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utterlyazriel · 7 months

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whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: here she is... chappie four <3 thank u for ur patience and 1000 kudos to the anon that made a plot suggestion that i had already written lmao-- as always let me know what u think! things are heating up....

word count: just under 4k

synopsis: You return to regular training for the first time in a month. Azriel asks a favor from Rhys and finds you in a less than stellar condition when he returns to camp

CHAPTER FOUR :: FRIENDS

Velaris is a sight for sore eyes.

After nearly a month of endless white scenery, of the blinding glint of the sun against snow, paired with endless pine, the sight of a city is a reprieve in itself.

And because it’s Velaris — because it’s home — something else settles within Azriel.

A hackle that always stays on high alert finally lies down. The constant agitation of his shadows falls into a calming hush. He breathes easier.

He's back with his family and can be here to keep them safe if need be. He's back to the closest semblance of comfort he's ever known.

Where do you find comfort?

Azriel blinks a little, taken aback at the abruptness of the thought.

The lone shelter in the mountains, spaced out from the circle of buildings, every bit representing your isolation from the people of the camp — that was your home.

Where you resided and took solace from the world in, the place you felt safest. But... it's no place of comfort. It's a crutch. A necessary support. Somehow, Azriel has no doubt that if you could survive out in the snow, burrowed amidst the elements, you would, if only to have one less thing to maintain.

You've never even seen a city before, he thinks. All you know is the mountains.

Suddenly, eyes cast across the breathtaking beauty of Velaris, the hum of the Sidra carving its way through his beloved home, the buzz of people on the streets, Azriel recalls the very time he lay eyes on it himself.

It never stops being breathtaking. That much is true, but then again, there was no comparison to the first time.

The warm feeling that had grown in his chest. The way something he hadn't known ever existed within him had unfurled, like a flower blooming in the sun. Something Azriel now knows to be hope.

He hadn't known a place this beautiful could exist.

Wouldn't have been able to dream it up when all he had known for so, so long was darkness and shadow.

Even in the time after the cage, all there was to see was the white of winter and the cold bite of the harsh mountains. He learned how blood looked melting into the snow, how to sleep with one eye open, and all the different shades of cruelty.

Azriel remembers being unable to comprehend the sight, the stumble in his heart at the indisputable proof before him. That despite what had been drilled into him by his father, his brothers, by every Illyrian warrior who punched down on bastards, there was a place where peace reigned above all.

People who lived in harmony. Where Art and music are considered a treasure alongside other skills, each equally important. And Azriel belonged there, as much as any of them.

It had been one thing to walk through the city, to marvel at every cobblestone, at the trims lining each and every window, to have people regard him with such a polite and casual manner — not a second glance at his wings or his hands.

It had been something else entirely to fly over it as night fell.

Mountain ridges illuminated by his most constant friend, the rising moon, watching the moonlight spill over the dark red rock of the mountain and paint it ever softer. Sweet ocean air and the very perfume of the city intertwined within the current as he soared above it, mighty wings beating.

Azriel could remember that first day and night in Velaris vividly, like an unforgettable dream. How easy it had been to fall in love with it, to let its arms unfurl and to allow himself to make a home within them.

Looking out across it now, as Faelights begin to twinkle and blink to life as the night creeps in, all Azriel can think of is how much he wants that for you.

To bring you here. To have both of you fly above the city and wander down the streets aimlessly, to show you that there were places far kinder in this world than all you had known before.

He yearns for you to have the same dawning realisation he did—that so much more existed outside of those gods forsaken mountains.

Azriel knows you're a very guarded male. You have more than enough reasons to be. He's already pushed a thousand boundaries you have and each time you let him into your sanctuary in the mountains is a sign of enormous trust.

Maybe for that reason, Azriel wants to be the first to extend that kindness to you.

A twinge in his chest sings a different, golden answer.

Azriel ignores it and steals one more look out at his home, swallowing down how all logic seems to be pointing to the same thing, time and time again.

He finds the High Lord in his study, papers stacked high on his desk that have only grown higher in Azriel's absence. His dark hair is tousled in a way that means he's been running his hand through it too much.

Azriel lifts the shadows from beneath his feet as he enters, letting the other hear the sound of his soft footsteps. Rhys looks up at the new arrival. Despite his tired appearance, it does nothing to dim the grin that overtakes his lips at the sight of his brother.

"My, my, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

Azriel grins back, stepping forward Rhys pushes back from his desk and stands. His usual wings have been hidden away through his magic and Azriel notices their absence when he pulls him into a brief hug. Rhys lingers close, his violet eyes raking over his friend.

"Not bad to see you either."

"You flatter me." Rhys purrs, his voice all buttery and smooth. "You've got new eyebags. Overworking yourself as usual, are we Az?"

"I presume you make such lovely comments about Feyre too?"

"And risk her wrath?" Rhys smiles, eyes glittering at the mention of his mate. "Never."

Azriel rolls his eyes, letting his obvious endearment at his brother's happiness show. They truly are a perfect pair.

He crosses his arms across his broad chest tightly, if only to hide the fleeting flicker of wanting the spools tight in his chest. A ribbon of envy, woven between his ribs.

If Rhys notices, he doesn't comment. Instead, he says, "Usually, you're itching to escape the mountains but not this time I see."

He pauses, eyeing up the Shadowsinger to see what response it'll give. Azriel yields no comment back. Expecting this, Rhys smiles.

"Either way, you'll be happy to hear that Cassian has returned from his time off and is ready to resume his usual duties."

Azriel stills at the words.

He knew that Cassian would at one point return to his usual positions and that Azriel himself, would return to his spymaster post. But it's come sooner than expected. Perhaps, time with you has been passing far quicker than Azriel thought.

"I found the cause of the rumours."

"Yes, I assumed you had," Rhys says, wandering back around the deck to slump into his chair. He leans one arm against the armrest, his knuckles against his temple.

"I also assumed that you spent all that time dealing with it. Much of a problem?"

Azriel considers his words carefully. The trust he's managed to garner with you is fragile, though he knows his friend would not severe it or interfere if he asked.

