#charlie x elizabeth

[bluarlequinno]

[lizzerswillpoststuffmethinks]

[nicowrittingstuff]

Afton Family Fanfic!

Summary: Since the birth of time, there were two gods. Unknown and unnamed, they assumed ones around the medieval age. The first took the name of William and assumed a more masculine form. The second took the name Clara, assuming a more feminine one.

William was the god of destruction, while Clara of creation. Two beings that balance each other out perfectly, keeping the universe in balance together.

Through their love for each other, they made three new gods. The first being Michael, god of death, a domain gifted to him by his father. Then there was Elizabeth, goddess of Chaos and her twin brother Evan, god of Order.

Or; The Aftons are curious gods with no clue how humans work and decide to make friends.

!!Ships!!

Michael/Jeremy

Elizabeth/Charlie

Evan/Cassidy

William/Clara(Mrs Afton)

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Hurricane, a small town in Utah. It was the type of town where everyone knew everyone and their grandma. Newcomers were far and few in between, many only staying a few days for a visit of friends or family then leaving.

Everyone was confused when a rich family seemingly appeared out of the blue. They bought one of the older and larger vacant houses in the town, moving in so suddenly the residents of the town had their suspicions.

A rich family moving into a small town like Hurricane? That sparked a lot of questions from everyone. Possibly they wanted to turn the town into a bustling city, or maybe they wanted to know what it's like to be middle class while still living luxury? No one knew, but everyone wanted to.

Two such people happened to be Henry Emily and his daughter Charlotte, or Charlie as known by her friends. They lived in a small house across from the family, just the two and a dog named Alex.

Henry was a known man in the town, mainly for his failed attempts at a family restaurant business in town. From his lack of funds and management, he struggled but still tried for his dreams. The townsfolk often dismissed him, finding his dream stupid and impossible.

Charlie was known for her helpfulness and kindness. She was a sweet girl with a smile always on her face.

The Aftons were interesting folk to the town. A large and rich family appearing out of the blue in a smalland unknown town raises questions.

They had their reasons, I mean, Gods tend be curious about how humans work, no?

Foolish people pray to a god that doesn't exist, when the gods that do give obvious signs who to look to. The human mind is fascinating.

Since the birth of time, there were two gods. Unknown and unnamed, they assumed ones around the medieval age. The first took the name of William and assumed a more masculine form. The second took the name Clara, assuming a more feminine one.

William was the god of destruction, while Clara of creation. Two beings that balance each other out perfectly, keeping the universe in balance together.

Through their love for each other, they made three new gods. The first being Michael, god of death, a domain gifted to him by his father. Then there was Elizabeth, goddess of Chaos and her twin brother Evan, god of Order.

The five watched the world grow, Elizabeth growing a great fascination for Humans and their chaotic tendencies.

Only recently did the family decide to get a closer look, assuming human forms and choosing a town to explore.

They were Gods, luxury is the life they live no matter where. So with a little bit of magic, they had a home, money and were settled into their new adventure for the time being.

[smallandangry24]

To keep up with the trend:

Me and the bad bitch I pulled by being autistic:

Honorable Mention: Bruce Wayne

[lizzyafton61787]

[cosmic-chemist]

HELLLOOOO hi hi fnaf post :3 but a majority are my designs of them ^_^

will probably make a second post but with some art I made for fnaftober

[tame-the-lion-writes]

Chapter I - Introduction

[michael afton x reader] you -- always you

content warning: (these are implied/referenced) character death, self-harm, underage drinking

tags: GN!reader, romance, fix-it of sorts, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, domestic fluff, friends to lovers, eventual happy ending

Michael Afton. He wasn’t exactly a picture perfect poster boy. Not with a past that everyone seemed to know about.

“I heard he started chain smoking cigarettes at thirteen.”

“I heard his dad had to pay off the cops after he got caught dealing drugs.”

“I heard he murdered his little brother.”

Okay, now that – that last one was the only thing you could half verify. Apparently, some freak accident combined with a twelve year old’s underestimation of robot jaws had branded Michael a cold blooded murderer. It didn’t help that in the years following, kids continued to disappear. Now he was the villain from a slasher film. A monster wrought from birth. The one bad guy in the less-than-twenty-thousand population of Hurricane, Utah.

Honestly, it was pretty pitiful.

As far as you could tell, from both newspaper articles and the way he slumped over – prominent eyebags a shocking grey – in class every single day, this man – no, this boy – was certainly not a killer. If anything, the way he naturally carried himself in silence or half-hearted snarkiness seemed evidence enough to you that he had regretted the ordeal from years before. It wasn’t evidence enough to other staff or students, of course, who held their long-drawn prejudices, but as for you – a newcomer from California whose parents decided to dump themselves in the middle of fuck knows where – you simply didn’t have that pre-existing impression. And so, you thought, maybe he just needed someone – anyone – to reach out and say hello.

So you did.

