitement: Exuberantly 

Dislike: Cayleen does her best to suppress dislike of "things" and "happenings". She's not so great at veiling her dislike of a given individual.

Approval: head ruffles and/or brow kisses

How do they react in a crisis? The crisis is one of Cayleen's least favorite events. She's good at buckling down and following orders, but when she's expected to lead, unanticipated occurrences lead to overreactions more often than not. Scorched earth isn't going to be raising a resistance against you.

How do they view life? Life is a series of contests and battles in the contest of nature, which all will eventually lose. Each challenge should be met with one's best effort. Victories and respites should be indulged to their fullest.

How do they view death? Death is life's constant companion, visiting with some regularity, until it comes to take us.

How do they imagine their death? Cayleen imagines her death in one of three ways, violent and bloody, a dark and suffocating drowning (this she can imagine better), or utterly spent and exhausted.

What do they want out of life? She wants herself and those she cares for to have happy homes, and to feel like she helped along the way.

What do they want to change in their life? See above.

What motivates them? See above.

What discourages them? Her own lack of experience, every new worldwide catastrophe.

What makes them happy? Spending leisure time with friends.

What makes them sad? Loss

What makes them angry? Loss, people taking advantage of or otherwise harming people, her own failures.

What humiliates them? Failure, losing her clothes in public, losing her temper in public (but only sometimes), making a mess (but only sometimes), being wrong with bad consequences.

What most describes their personality? Cayleen is a quiet but determined soul with a driving urge to care for those around her as best she can.