Another part of him knows it's unusual behavior of him, to offer his skills so willingly to a stranger. But, well, you're not exactly a stranger anymore.

"There's a male.” Azriel begins, choosing his words carefully. “A bastard, the one causing all the stir-ups. He feeds the other bastards when he can. It's what had Lord Mylind kicking a fuss."

Rhys curses lightly at the realisation of just which camp they are dealing with.

"He's learning to make healing tonics," Azriel continues, noting how Rhys' head straightens up a fraction. Interested. "In hopes of slipping them to freshly clipped females. To see if it can reverse the damage."

Rhys sits back in his chair completely, his hand brushing over his mouth in deep contemplation. For a moment, he says nothing.

"I suppose I don't need to ask if there's been any female training then."

Azriel feels himself glower instinctively, his wings hiking up an inch higher without meaning to. He thinks of Lord Mylind and the conversation he had on the first day in their camp. The sheer display of male arrogance, snarling, and threatening violence outright.

"No.”

Rhys curses again, his eyes crushing closed. He seems to filter through a pained reaction, his face contorting until it lands on a tired resignation.

“The camp of Exordor made very good on a bargain struck during a very hard time.” Rhys grits the words out.

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes at the mention of the deal that had turned sour. A cold ripple of night shudders through the room.

No amount of soldiers supplied during the war had been worth the suffering that camp Exodor alone produced— or continues to produce if the whispers that came out of there held an inkling of truth.

It’s a rotten place, tucked deep in the mountains, and some of the worst brutes Rhys has ever had the displeasure of meeting were born in the bowels of that place.

“It doesn’t lift for another 50 years." Rhys sighs, his voice wavering with a hint of shame. "I can’t touch them without slaughtering them all— innocent or not.”

Azriel didn’t say anything for a moment. This information is not new. He watches as Rhys digests his silence, leaning back in his chair as the wheels spin in his head, dizzyingly fast.

For the second time, Rhys' brows jump.

“You’re helping him.”

Not a question.

Azriel nods.

"You don't want Cassian to take back over."

"No," Azriel murmurs. "Not yet. The male is... He's guarded. Isolated. It has taken time to earn his trust. I believe in what he wants to do and I believe he has what it takes to achieve it.”

He thinks of the quiet evenings within your shelter, your patience as you taught Azriel what you could — how you took every piece of information from him on the chin, not one complaint of ever tiring. He thinks of the heaving in his chest, the tug on his heart.

"I ask that you let me see this out." Azriel finishes, his shoulders rolling back as he stands tall. Let Rhys understand how this had become more than just a mission to him; it’s a personal calling, one he must answer, one that he needs to see out to the end.

Rhys surveys him intensely, unblinking for a moment. Then something devious crosses his face, catching in a smile.

"That's not the only thing you want to ask me, is it?"

Azriel looks to the ground, suddenly bashful. This would be entirely too revealing of the closeness he felt, to ask this, to offer this. He asks anyway.

"I wish, with your permission, to take Heartstriker." Azriel's voice rumbles lowly. He forces his eyes back up, meeting Rhys' strong gaze. "To gift to him."

Something dips into Rhys' smile, threatening a smirk and for that reason alone, Azriel feels his ears tinge hotly. His face remains calm, however, giving nothing away.

"Heartstriker? As a gift?" Rhys repeats, with a sly smile. "Pray tell Brother, when's the wedding? Since when have you ever been known for gift giving, let alone something as dear to you, such as a sword? I might just have to meet this bastard."

Azriel’s ears only get hotter, betraying him. He prays it doesn't show on his face, though he's sure the increased swirlings of his shadows give him away. And Rhys’ infallible ability to read his flustering each and every time.

"Is that permission?"

Rhys, seemingly realising he won't be getting any juicy details, quits tormenting his brother with a flourish of his hand. He leans back in his chair relaxed, a softness creeping into his expression.

"It's been yours to take all these years, Az." Rhys finally lands on. "You did earn it, after all."

—

The shelter looks bigger without him here.

Betrayingly, it’s the first thought you have when the door swings open, letting you into your nest of safety. You heave in a breath that rattles loudly and it gets swept up in the foul whistle of the Mother's Kiss.

On your side, your blood-soaked hand clutches your abdomen tightly. Pain spiderwebs up your body, fraying every nerve with a burning agony.

Every step feels loud and clumsy.

You cough as softly as you can, yet still feel the warmth of blood on your lips. The familiar metallic tang overwhelms your mouth.

You must be dripping blood behind you, dragging a slushy mess of crimson snow in on your boots. Fuck, what are you doing again? Your head throbs. They must've knocked your head hard this time if you're losing focus this quickly.

The Mother's Kiss howls fiercely, a reminder of the cruelty outside your little haven.

Right. You remember you need to close the door— and you shove the deadbolt closed along with it. If your ribs were aching a little less, you would reach up and do up the second deadbolt too, at the top of the door. You try to anyway.

Your arm gets mid-way up before you freeze, pain lashing every nerve in your midriff, enough to make you wince loudly. The bindings on your chest aren't helping. For a moment, dark spots dance before vision as you quickly tuck your arm back down, moving too quick.

Fuck. Fuck. One deadbolt will have to do.

It feels as if the whole world lurches when you take your next step, blurring like thick taffy for a split second. You stumble towards your bed and realise as you sink onto your knees on the edge of it, you need to dress your wounds.

Another bloody cough. Has your nose stopped bleeding yet? It's impossible to tell between each and every other ache.

What were you doing again?

Without meaning to, you begin to slump over, nearly lying down in your bed.

Dressings! That's right, you need to make sure the wound on your side isn't still bleeding, need to make sure it's clean when it finally begins to clot, need to...

Need to... what did you need to do?

That's right— you need to sleep.

Your head crumples against the pillow like a dead-weight as you collapse against it, exhausted. As your consciousness wanes, you cough again, a splatter of red spraying your pillow.

Not good, you think absentmindedly. Eyes slipping shut, you miss the familiar figure out the window, approaching through the storm.

—

You're wincing before you even realise you're awake.