Ah, yes – the American high school cafeteria. The place where friendships can be summed up in – “make it or break it.” The place where whatever the hell is on the plate is called food. In Michael’s case, it’s a hodgepodge of unsweetened grey slurry, an overly greasy pizza, and an apple. The apple doesn’t look all too appetizing either.

It’s here, amongst crackled blue tables that Michael sits in solitude, poking the mystery sludge with a spork before deciding not to risk his life for a taste. Thus, with a sigh, the plastic utensil is quickly tossed aside – only to be interrupted by your question.

“Can I sit here?”

His eyes snap up from his cardboard lunch tray.

“Sorry?”

“I was just wondering if I could join you.”

The word “if” lingers for a while on your tongue, debating halfway through if this was a good idea. Yes, you took him as lonely, but not the type of lonely that was ready to be friendly, even if he desperately needed a friend. That hesitance was clear now, in the way his bluish-grey eyes rake over you, squinting with a brow furrowed more than usual.

“Is this some sort of prank?--”

There’s the slight tinge of a British accent as he speaks, but you aren’t able to process it before you interrupt.

“No, it’s not. It’s just– well, I’m new, and it’s kind of weird shoving myself into other groups when everyone’s known each other since elementary.”

“So you decided – hey – stick with the delinquent?”

“Okay, I’m from California. I’ve seen delinquents. Trust me, you don’t seem half bad.”

At this point, you don’t even wait for his answer and plop right down in front of him. He makes an obvious scowl, and for a moment, his hands reach forward to pick up his tray and move elsewhere, but you guess that at some point, he remembers there’s no other empty table to sit at. If he wants to be alone, it’s either alone with you or in some annoying teacher’s classroom. And the latter would be even more awkward.

Fine. He’ll deal with it.

“You’re not very conversational, are you?”

All he does is grunt in response.

But hey!-- at least he’s not chasing you off.

You take this as an absolute win. Your comment earlier, about shoving yourself into other groups, was largely accurate. Though you had made acquaintances with a few kids, they were just that – acquaintances. The kind of people you ask for help on a problem or lend notes to when they’re absent. Not the kind of people you feel comfortable going out on a shopping trip with. Not yet, at least. And to fully insert yourself into a tight-knit clique of people who grew up together? No way. No way in hell. So, unironically, the most unfriendly person would be your best bet at making a lasting friendship. This late in the game, at least.

The rest of lunch is quiet, at least until the last five minutes. You don’t try to pester him anymore than you already have, and for that, he seems grateful. At some point, he stops sending you disgruntled glares and relaxes, settling instead for an utter lack of consideration. You try to imitate the same disinterest – eating your home-packed food in silence, occupying yourself with idle doodles.

That last thing, he eventually took note of..

“You draw?”

“Well, look at that. We’ve got ourselves an extrovert.”

He snorts yet surprises you when he leans forward to get a better look at the half-unfinished homework you have on the table. In the corner, you’ve started sketching in lazy graphite – just small things like messy butterflies and eyes and flowers. Disjointed and pointless and done for the sake of filling in space rather than showing off.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning on copying my calc homework,” you tease lightly, tugging the paper back towards you.

At that, he actually grins.

“Ha– why would I when you got the derivative for sine-x wrong?”

“I– what?”

He taps the second question on your math homework, where sure enough – you’ve gotten things mixed up. I mean, of course you did – you might’ve been in Calc BC, but that didn’t mean you actually knew the stuff. Barely anybody did. But him, apparently.

And he found the mistake in – what – two seconds?

The confusion on your face must be obvious with the way he chuckles and leans back again, crossing his arms.

“Surprised I got a brain?”

“No. I’m surprised you’ve got a mega-brain. I’m in the only Calc BC class, and you’re not even in it.”

“Mega-brain?”

“Shut up – I don’t know how else to word it.”

You quickly flip the pencil in your hand to erase the mistake and replace what you’d gotten wrong with the equation. Stupid – fucking – Calc BC. You didn’t even know why you were taking the class when everyone in Hurricane had a future in entry-level customer service. You don’t need rocket science to add dollar bills and cents together. At least Michael is amused, finishing up the one apple he has before sliding the core and the cardboard tray away.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. My father’s an engineering genius. My ability to math is probably the one good I got from him.”

“You call him a whole-ass ‘father?’ Not ‘dad?’”

“Like I said, the one good. His brain is all he’s good for, anyway.”

You nod in acceptance at his comment, but the thought of his father makes you realize that his last name is familiar. Not him familiar, but someone else familiar. Afton. Afton. Oh!--

“Your dad’s the one who owns Fazbear Entertainment!”

The moment your eyes light up in recognition, he shrinks back, cringing.

“Co-owns. But yeah, he does.”

Seeing the way he shrivels, your excitement wavers before falling flat. Ah – right – Freddy Fazbear’s Diner was where…

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“It’s fine.”