Crackling. Logs spitting out little snaps fill the air, the quiet roar of a hearty fire; the first things you hear when you come too, far too slowly for your own liking. Your left ears hum loudly in discomfort— no doubt a result of one of the harsh hooks you had caught in the face earlier today.

Next, you smell something... clean?

Your tongue comes out gingerly, licking your cracked lips and you realise quite suddenly, there's an absence of blood on them. The thought slams into you at the same time you realise; you hadn't been able to stay awake for long enough to even light a fire.

Panic reaches through your ribs and grips your heart, tight, and you sit up without thinking.

Pain follows you closely like a lazy afterthought that slams into you, soaking into your body meanly and making you regret moving so fast. Your head swims heavily, throbbing dully.

A pained noise threatens to leave your lips and you force it down. Then force your head up, eyes blinking rapidly, trying to assess the threat, trying to do something.

Panic squeezes your heart painfully again when your hazy vision clears just enough to reveal the shape of a body before you— your blood chilling in your veins as you realise there's somebody else in here with you.

The whimper you held back before slips out before you can help it, your body squirming backward without thought. Your breaths comes out in sharp pants, bursts of pain accompanying each one, and right as you hit the wall, your vision focuses.

Your lungs empty in relief.

It's Azriel before you, on his knees, his scarred hands are held out in front of him.

They aren't touching you, just hovering, his palms up to indicate he means no harm. His wings are tucked back, hunched down to be smaller than usual, and all around him, his shadows whirl about animatedly.

There's an expression on his face you've never seen before.

"—on't move," He's saying, his low voice finally registering in your ringing ears. His hazel eyes are fixed on your face, darting about quickly. "You'll re-open your wounds."

He's talking about your wounds but for some gods forsaken reason, all you can think is how surprised you are that he came back.

The thought loops endlessly, like a holy mantra —he came back, he came back, he came back— and you realise that you were both terrified and also sure that he wouldn't be coming back at all.

That somehow, somewhere along his trip back to his home, he would have realised you weren't anything worth coming back for.

"Azriel?" You wheeze.

Just to check—you have to check.

Maybe he's a mirage. He certainly would be the kindest mirage you can think of.

You think you see something soften on his face, his wings dropping an inch lower behind him. His hands are still held out before you, still waiting. He's endlessly patient. His shadows seem to slow a bit, less frenzied.

"Yeah," He murmurs gently in response. His hazel eyes burn as they take in the sight of you again. "They got you pretty messed up. huh?”

You're sitting on your bed still, you realise. Blinking slow, you take an inhale, trying to put together how he got here— your eyes fly to the door. It's locked, this time with both deadbolts secured.

Azriel follows your gaze, turning his head slightly. "They're a good precaution. Don't be dissuaded that the spymaster of this court managed to get past them."

You wheeze again, some delirious laugh that gets cut off when pain splinters through your side. You groan lowly, unable to hold it in and your hand creeps slowly to paw at your side.

Faintly, you can feel the scrape of bandages on your skin, covering the wound, and sigh in relief. It makes your diaphragm sink down, the bindings around your chest shifting and that sends a frantic bolt of alarm through you once more.

“You—” The word scratches out your throat and you cough weakly. Every instinct starts to light back up, hackles rising— there has never been someone else around when you're too weak to defend yourself. It takes a moment with eyes closed and measured breaths to lean into your trust. You trust him, you know you do.

“You... patched me up?”

The question comes out wary and pointed despite your efforts. Though that might just be the gravel in your throat from having your face beaten in.

You don’t know how to covertly ask if he saw— if, that when he pushed your bloody shirt up to nurse the slash in your side, he noticed the gauze around your ribs.

It's an alien and terrifying thought, Azriel finding out. A worry deep in the marrow of your bones warbles in response, a thousand hairs standing up on end at the possibility.

How a revelation of that magnitude could sever the first trust you've had in years.

How it could lose... the first friend you've ever truly had.

A string of nausea tugs in your throat, bile threatening, and you have to swallow it down with the crippling fear that's been thrust into your system.

This is how it goes. The intrinsic balance of the world —to be gifted closeness and friendship, is to submit to the possibility of losing it.

Back against the wall, it settles into you very starkly, a thought sharp and clear; you do not want to lose him in any way.

Some part of you thinks he must see you as some kind of starving mutt, growing far too attached to the first hand that feeds it. But looking at him now, his shadowed face and kind expression, the depth of his eyes... you're convinced he sees something more to you.

And you want him to, desperately.

In a way you can't comprehend, can't begin to understand— how can you be so tied to someone you've known for so little? How can it hurt so much to be parted from him when you're barely friends? When he doesn't even know who you truly are.

Perhaps, you think, this is what all friends are like. You wouldn't know, you haven't had any before.

Azriel nods mutely, a strand of his dark hair falling over his forehead. He seems to be considering his words carefully and you take the moment to steal a few deep breaths.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard. "I understand that might be... crossing a line. But—" A waver in his voice. "— but I could smell the blood from out in the storm."

There's something left unsaid in his sentence, his tone clipped. Whatever it is, you're far too tired to discern it. Your body, overwhelmed with tension, abruptly loosens as the perceived threat of danger seeps away. It drains you, a sudden wave of tiredness cresting upon you— because you know, undoubtedly, you're safe now.

Not quite meaning to but unable to stop yourself, you sink down and fall limply against your bed. Your wing curls over you defensively, a blanket and shield all in one.

Azriel's hands finally lower, resting gently atop his thick thighs. His shadows dim their chaotic activity, almost lazy with how they whirl about his neck and shoulders. You wonder absentmindedly what they feel like against his skin.

Looking back at his face, you find his eyes haven't broken their watchful gaze on you— intense enough to stir up an unfamiliar warmth within your chest. You avoid it and his eyes, your tired eyes catch sight of something behind him.

"You brought...?" You can't quite finish your sentence, a vicious shiver wracking your frame, making you curl up closer. Tiredness chases it, the threat of sleep looming closer and closer.

Your eyes close without meaning. In the darkness, Azriel's voice swims before you, muted and far away.

"You have to get better before I can give it to you." His voice has dropped to a whisper. It makes your lips twitch in an attempt of a smile. It's funny, hearing a legendary Illyrian warrior like him whispering.

"Okay," You might say back— though you're not sure if it sounds like a word at all.

It doesn't matter. You're already asleep.

[NEXT PART: CONFIDANTS]

—

tags <3

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco @iamjimintrash @maeandering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee @viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13 @bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa @fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

#azriel #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger x you #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #whom the shadows sing for #whom the shadows sing for (and the thief’s echoing hymn)#OKURRRR #LETS GO #I HAVE TO LEAVE FOR WORK IN 10 MINS SO IM JUST POSTING #if theres things wrong with it.... well ill deal w that later #enjoy! <3

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theladyofrosewater · 4 months

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I have finally gotten Laurance's character sheet to a point where I'm actually okay with the result. I'll probably make some edits later. Character notes and lore undercut also content warning for general shadow knight stuff

Feel free to suggest the next character to get a character sheet!

I was aiming for a swimmers or acrobatic type of build for him so I tried to give him wider shoulders. I'm going to be basing all of the guard characters after some kind of sports athlete so feel free to give suggestions for future guards like Katelyn or Dante

In my rewrite Laurance was nearly torn in half (yikes) in the Nether and Sasha had to stitch him back together. He didn't fully die but his heart stopped for almost a minute before Sasha restarted it. Hence he got turned into a Shadow Knight although a lot more human than most

Laurance is missing part of his leg in my rewrite as well as being partially blind in one eye and this is from Ungrth's rescue mission, which sidenote I'm very tempted to mix wyverns and phoenixes together in my rewrite so that Laurance still loses his friend but is comforted by the fact that he'll be back someday.

His leg prosthetic is actually part of his shadow knight form and as a result he can get quite tired if he's on his feet all day. Dante and Garroth commissioned Kenmur to create a decent prosthetic for Laurance but the group disappears before Kenmur can finish it. Laurance uses a wooden crutch when he gets too tired or has a day off. It's quite well made and carved with a wyvern script spell for steady balance. It used to be Jon's but Hayden gifted it to him when he left Meteli for good. (Also sidenote I'm making Jon and Hayden married in my rewrite just because I think it would be good storytelling)

Laurance has always been clumsy but surprisingly enough his balance only suffered a little when adjusting to his new leg, and he's pretty good at adjusting to the vison loss. He will however sometimes be an idiot while exploring and that's why half the time he ends up in caves or old witches hideouts when he's exploring

Laurance's natural hair color was that nice brown we all know and maybe love and in my rewrite he still dyes it to match Cadenza however becoming a shadow knight kinda mess with his hair and now when it reaches a certain point it kinda sorta just turns orange and while Laurance may be a flirt he doesn't actually care that much about his apparence, as long as he's in good shape health wise he doesn't care, so his hair is left long.

Laurance's shadow knight armor is actually quite different from a lot of other shadow knights as he's technically still living. Shadow knights that are fueled by intense anger like Zenix or were turned when they were still living have a lava like substance glowing in the cracks of their armor. Shadow knights like Sasha, Vylad or Gene on the other hand have "dead" armor that is just rock and maybe a few gemstones. Becoming a full shadow knight takes either your memories or a part of your soul and unless Shad gives an individual that piece back or they are too filled with rage their armor is dead.

His normal guard armor is a mix of nether metals and draconic steel, Aphelia got it from Zoey and gifted it to Laurance when he was sworn in as a knight of Phoenix Drop. It has an extremely high melting point so Laurance can hid his leg if he wants too or he needs to for missions but often times in Phoenix Drop he doesn't bother unless it's cold or raining or Phoenix Drop is on high alert. The leg produces some heat enough to singe fabrics but isn't a fire hazard unless Laurance wants it to be

Laurance used to have a lot of keepsakes and jewelry but they were lost in the Nether. but you can see on the casual outfit that Cadenza has been sending him new rings :)

His hair does glow in Shadow Knight form and yes he has been used as a nightlight/ light source before but on the bright side he got the codename firefly so it's not a total loss. also his teeth are stronger but not sharper as only some shadow knights get fangs and it's seemingly random

I imagine him to be almost 23 and around 6'2 but only because he has a habit of only walking on the tips of his toes as Cadenza made him take the same dance tutor their dads hired for her. In reality he's like 6 ft on a good day.

#theladyofrosewater #art #mcd #minecraft diaries #laurance zvahl #aphblr #aphmau mcd #mcd laurance #minecraft diaries rewrite #HE IS FINALLY DONE #IDK WHY HE GAVE ME SO MUCH TROUBLE

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emmitaaa4 · 6 months

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Azriel, you beautiful, complex man.

Anyone else ever lay awake at night thinking that it’s not that Azriel wants a mate, any mate: it’s that he believes only a mate—only someone who was meant to love him—could love him ?

Do you ever think about the fact that Azriel’s visceral response to Elain looking up at him with trust & hope, was to believe that there was no possible way she could ever look at him that way if she knew the things he’d done and been forced to do? If she knew that his scarred hands mirrored his marred soul? Yet we know Elain has never balked from him and has only ever seen beauty in his scars; in who he is.

Do you ever think about the way Azriel feels this need to prove himself useful—which is why he so clings to his titles and his job—for if he is needed, he cannot be abandoned?

Do you ever want to shout from the rooftops that Azriel is so much more than this « darkness » he cloaks himself in, and that he doesnt need someone to heal him & « handle his darkness ». Healing, for Az, does not mean fighting & ‘killing’ his demons, it means being at peace with himself & learning to live with them without needing to mask who he is. He needs to begin to believe that there is darkness and light in him to love.

Does your heart ever squeeze when you understand that allowing yourself to be loved, first means bearing yourself to another & willingly risking being hurt ? It requires an unparalleled level of emotional vulnerability from him. You ever realize that Az uses his shadows as an emotional crutch, that he so carefully masks his expressions, yet it takes but a look for Elain to read him? He, who finds his strength & perseverance in hope, found his match in her gentle, hopeful heart—and he physically has to keep himself apart from her, only allowing himself to act upon his feelings when she made the first move. Entitlement where?