“I just– well, you know, the franchise is pretty popular and–”

“Like I said – it’s fine. It happened years ago. Not like I can avoid the damn place anyway. Father pretty much forces me to work there, so I’m surrounded by shit either way.” He runs a hand through his hair then lets it rest on his neck as he looks away. “And besides, I kinda expected it to be brought up at some point in our conversation.”

“... Right. Right.”

He picks up your guilt with ease, seen as you were so loud and were now so regrettably quiet. What a switch of roles.

He clears his throat.

“Well, off topic, but your drawings are nice.”

You take the change of pace with a grateful smile. “Thanks, I guess. I’ve seen you draw in class, though. I’m nothing compared to you.”

The compliment pricks at him like a needle full of serotonin. Strange to take but pleasant to have. He looks away again – this time for other reasons. “Thanks. I didn’t realize we shared a class.”

You shrug and start shuffling your leftover food back into your lunch pail. “English, actually. I like what we read well enough but Davids is just insufferable,” you grin. “I can’t help but let my eyes wander around when I’m in class. And you and your drawings are the most eye-catching thing in there.”

“Oh. Thanks. Wait, did you say I–”

The bell rings halfway through his sentence, prompting you to stand and sling your backpack over your shoulder. Knowing you’ll have to rush to the opposite end of campus keeps you distracted from your little Freudian slip, and soon enough, you’re hurrying away.

“I’ll see you in Davids’! And you better move to Calc BC!”

[bluarlequinno]

I drew Charlie and Elizabeth inspired by this fic https://archiveofourown.org/works/49261438

[lizzerswillpoststuffmethinks]

Done 😼😼

[eldritchshapeshifter]

Hello friends 🫂🇵🇸

I am Mariam from Gaza 🇵🇸🍉

Asking for help is never easy, but the bad circumstances have forced me to do so 😭💔

So I am asking you to help with a very small donation of $40 to $50 in order to save my children from the hell of war 💔😭

We live in a tent that does not protect from the heat of summer or the cold of winter, my children have lost their childhood, they suffer from diseases due to water pollution and air pollution 💔😭

My children suffer from a rash and I suffer from anemia and I cannot provide food for my third child whom I am carrying in my womb 💔😭

So please help me 🙏🫂

Any small donation from you saves the lives of my children 🫂🙏💔

Please help me 🙏🫂

[bisheepart]

More Not So Alone AU Quotes

Gregory, texting Tony: Do you care if I take the skin off of the Furby? I want to make him a God. Once he is free of his sinful flesh he can begin the path towards enlightenment. He will take care of Us.

Gregory: Also I want to softhack his circuits.

Tony, texting back: I literally could not care less but please never say anything as frightening as that again.

----------

Gregory: Someone pressure me into doing my work.

Cassidy: Do it or you're straight.

Gregory: I said pressure, not threaten!

----------

Cassidy, pointing a nerf gun at Evan and Gregory: Go to bed. This is no longer a request; this is a threat.

----------

Ellis, looking at a fairy ring: That's such an obvious fae trap.

Elizabeth and Gregory:... We're gonna go touch it-

Cassie: GUYS NO YOU'RE GONNA GET KIDNAPPED!

----------

*The group all staring at this image*

Evan: That doesn't look safe for a mortal.

Cassie: If you sit there, you belong to the Fae.

Gregory: That's the Fae's problem.

Cassidy: That is such a strong, bold, confident statement and I respect you for it.

----------

Elizabeth: I've connected the two dots.

Charlie: You didn't connect shit.

Elizabeth: I've connected them!

----------

Evan: Wow, that was quick thinking on that phony sacrifice stuff.

Elizabeth: Oh, that was all real.

Cassie: Wait, you two were trying to help them kill us?!

Gregory: If I’m gonna be sacrificed, I’m gonna do it right!

----------

*Sleepover at Gregory's*

Vanessa: Gregory is forbidden from taking the trash out now.

Tony: ... Why...?

Vanessa: This is the third time I've caught him trying to train raccoons to fight.

Gregory, crossing his arms and pouting: You'll thank me when the fifth raccoon battalion saves your asses.

----------

*The group playing D&D*

Gregory: There is no 'I' in team. However, there are six 'I's in 'Fuck It, I don't care how big the room is, I cast FIREBALL!'

[darthpastry]

I present to you, a gift!

(I struggle with straight hair, don't come for me)

Elizabeth and Charlie from your vampire fic!!

I reread the fic and had to draw the girls

Hey, did you know that today is actually my birthday? Which means this is a super cool birthday gift?

Also AHHHHHH THEY LOOK SO COOL AND THIS MAKES ME HAPPY AND THEY LOOK SO GOOD AND AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[emeraldart]

I got bored so woe, incorrect quotes be upon ye (some Michael x Charlie, CC is named Cassidy)

long post ahead

Michael: I think it's time to start fucking some shit up. Charlie: Oh no. Michael: More like "oh yes!"

————

Michael: Okay, who's turn is it to give the pep talk? Elizabeth: It's Charlie's turn. Charlie: Don't die. Elizabeth, wiping a tear away: Truly inspirational.