Truly, how has the fandom decided that Azriel, who follows the sound of Elain’s laugh, who listened to her when no one else would & didnt let her be misunderstood, who trusted her with TT so she could protect herself & those she loves, who stayed up past 3am as she spoke of her passions, who made everyone wait for her to eat, who chooses to sun his wings next to her in peaceful, quiet company… is an entitled, flaky male that sees her as nothing but a sexual distraction?

Do people really not realize what it means for him to question the Cauldron, question the very core of his beliefs?

1) It is not his feelings he questions:

His mind is tortured by thoughts of Elain, so much so he can’t sleep;

They do not need words to communicate, indicating familiarity & understanding;

He IS showing more than “just lust”, it’s clear from their interactions since the first trilogy. There was something there before Nessian happened.

2) Not only does he believe himself unworthy of her, but that sentiment is reinforced by the fact that the Cauldron “broke the pattern”. I do not see the entitled man the fandom speaks of. What he is is a deeply traumatized man, who was abused as a boy by the people who were meant to love him & protect him.

The popular thought that Az would fold for a mate, regardless of who she (or he) is, is truthfully not attractive, not to mention that it implies he’d only risk love for a “guaranteed” happy ending.

=> “Az wants a mate therefore give him a mate” is counterproductive to his growth (tho to clarify, i am not saying he should not have a mate, just that there is a way the story should be told.)

We have seen him plan for snowball fights & tactical missions, yet never for his future: not with Elain—again, he never even actually allowed himself to consider pursuing her—but not in any other sense either:

Children? he tells Cass he doesnt know if he wants any—has he ever let himself imagine having a child? A house ? he has no place to himself. Remember that even after 500 years of existence, Az says he still does not know where he belongs?

Could you not imagine two people who make themselves what others need them to be, being brave enough to bare those hidden, repressed parts of themselves to the other. Can you not see the growth it would require from both of them should they give themselves a chance? To, on one hand, choose the other despite what is expected & the problems it would cause, and on the other, be vulnerable enough to receive that love & believe yourself worthy of it.

Love doesnt care for convenience. It could all go to hell but at least they’d know they had tried, and i do not see how that could ever make for a boring, 2 dimensional story.

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #pro azriel #elain archeron #i love him and her and them #elriel #pro elain #azriel bonus chapter #acosf bonus chapter #acosf #acotar #azriel acotar

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spacebarbarianweird · 8 months

Note

Hi!! I love your headcanons, especially the last one you posted of a Monk!Tav! If it's okay, would you be willing to write headcanons about a Tav with chronic pain? My idea was of a Tav who uses forearm crutches due to chronic pain, but still learns to fight and/or cast spells and such despite this. I use crutches myself but I still practice capoeira (it's actually not as difficult as I though it'd be, surprisingly!), so I always wondered how Astarion would feel about a character like that.

Also I'd really like to read about Astarion navigating physical intimacy with someone who can't do certain things (stay too long in one position, move in certain ways when back/legs/hips hurt, etc) because of the chronic pain, if you'd like to add that in.

I love this prompt! Because it requires me to do research.

Let me know if I wrote something wrong.

Astarion x Tav With Chronic Pain

Masterlist

Headcanons

Many years ago, you were severely hurt.

It was the dark magic, the necrotic damage.

So painful and disgusting, you were blessed to be unconscious.

You recovered. Thanks to the healing potions.

Wounds healed. Bones mended.

But the pain remained.

It follows you like a shadow, like a ghost, like an intrusive thought.

Sometimes, you forget about it.

But it reminds of itself when you least expect it.

You've tried to heal it, but as with any sickness bestowed by dark magic, it will never fully go.

Sometimes, it is so bad you have to use crutches because you almost can't move.

The tadpole, though, suppresses it, and you forget that you ever had this chronic pain.

It returns the moment you are free.

The pain is so unbearable you want to cut your arms off.

You barely manage to get into the inn, and you stay there in the fetal position.

Unable to move a finger.

Soon after sunset, you hear familiar steps and the familiar weight on the bed.

"What is it, my sweet?" he playfully asks, only to see you are in pain.

Maybe he has witnessed this condition before or it is just too familiar, but Astarion immediately recognized it.

He brings you water to drink and then a medicinal ointment he'd probably stolen.

"Sit up," he orders and starts massaging your hands, rubbing the ointment into the skin.

It prickles, but the feeling is nice.

Then he does the same with your legs and back.

You felt like a doll in his hands, but you didn't mind.

Then, he brought you food and fed you with a spoon.

You feel relaxed and sleepy. The pain is still there, but it's not that bad.

Astarion hesitates to lie beside you, but you manage to find the way you both feel comfortable.

You keep being adventurers, but it has its complications.

Sometimes you just can't move. Sometimes, you need crutches (and for these periods you always stay somewhere safe). Astarion is always ready to carry you in his hands, but sometimes you prefer not to be touched.

Which he understands perfectly. He has his times when he doesn't want to be touched.

From time to time, you are in such pain you cry, and Astarion stays with you until it gets better.

You know a thousand ways to help him with his nightmares and traumas.

He knows a thousand ways to ease your pain.

You are each other's burdens, but together it's much easier to go through the night.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary

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justanothervigalanty · 1 month

Text

[Revenge]

(robin!jason Todd x fem!y/n Gordon)

part 2: the drug ring

Jason’s funeral was probably the saddest thing you ever heard about because you didn’t attend. You couldn’t possibly. Bruce had to make you promise not to push your self. Which meant 4 months on bed rest wich didn’t stop you were on crutches for the next 6 months and that card left a scar from your shoulder to the start of your neck. Bye bye vests. You became depressed. People tried to help you but nothing could help. Dick and Babs tried to talk to you but you didn’t listen or expect their help. One night Your dad had woken up to you screaming having nightmares about that night. Jason’s screaming the crowbar dragging across the ground the last thing he said to you “I’m sorry” repeating in your head. “Hay y/n! Are you ok!?” He asked sitting on your bed. “It’s him the dream dad the joker!” You said crying into his arms. At this point you had told him that you had gone after Jason that you were what Gotham was called the night’s shadow or just shadow.