————

Michael: Kill me nowwwww. Charlie: Sorry, no can do. I need your help with my homework.

————

Elizabeth: Ah, Hello again. We really need to stop meeting like this. Charlie: Maybe we would, if you would sTOP BREAKING INTO MY FUCKING HOUSE!!!

————

Cassidy: You know, people treat me like a god. Michael: How? Cassidy: They ignore my existence unless they need something.

————

Charlie: Fight me! Michael: gets on one knee and pulls out a ring Michael: Fight me for the rest of our lives.

————

Michael: Well, remember when Charlie made a romantic dinner for me? Cassidy: Michael, they microwaved you a pizza.

————

Cassidy: You gave me up, you let me down, you turned around, and deserted me. Elizabeth: But did I make you cry? Cassidy: cries on the spot Elizabeth: …Shit.

————

Elizabeth: Hey, wanna help me commit arson? Michael: What the hell!? Elizabeth: Oh, sorry, my bad. Elizabeth, whispering: Wanna help me commit arson? Michael, whispering: Of course. What do you need?

————

Charlie: Michael, we need that! Michael, holding Elizabeth over a trash can: Nope. Charlie: Gimme it— Michael: It’s garbage.

————

Cassidy: we could make a boys club! Charlie: Im non-binary. Cassidy: Cassidy: Anti-girls club.

————

Elizabeth: Who would you kill out of the four of us, Michael? Michael: Cassidy, easily. Cassidy, laughing: What the fuck, man. Michael: Well, Charlie would be too easy. They’d probably be into it. Charlie, now standing in the doorway: What the fuck, man!?

————

Michael: banging a pen on the table out of frustration Charlie: Stop that. How would YOU feel if I banged you on the table? Michael: I— Michael: I don’t know the correct answer to that question.

————

Michael: According to the footage here, you shook the vending machine and when the shake alarm went off, you punched the glass and broke it. Elizabeth: …I was hungry.

————

Elizabeth: Did you win? Or just not die? Elizabeth: Either way, hooray. Michael: …Is "no" a valid answer? Elizabeth: The hooray is redacted and you frighten me.

————

Elizabeth: Cassidy! I thought you were dead! Cassidy: No, just in deep cover. Elizabeth: …But it was an open casket. Cassidy: It was very deep.

————

Elizabeth: Go ahead, Michael. Let it out, cry. If you don't, your tear ducts will get blocked up, and then when you get old, you won't be able to cry. Cassidy: Just when we thought it was safe to let you back into the conversation.

————

Charlie: Are you an ‘arr’ pirate or a ‘yo ho ho’ pirate? Michael: I’m a ‘I’m not paying $600 for photoshop’ pirate.

————

At a speed dating event Michael: Oh wow, people are really shallow. Charlie: Consider it a background check. For example: Do you have a death certificate? Michael: Checks their pulse Sorry, not yet. Charlie: Good, I'm not fucking a ghost again.

————

Cassidy: ARE YOU- Michael: Fucking. Cassidy: KIDDING ME?! YOU- Michael: Fucking. Cassidy: IDIOT! Elizabeth: …What was that? Michael: Charlie banned Cassidy from swearing, so I’m helping them out.

[sassysoulstranger]

I'm starting to love Charlie with short hair

not for now Elizabeth

[tame-the-lion-writes]

Chapter II - Conversation/Confrontation

[michael afton x reader] you -- always you

content warning: (these are implied/referenced) character death, self-harm, underage drinking

tags: GN!reader, romance, fix-it of sorts, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, domestic fluff, friends to lovers, eventual happy ending

Two months had passed since then.

Things went smoother after that first encounter with the infamous Michael Afton. First acquaintances, occasional study buddies, now friends.

Some people shot you odd looks at first, but the way you were able to talk casually with him sparked a little something amongst others. Not in a bad way, though!– not at all. He was starting to interact with more than just you, and that was nothing to be jealous of. On occasion, you’d walk into class to see a random student saying a brief hello, or as he had with you, point out an incorrect answer for someone who’d asked him to look over their math homework. Of course, this was a once-in-two-weeks sort of thing — still rare — but it was something different. Something new. It wouldn't have been far off to presume kids wanted to speak to him but were too nervous to. And now that you’d broken down their initial impression of him, they’d gathered enough courage to say hello.

“Okay, so, if y equals f(x), and f is a differential function, then the differential dx is an independent variable and the differential dy is a dependent variable.”

“What.”

“Dependent means it’s like the outcome. Independent is what you put in. Kinda like with a science experience, except we’re replacing input and output with math. Got it?”

“Kinda. Enough.”

“Alright. So you know how when you change one side of an equation, you gotta equal it out on the other side? Like say y equals x turns into y plus six equals x plus six?”

“Yes?”

“When you turn one side of an equation into a differential, you do the same to the other side.”