“Bruce what do you want?” You asked running down the stairs off the bat cave buckling up Jason’s second belt that you used if he was out off Gotham. Around your waist. “Did you find him?!” You said running to the Batmobile. “No, but this is Tim.” He said which is when you saw a small no older than 12 black haired boy sleeping in the back seat. “Ok what is going on?!” You whispered “y/n I know this is wired but I need you to stay calm.” Bruce said carefully talking out the boy. “He knows who we were he knows you’re the night’s shadow he knows dick is nightwing he knows I’m Batman and that Jason is- was robin.” Bruce said handing the kid to Alfred who took him to bed. “What is your point.” You asked “Batman needs robin” he said needing down placing a hand on your shoulder. “That’s why I’m here so that I can help!” You said stepping back “yeah well I’m worried that you might-“ “what kill somebody!?” You yelled “well y/n after last night I thought that you needed a break…” Bruce said walking away. “So you’re fireing Me?!” You asked “why because you don’t have the guts to kill that mad man! Who may I remind you killed your fucking son?!” You shouted “you know what screw you and dick and that random kid you who you think could ever replace Jason! Fuck you bat!” You said storming out.

“Y/n! Y/n! What’s going on!” Babs said as you came storming into the house and started packing your stuff “y/n talk to me!” She yelled moving herself to her wheelchair and coming over to you. “I’m leaving!” You said grabbing your crutches that you needed from time to time. “Y/n! No y/n!” Barbra said grabbing your rist “you can’t leave me!” She said tears in her eyes “please. Mom left us i know you hardly remember her! I can’t lose you too!” Barbra said holding your wrist tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m sorry babs but I can’t I love you” you said hugging her before leaving.

Around a 4 years later you had found your self one off Batman’s most wanted. You were after the joker and if anyone go in your way they wouldn’t get a second chance to tell you. In till you were reached out to by a drug trading ring who offered to help you find the joker as long as you became a sort of protection against other gangs. And you slowly made your way to the top. To the point where you had one of the most powerful gangs by the time you were 18.

But not everyone took you seriously because of your obsession with killing the joker and none would dear to ask why. Some said “joker killed her parents” or “she was jokers sidekick and then she randomly quit so the joker has been after her eversincs” and to closest one “you know that one robin? Yeah the one who was killed yea! They dated but you see boss is the jokers daughter so he killed the boy and well she wasn’t happy so swore revenge!”

But this life that you lived was about to change in a way you only ever dreamed about. The dawn of red hood

#batman #jason todd #x reader #dick grayson #tim drake wayne #barbra gordon #commissioner gordon #jason todd x reader #bruce wayne x reader #tim drake x reader #barbara gordon x reader #dick grayson x reader

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peachesofteal · 1 year

Text

Medically retired Johnny in art class who can’t stop thinking about Simon.

Johnny, who started these art classes as a way to pass the time, as a way to cope, to hold onto a thread of his sanity while he tries not to think, tries not to think about Ghost, out there without him, tries not to think about the last time they saw each other, when they were both being loaded into a medevac, barely conscious, barely alive.

Johnny, who can’t, no matter how hard he tries, focus on the live model in front of him. Who’s hand works the pencil in lines over and over again, but each stroke just sketches another shadow of Simon’s body.

Johnny, who notices the sheen of a scar on the model’s hip, and all it does is make him think about the missing pieces of Simon, the nips and cuts, healed over bullet holes and slashes from knives. Johnny can’t help but draw them, trying to remember, trying place by them closing his eyes, and focusing on the feel of his fingertips, trying to recall those fleeting, precious moments in the dark, when his hands knew Simon’s skin as well as their own.

Johnny, who tries to start over by focusing on the model’s face, who stares for too long of a time, the focused scrutiny of a solider washing over the person who sits nude on the stool, their own body tensing under what feels like a spotlight. Johnny tries to draw them, tries to sculpt in the lines of their face, but when he looks down at his work, all that stares back at him is the reflection of a ghost.

Johnny, who can’t even start with a small detail, without it turning into something it wasn’t ever intended to be. He doesn’t need to be told how ironic that sentiment is, he’s fully aware, as he stares down at the crooked, soft lips that glare at him from beneath his fingers. The lips that he pressed his own to, in the damp heat of a jungle, his eyes squeezed shut, heart pounding in his chest so loud he was sure Simon could hear it. The lips, that he desperately chased one night in the back room of a safe house, his body pushed against a wall, tac vest tactfully in the way of his true goal, his wrist pinned above his head. The lips that revealed themselves to him, the first time he curled his fingers beneath the hemmed edge of a balaclava, the skin beneath the fabric warm to the touch.

Johnny, who takes too long to get back to his flat after art class, because he has trouble managing on the crutch, who always perseveres but can’t help but think how tired he is of it all, and how wouldn’t it be nice if he was here, waiting at the front door, making promises the two of them could never keep.

#ghost x soap #johnny soap mactavish #soapghost #john soap mactavish #ghoap #simon riley x john mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon riley #soap x ghost #ghostsoap

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marukrawler · 2 months

Text

we often talk about how alice should've won against shadow in s2ep32 but i don't think we talk enough about how masquerade should not have appeared in that episode period.

of course we, as the audience, appreciate seeing him one more time because he was such a cool character. but from a narrative standpoint, masquerade's brief return not only doesn't make any sense, it also undermines alice's growth as a character and as a battler by implying that she needs masquerade to not only push her to battle, but also needs his help during the battle itself.

it's clear during their battle that shadow looks down on alice and he doesn't seem to fear her until she states that she used to be masquerade. why must alice use masquerade as a crutch in order to be taken seriously as a battler? why can't she command respect through her own merits rather than through masquerade's? why was she so afraid of battling when that goes against her entire character arc in s1?