With a sigh, you groan and smack your head into the pile of papers that constitutes your homework. There’s a midterm on Monday, and though you’ve gotten nowhere on your own, it’s already Friday. 

“Well, yeah, I know that. We already did trigonometry differentials.”

“But do you know how it looks, visually ? When you use calculus, you’re not just figuring out the rate of change. You’re figuring out the area between points, and with a second derivative, the volume between points.”

“Okay— okay— slow down, my brain is gonna melt.”

Michael rolls his eyes and grabs your pad of graph paper this time. Within 30 seconds, he’s done sketching two models — a 2D one that shades in the space under a straight slope, and a 3D one that turns the slope into the outline of a cone.

“So you already know that a derivative is the rate of change for a slope. That’s like the basic starter for calculus. Applying it is usually in the form of taking one point—“ he places a dot near the beginning of each diagram— “and calculating the area or volume from that point to another.” He draws another dot halfway through. “Does that make a little more sense?”

You peak out from the shelter you’ve made above your head with your arms.

“Oh. Yes, actually.”

The visual representations help. A lot. And much more than your actual math teacher ever could. Still, he looks unsatisfied with how much you two have done so far.

“Look— midterm’s on Monday and we’re not even halfway through the material you need to know. Are you sure you’re gonna be fine?”

“Yeah- no,” you hiss quietly, sitting up straight to look at him. He’s perched at the edge of the library table, looking down on you with a genuinely concerned expression. Your grades weren’t everything to you, but they sure as hell were important to your parents, and he knew that. “I don’t understand how you get any of this when you’re not even in the class!”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Hey, not like I didn’t try to transfer. Apparently getting an F in your last math class means you can’t move up.”

“But you can do the work!”

“You think school counselors actually care about that?” he snickers, pushing himself off the desk before offering a slow, awkward solution. “How about this – what if you slept over?”

You don’t mind, but you hesitate, biting your tongue. “I don’t want to intrude… You work tomorrow morning, don’t you?”

“I mean, sure, but even if I have to get up early, I can still teach you tonight. Maybe even tomorrow afternoon once I get home. Hell, you could even visit the restaurant. I don’t do much other than exist there.”

“Are you sure? I thought you didn’t want me to meet your dad.”

“To be honest, I don’t think father’s coming home tonight. He’s off opening another branch of Fazbear’s. I dunno – something like that.”

** * **

A sleepover at Michael’s house.

God, it shouldn't have been such a big deal. You’ve been to sleepovers before! You just hadn’t been to a sleepover at his house before, and hell, you hadn’t even been at his house.

Michael had been insistent for the past few months that you stay away from his father. Whatever it was about William Afton that he hated, he hadn’t truly explained in detail, but it definitely had something to do with the incident all those years ago. Living with the memory on one’s own wouldn’t have been easy, but had you been the one involved, you couldn’t imagine the added pressure of facing your parents on a day to day basis.

How do you grapple with the fact that you lost a child because of another?

“Almost there.”

Michael’s voice snaps you out of a daze. You’ve been staring out the window of his station wagon for the past few minutes, having been picked up from home after you’d packed. You had to ride back to your place initially, seeing as you didn’t have your license yet, and needed to pop in to tell your parents where you’d be staying for the evening. Despite stereotypes, your dad was the one who didn’t seem to mind while your mom had to be wrestled into being convinced. It was only after you said that Michael’s mother would be there the whole time, as well as his younger sister, that she was convinced.

“Just use protection, okay?” she had muttered, peppering kisses all over your face.

The thought made you grimace.

Not that you found Michael unattractive! Not at all! But mom, stop, no–

“So what’s your mom like?” you ask Michael, slumping in the passenger seat.

“A try-hard when it comes to acting nice. At least my father’s honest when it comes to hating me.”

“But you get along with her?”

“Well enough.”

It’s not long before he’s parked the car and pulling your duffel bag of clothes out of the back seat. You take in the house before you – much bigger than yours, with a three car garage, second story, and sizable porch. Maybe that was a normal sized house elsewhere, but in the backwater town of Hurricane, it was the biggest and most well-kept around. Even the property itself is big – though there’s no sidewalk outline at the edge of town, from the plants that look well-watered, it’s at least three or four acres of land. 

Rich ass family.

Michael swings your duffel bag over his shoulder before going up to the front door. He raps the back of his knuckles on the wood twice before fishing out his keys and shoving one in the bottom lock. Before he can unlock the door, however, it’s quickly swung open by a middle school-aged girl with bright green eyes and even brighter orange locks that flare out wildly behind her.

“Michael!”

“Hey superstar,” Michael grins, holding out his hand to the girl, palm flat.

The ten year old smiles back and slides her own hand down across his, initiating a ritualistic handshake in the process. “Stop calling me that. I’m not a kid anymore!”

“Yeah? Well if you were an adult, you wouldn’t look or sound so much like a goblin,” Michael laughs, placing his hand briefly on the top of her head before he walks past to welcome you inside and introduce you. “This,” he says, gesturing to the girl, “is my little sister, Elizabeth. She’s a brat, so don’t fall for her charms.”

Elizabeth is quick to stick her tongue out at Michael. He returns it instantly and goes so far as to flick her forehead, though she stuns him without a hit.

“Are you two dating?”

The simultaneous NO that spits from you and Michael practically shakes the house.

“We’re just going to study together, that’s it,” you swear through gritted teeth.

“Mhm,” she hums skeptically, sending Michael the type of shit-eating grin only a sibling could make.

“I help you with your homework, so don’t even,” he warns.

“Yeah, but fact check, dummy: we’re siblings. It kinda comes with the job description.”

“Oh, Michael. You’re home.”

From the top of the staircase, a soft yet tired voice calls. Following the sound, you spot a middle-aged woman on the second floor landing – blonde hair pulled back into tight curls and lilac purple robe tucked over her shoulders. Like Elizabeth, her eyes are a shade of green, but it’s clear that they’ve dulled significantly over the years. Now, they’re almost as grey as the smoke wafting from the cigarette in her hand.

“Mom,” Michael begins, gesturing to you, “this is my friend–” you lift up a hand to wave– “and they’re staying overnight to study for a midterm on Monday.”

“Mm.” 

Her hum shows little interest but acknowledges you at the very least. 

“Go ahead and order some food for dinner. I’m too tired to cook.”

** * **

Michael and Elizabeth have a functional brother-sister relationship. But the rest of the family? That’s a completely different matter. From what you can tell, their dynamic goes like this: Michael and Elizabeth, good. Michael and mom, neglected. Michael and father? Let’s not even try.

There are family portraits on the wall that paint a clearer picture. A singular frame shows them all together, and it lies at the end of the hallway, hidden away. Michael stands behind his father, Elizabeth next to her mother, and there was even another brown-haired boy in Mrs. Afton’s lap – the victim of ‘83. From there, the pictures change. Elizabeth and their parents, their parents alone. Michael is absent. So is the boy.

The only other pictures with Michael are next to his bed, and they’re Kodak prints. No frame in sight. Also no ‘Mr. Afton.’

You finally got to see them after a quick dinner with Michael and Elizabeth. Perhaps at some point, they weren’t the best of siblings. Or rather, he wasn’t the best older brother (-- wonder how anyone could come to that conclusion). But his attempt to atone the past was evident from the moment you met Elizabeth. If he couldn’t make up with his brother, he’d make up with her.

Granted, Elizabeth never mentioned anything of the incident. You weren’t sure if she was ignoring it, if she didn’t take it seriously, or if she didn’t remember at all. From the family portrait, she looked around the same age as the young boy – four or five – so it was possible that she didn’t recall a life before her parents distanced themselves from Michael, or from each other. Mrs. Afton didn’t exactly look like a doting wife or mother. Maybe the type of person who does the bare minimum. But you also couldn’t blame her. Not entirely.

It’s another hour or two of calculus at the dinner table, post-Mexican food binge. You don’t understand how Michael is so patient with you, but now knowing that he also helped Elizabeth, he must’ve had lots of practice. Eventually, however, it’s you who asks to stop for the night.

“I don’t think I can take it anymore. Not today, at least. I think I need to recharge,” you whine softly, snapping your textbook shut after finishing another practice problem. “Got any mind-numbing movies?”

Michael withdraws from the position he’s in, standing over you, and looks toward the glass cabinet in the living room. “Uh– we got Raiders of the Lost Ark and The Little Mermaid.”

“Ooh, Harrison Ford.”

Your dreamy coo prompts him to wrinkle his nose. “He’s forty-seven.”

“Uh- yeah. And?”

“He’s older than my father.”

“And?”

He shoves your face away, instigating a giggle from your lips.

“What can I say?” you smile. “A man who ages like fine wine is…” You trail off, placing a hand in front of your mouth mockingly to imitate a chef’s kiss.

Michael gags and waves you off. “Just go. My room’s the first one at the top of the stairs. I’ve got a TV.”

“You got a TV in your bedroom ?”

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s my family’s old one. Not like we have family movie nights.”

That, you can’t argue with. 

The march up the stairs is brief, and soon, you’re closing the door behind you. Aside from its size, Michael’s room is a typical teenager’s room – mostly. Posters of bands and movies you’ve never heard of, a desk that clearly hasn’t been organized in months. A pile of dirty clothes (-- or clean, who knows?--) has been kicked away in a corner as well, and above an unmade bed is a string of polaroid pictures and doodles on ripped paper – probably torn off the edges of homework. There’s even a Foxy plush sitting upright against his pillow, metallic hook and plastic eye replaced by stitched cloth. In spite of his clear distaste for his father – seen in one picture where the man’s face has been covered by a silly Bonnie sketch – and the mound of childhood trauma you’ve only partially uncovered, it seems that Michael still has some affection for the characters.