masquerade disappeared from alice's mind specifically so that alice couldn't rely on him for help. he wanted her to understand that the skill and knowledge she was seeking from him was hers all along. he wanted her to build up her confidence which, now that i think about it, is an excellent parallel to alice and christopher. christopher also lacked confidence in himself and was going to rely on alice's guidance in his rematch with travis but circumstances led to christopher having to win this battle without alice by believing in himself and his bakugan.

my point is that having masquerade reappear like this does a disservice to alice. i've even seen people speculate that the reason why alice lost is because she can't utilize hydranoid as well as masquerade can, which completely goes against the message that masquerade and alice have the same knowledge and skill. if there's any difference in the way alice and masquerade fight, it'd be because of their different fighting styles as well as experience. not because one is smarter or more skilled than the other.

plus, there was even an episode that addressed this point. in s1ep48, klaus believed that alice should be fighting just as ruthlessly as masquerade but realized that alice has her own fighting style that works just as well as masquerade's. just because alice doesn't fight like masquerade doesn't mean she's weaker than him.

#bakugan #alice gehabich #masqerade #4am thoughts

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mercillery · 24 days

Note

can you please write a series of headcanons for yandere Zenon falling for a nun female reader who is a friend of sister Lily and father Orsi?

btw i really love your writing 💕❤️

WARNINGS: FEMALE READER + RELIGIOUS TOPICS + NOT PROOFREAD

NOTES: IM ALIVE GUYS I SWEAR IM ALIVE. ALSO, I DID THIS ON A WHIM SO IT MIGHT NOT BE THE BEST. SORRY AND THANK YOU.

Oh, you poor, unsuspecting soul.

You're about to hop on a roller coaster so wild and unpredictable that even the most hardcore adrenaline junkies would pause and reconsider their life choices before strapping in. Seriously, who could have predicted that someone as cold and ruthless as Zenon—yes, Zenon, the guy whose hobbies probably include brooding and looking dramatically into the distance—would ever let thoughts of anything other than his missions and duties creep into his mind?

And not just anyone, mind you, but a nun? The irony is ironing. Zenon falling for someone devoted to peace and virtue? It’s like discovering the Grim Reaper secretly volunteers at a kitten shelter on weekends. But hey, life has a funny way of throwing curveballs when you least expect them, and Zenon catching feelings might just be the curveball of the century.

Zenon's interest in you doesn't start as love—oh no, that would be too simple, too human. Instead, it begins as a fixation, a curiosity he can’t quite shake. You see, he’s drawn to your purity, your unwavering faith, and that infuriating devotion to something greater than yourself. For someone like Zenon, whose life is steeped in shadows and bloodshed, these qualities are both intriguing and utterly alien. It’s like he’s found a rare, delicate flower growing in the middle of a battlefield—something that shouldn’t exist, and yet, here it is, flourishing despite the chaos.

Your kindness and warmth are stark contrasts to the cold, brutal world Zenon knows so well. To him, you're almost like a living embodiment of everything he's not—and, frankly, everything he’s never wanted to be. Zenon is perfectly content with his dark, brooding existence; thank you very much. The idea of being anything else? Laughable. But still, there’s something about your devoted nature that tugs at him in ways he doesn't fully understand.

It’s not love—at least not yet—but there’s definitely something there, something that keeps him coming back, if only to try and figure out why someone like you exists in a world like his.

Zenon doesn’t harbor any outward disgust toward religion—he’s not the type to waste energy on something as trivial as disdain. Instead, religion just makes him tilt his head slightly, those dark, intimidating eyes narrowing as if he's trying to solve a puzzle he doesn’t really care about. He’s genuinely baffled by how someone could be so dedicated, so selfless, so utterly consumed by their devotion to something intangible. How could anyone willingly bind themselves to something as abstract as faith?

If we're being completely honest here, Zenon probably finds the whole concept of religion utterly useless. In his mind, power is the only currency that matters, and in the face of overwhelming strength, everything else—including religion—seems trivial at best. He sees religion as something that would only hold a person back, a crutch that prevents them from grasping real power. After all, why rely on divine intervention when you can take matters into your own hands?

But does he care if someone else wants to cling to their faith? Not really. Zenon’s not interested in converting anyone to his worldview; he’s too focused on his own goals for that. If people want to hold themselves back with their religious beliefs, that’s their problem, not his. He just shrugs it off, filing it away as another incomprehensible quirk of humanity that he doesn’t need to understand and thinks it just holds everyone back.

But anyway—over time, this curiosity of his starts to twist and morph into something far more dangerous—an obsession. As this obsession deepens, Zenon begins to rationalize the strange feelings he's grappling with, trying to make sense of them in a way that aligns with his dark worldview. He starts to see your innocence as something fragile, something that needs to be protected—by him and only him.

Of course, Zenon’s idea of protection isn’t exactly comforting. It's dark, suffocating, and possessive. In his mind, the only way to keep you truly safe is to isolate you from the world, to lock you away where no one else can reach you or taint your purity. This twisted logic extends to everyone around you, even those closest to you, like Sister Lily and Father Orsi.

Sure, even if they’re like your family, even if you dearly love them with every fiber of your being, and even if Zenon knows all of this—he still sees them as obstacles. And let’s be real; that’s not exactly surprising. To him, they’re not threats, just hurdles he needs to clear before claiming his prize: you. I’m not saying he’d immediately jump to murder, but it’s definitely crossed his mind. Whether he goes that far depends entirely on how much resistance they put up.

Zenon isn’t one for subtlety or long-winded schemes. He’s not going to waste time orchestrating elaborate events to make it seem like Sister Lily or Father Orsi are in danger or untrustworthy—that’s just too much work for something he could easily solve by just killing them. He’s got power, and he’s more than willing to use it to carve a quicker, more direct path to you. If they become too much of a nuisance, well, let’s just say Zenon’s not above using lethal force to clear the way. Sorry, but in his mind, it’s a simple equation: they’re in his way, and he’s not one to let anything stand between him and what he wants. Of course, if by some miracle Sister Lily and Father Orsi step aside and let him through—though let’s be real, that’s about as likely as Zenon deciding to take up knitting—they might just live to see another day.