The view from the room is nice, too. The sun has already begun to set, casting golden light against the walls, yet as you look out into the trees and scarlet landscape, out of the corner of your eye, a glint of light from the trash can catches your attention. Innocent curiosity gets the better of you, and you kneel by the small bin under his desk to uncover the metallic reflection. It’s covered by crumpled paper and candy wrappers, instigating a smile when you see even more doodles and new badge designs drawn on different pages. That smile drops, however, when you find the source of the reflection: not just several empty cans of beer left haphazardly tossed away – but the razor of a pencil sharpener with the faint hint of suspicious iron brown.

Ah.

“I got the VHS ta—“

He stops short when he sees you staring at the blade in silence.

“It’s…,” he begins, only to trail off and give up on explaining. All he does is kneel down,set the VHS tape aside, and start tossing the papers back into the bin – not even questioning what you were doing digging through his trash.

“... So,” you say slowly, folding your hands in your lap, “how long have you been… you know.”

He’s quiet until he finishes.

“... A while.”

“I– I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“I mean, I know–”

“No, you don’t–

“And if your mom or dad or sister found--”

His eyes snap in your direction.

“Mom doesn’t care enough to go in my room. Father sees me as nothing more than the kid who killed his son. And Elizabeth–” he curses under his breath and rubs his face– “Elizabeth shouldn’t have to deal with any of our shit. But at least she knows not to snoop. ”

For the first time since you met, you find him glaring at you – only this time, not with suspicion, but denial. Denial that he has a problem. Denial that it matters. That he matters.

“Michael,” you whisper softly, looking him in the eye. “You’re not okay, and that’s okay. ”

He holds your gaze for several more seconds before his own softens and the whole of him wilts. “I– I’m sorry, I just– I didn’t think anyone would actually tell me that or– or listen–”

Michael’s voice comes out in broken stutters between shallow breaths. Your heart swells at the sound, and the realization of how alone he must have been finally sets in. It’s been fact before. Cold, hard knowledge. But now it’s tangible – palpable – and horrible, terrible, true. Without another word, you reach forward and pull him into an embrace, arms wrapped tight around a trembling body. He stays limp, hands resting at his sides, but you don’t mind. He doesn’t have to reciprocate. He just needs to have–

You.

And you whisper, again–

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

** * **

It’s four thirty when you wake up.

After a quiet movie session, Michael lugged up a few couch cushions and set them on the floor. He didn’t take no for an answer when he told you to take his bed, though you weren’t sure if it was out of guilt over his outburst or day-to-day selflessness. Maybe both.

Still, you were grateful for the comfort of a mattress over the makeshift couch-cushion bed, knowing the gaps between pillows would make it difficult to sleep. His bed was soft and warm, and though tainted with the faint smell of cigarette smoke, also smelled like him. You could stay here for days.

So of course, it was a surprise when you found yourself unable to go back to bed.

You step over Michael, careful not to make any noise, and brush a stray lock of his hair into place before leaving the room. He’ll have to wake up in about half an hour to get ready for work, so you decide to get a headstart on things and make breakfast. Mrs. Afton doesn’t look like she’d have the energy to make breakfast early on the weekend, and cooking is the least you could do. Maybe something simple so you don’t take up too many ingredients either. Maybe pancakes!-- Elizabeth would probably like that.

The kitchen is large and littered with several cabinets, but you’re able to find everything you need for pancakes, plus a package of bacon and a carton of eggs you plan to fry. It’s simple but plenty, and rolling up your sleeves, you get to work right away.

The eggs and bacon are fried in succession on another pan while you get to work on the pancakes. Flour, egg, milk – they’re poured together in a large bowl, and as you wait for the griddle to heat up, you wipe down the counters to clean any bits of stray flour that’s flown out of place.

Seeing it all come together, you actually feel quite proud of yourself. This would be payment for Michael’s tutoring and make up for your intrusion. Now to pour the batter for the last pancake and—

Click.

The front door, unlocked, now comes swinging open.

There in the doorway, with a silhouette outlined by the light of the morning sun, was a man dressed neatly in a fine suit. His purple vest and the coat hanging off his shoulders reminded you of Michael in his work uniform. Everything about him screamed Michael, really, especially once he stepped forward and the kitchen lights had brightened his face. The same dark hair. The same pale bluish grey eyes. Nearly identical facial features, but paler, and darker, and cold — cold — cold–

“And who might you be?”

Same faint accent.

Uncomfortable silence permeates throughout the room as you lock eyes with the man. There’s something unusual about him, and it’s not just the way he’s an obvious genetic duplicate of his son. It’s in the way his clothes are almost too put together for an entire night of work. In the way his silver-striped hair is similarly slick and styled back. And it’s in the way he looks at you — observing, scrutinizing, flickering. Eyes drifting from the food to you, and in particular, your neck. Like he’s debating how easy it could break—

“Well, child, are you going to answer me?”

The staring contest ends abruptly when you peel your eyes away.

“I’m Michael’s friend. From school. I stayed over to study for midterms last night.”