That being said, once Zenon realizes that he’s not just obsessed with you and that his feelings run far deeper than mere fixation, well, say goodbye to your freedom. Forever.

Zenon’s first move would be to isolate you completely, cutting you off from everyone and everything you’ve ever known. He wouldn’t hesitate to threaten the lives of those around you if it meant coercing you into submission. It’s just a necessary step to secure your loyalty and your obedience. He’d present himself as your only protector, the one person who can truly keep you safe in a world filled with chaos, danger, and evil—a world that’s constantly trying to kill that innocence you have. To Zenon, this isn’t just a twisted power play; it’s an act of love. He genuinely believes that by keeping you close, by holding you tight in his suffocating grip, he’s shielding you from the darkness that he knows all too well.

And yes, Zenon is the very embodiment of that darkness, the very thing he’s supposedly protecting you from, but in his mind, that’s just more reason for you to stay with him. You’re precious, sacred even, and he can’t bear the thought of losing you—especially after what happened with Allen. Oh how much you remind him of that sunshine boy, that bright light that was snuffed out too soon. He doesn’t want to experience that pain again, that devastating loss. So he convinces himself that this is the only way, that by keeping you close, he’s protecting both you and himself from a repeat of the past.

But while Zenon is dead set on “protecting” your purity as a nun, he's also not above trying to chip away at the very core of what makes you who you are. He takes a strange satisfaction in subtly undermining your faith, poking holes in the foundations of your beliefs whenever he gets the chance. He'll challenge your views on life, death, and the morality of your God, all while weaving in his own twisted philosophy, as if trying to make you see the world through his cold, unforgiving eyes.

As much as he’s intrigued by your devotion, it also kinda grates on him. How can someone be so unwavering in the face of a world as dark and merciless as this one? He might be your self-appointed protector, but there’s a part of him that wants to see you stumble—a lot, actually. Zenon’s not satisfied with just keeping you safe; he wants to break your spirit and mold you into someone who sees the world the way he does. He’s not just after your obedience—he wants your mind, your very soul, to align with his own warped perspective.

In fact, at some point, Zenon would likely want you to abandon your faith altogether. He’d see it as a weakness, something that blinds you to the harsh realities he believes in. In his mind, your faith and ideals are naïve, a set of fragile beliefs that will only lead to your destruction if left unchecked. He sees his efforts to sway you as an act of mercy, a twisted form of salvation. To him, if you could just shed those old beliefs and embrace his darker, more “realistic” worldview, you’d be stronger for it—stronger and safer, as far as he’s concerned.

So while Zenon might claim to be protecting your purity, the truth is much more sinister. He wants to strip away everything that makes you who you are, to rebuild you in his own image, and in doing so, bind you to him in a way that goes far beyond physical control. To him, that’s the ultimate act of protection: not just guarding your body, but reshaping your very soul.

Moreover, Zenon’s icy logic and emotional detachment would make it utterly futile to try and reason with him—even if you’re usually a master at persuading others. With him, all your skills in negotiation and reasoning would hit an unyielding wall. Zenon isn't the kind of man who can be swayed by emotional appeals or logical arguments. His mind is set, and once he’s decided on something, there’s no changing it. If you ever attempted to escape or reach out for help, you’d quickly learn just how unforgiving he can be. Any act of defiance would be met with swift and brutal consequences, the kind that would make you think twice about ever trying it again.

Zenon doesn’t see you as an individual with your own thoughts, feelings, and agency. To him, you’re a precious, pure possession—something to be guarded, controlled, and kept away from the world. He might speak of love, but his version of it is suffocating, possessive, and devoid of the genuine respect and care that real love requires. Instead of being cherished as a person, you’re reduced to an object of obsession, someone whose freedom and autonomy are sacrificed on the altar of his twisted affections.

In Zenon’s mind, the endgame is crystal clear. He’s convinced that by breaking your will and dismantling the person you once were, he can rebuild you into something that aligns with his dark, twisted worldview. If you were to ever fully submit to his control, he’d see it as a victory—a validation of his power and a confirmation that his way is the only way. But here’s the thing: that victory wouldn’t bring Zenon any real peace or happiness. Despite his relentless pursuit, Zenon is a man consumed by darkness, and even if he managed to break you, he’d likely find himself staring into an abyss of his own making.

The purity and innocence that first drew Zenon to you would be gone, stripped away by his relentless need to control and reshape you. In their place would be something hollow and broken—a reflection of Zenon himself. He might have you under his thumb, but the person he was so fascinated by, the light that caught his attention, would be extinguished. And what then? Zenon is too far gone to appreciate what he’s lost, but on some level, he would likely feel the emptiness of his so-called victory.

Overall, Zenon’s pursuit of you is more than just a desire to possess; it’s a reflection of his own inner turmoil. He’s a man who, in trying to hold onto something pure, only succeeds in dragging both you and himself further into the darkness. The very thing that made you special to him—your purity—becomes a casualty of his obsession. And in trying to mold you into something that mirrors his own brokenness, Zenon only deepens his descent into the void, leaving behind nothing but the remnants of what once was and what could never be again.

#yandere zenon zogratis x reader #zenonzogratis #zenon zogratis x reader #yandere zenon zogratis #zenon zogratis #zenon #black clover x reader #black clover x y/n #yandere black clover #black clover headcanons #zogratis x reader #no but seriously when I saw nun reader I was like okay #but then I saw Zenon and I was thinking how Zenon with a nun reader is genuinely such a complex combo #and then I read it again and saw YANDERE? reader is cooked. burnt. crisped #but overall this was quite amusing to write since I’m a Christian myself haha #school has been kicking me around nonstop send help

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imagine-darksiders · 1 year

Text

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.

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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..."

#Fnaf #fnaf security breach #security breach #fnafsb #On the Ropes #Montgomery Gator #reader #Monty x reader #Freddy Fazbear #Glamrock Freddy #Fluff and angst #hurt/comfort #protectiveness #anger #violence #Five nights at Freddys #Feedback always always greatly appreciated

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