“I see.”

“You’re awfully trusting considering he’s not here to verify.”

“Yes, and you’re certainly a burglar who stopped to make themselves pancakes. I’m terrified. ”

He tugs the suit jacket from his shoulders and hangs it on the coat rack by the front door, as if he had just come home from a regular nine to five, not five in the morning. A gulp forces itself down your throat before you pour the batter, sleepy fog now thoroughly purged from your mind. Though you no longer look directly at him, you keep him in the corner of your eye, stiffly aware of whatever space he seeks to occupy. And unsurprisingly, he seems intent on occupying the kitchen with you.

“You know, it’s good that Michael’s been making friends,” he comments, heading for the coffee maker behind you. “Boy’s had a hard time getting along with others his age.”

“I heard.”

“You know why, then?”

“I’m not a fool, Mr. Afton. Of course I know why.”

As you go to flip the now-ready pancake, he abruptly takes the sugar from your side, making you jump. Standing like this, you’re practically trapped between him and the counter. Nowhere to go. Your heart doesn’t drop so much as it begins tugging downward like a weighted stone. Seeing the look on your face and the tension in your shoulders, his amusement is audible as he speaks, voice soothing yet visible stature alarming.

“Please, don’t bother with ‘Mr. Afton.’ It’s William. And apologies, my dear. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

You shake your head and set the spatula down once done, waiting for the other side of the pancake to brown.

“It’s fine. I guess I’m just a little jumpy since it’s so early in the morning.”

“Not used to waking up early?”

“More like I couldn’t sleep.”

He nods before continuing the earlier topic. “My son… let’s just say that he’s a wounded soul. Always been a troublemaker, that boy.”

You can’t help but scoff lightly at his words. The way Michael talks about his father already has you predisposed to taking every one of Mr. Afton’s words as bullshit. It’s not like Michael would lie about his family for attention. If that was the case, he wouldn’t have self-isolated. It would just be–

“He self-sabotages, you know? My wife and I gave him so many an opportunity. We still do. We’ve encouraged every sport, every hobby – music and art and even robotics. He’s wasted them all.”

“I wouldn’t say wasted,” you defend in a softer tone. “He’s pretty good at art. And I didn’t come here to teach him anything. He’s the one who taught me .” You pause before adding on to soften the tone of the conversation. “... I mean, that’s why I’m cooking breakfast for everyone. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh, he’s smart enough, I’ll give him that. But in terms of effort? In terms of trying to get somewhere with that brain of his? Ha–”

William’s words are bile on your tongue. A part of you knows that some part of it is true, but you also know why it’s true, and that’s what really matters. Michael hates himself. Can’t you see? Can’t you tell? Do you even give a fuck? Do you even care?--

“In any case, I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure Elizabeth will be happy when she wakes up.” He pours a teaspoon of sugar into his hot coffee before backing away.

You’re about to respond when you hear Michael’s bedroom door swing open from up the stairs. Your best friend rubs his weary eyes, halfway through a yawn when he stops in his tracks, gaze landing on his father, you, then his father again.

“You’re home.”

It’s said none too warmly.

William clicks his tongue, his strides now somewhat hurried compared to before. “It’s my house, is it not?”

Wanting to defuse the situation, you raise the pan slightly from the stove as if to show Michael. “Hey– I– uh– I made breakfast for you. And Elizabeth and your mom, too, I guess, but it might be cold by the time they wake up.”

At your feeble attempt to calm things down, Michael mutters a curse under his breath before hurrying over, instantly placing himself between you and his father. Not that he actually interacts with the older man – just gives him the cold shoulder, sticking by your side. William gets the message, but while he continues to move away, it’s not exactly in the most generous manner.

“It’s time I check on Elizabeth. I’ll wake her for you, don’t worry – I’m sure she’ll love the surprise. As for myself, I’ll get to bed. Sleep the day away before I visit the new location again.” He sends Michael a toothy grin, pearly whites shining in the dark. “Have fun, you two. Henry will be managing the pizzeria tomorrow. I’m sure things will be more… relaxed that way.”

Though you stare as William leaves, you can see Michael tense even more out of the corner of your eye and instinctively move a hand to brush his. Still, you shudder. No matter how polite William had seemed, there was something inherently unnerving about him.

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispers as soon as his father’s bedroom door has closed.

“Sorry for what? He didn’t do anything.”

“Not yet. Not yet.”

[pringledraws]

I haven't posted anything in a while so I am announcing what the FNAF x H&H x TWF is called! So it's called Fall of the Family Tree!

Me and Friend/adopted dad are making a full time line and story with some other friends like @cherrychan-0110 n @chrismangaming !

You get to understand the relationships between each character and OC (I have a discord server as well if you want your OC to be part of the story DM me or ask me for the link!)

Anyways have these silly little girls! Thank you for reading!

"My daddy is making me a robot just for me! She is gonna be the best robot that you have ever seen!" -Elizabeth