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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 1 year ago

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Sweet Dreams--Part 9

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted.

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

CW: Smut (dry humping) in this part. Mentions of using sex to numb feelings. Please read with caution and skip if need be.

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Complete Masterlist

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There are certain messages Calum’s used to seeing--ones about meetings that have gotten pushed back, good morning texts from you, one from his parents about some sort of article they came across and wanted to send to him, thinking it would be good for him. There’s the texts from Michael or Luke or Ashton about bullshit--videos, memes, a bad selfie in their thread. There’s the text messages about a cute dog or cat that someone’s spotted in public. Then there are text messages that Calum is not prepared for. Ones that he hopes he never gets accustomed to receiving, that are bearing the bad news.

However, seeing, If I asked to borrow the back garden or some kind of back yard area to tie dye socks, would that be an immediate no? is the type of text that Calum thinks he would never want to brace himself for. There would be no fun in being prepared for spontaneity. Calum laughs, dragging the towel over his face to wipe away some of the sweat pouring from his hairline. Even with the heat of the summer fading, the long hours on the weekend with the shed still causes a sweat to break out.

Yes, you could use whatever you needed, baby.

Excellent, because I may already be here. Are you working on the shed?

Calum taps the icon for a call. It rings, once then twice against his ear. “Hi, love,” you answer. The pet name never fails to send a jolt of desire down his spine. You always say it so softly, like you’re trying to savor the taste of every syllable on your tongue. Sometimes, Calum’s tempted to ask what it tastes like. Does it taste sweet like cotton candy when he calls you baby?

“Hi, baby. Now what is this about needing to dye some socks?

“Charlie wants tie dye socks. The ones in the store don’t have color combinations that he likes. I’ve got some dye from when I had to recolor some shirts that were starting to fade and helping roommates out with stuff. The apartment’s been overtaken because Josie’s invited friends over, which I knew would be happening so it’s not a problem. But I know I have free time and can’t sit still to save my life. You don’t have to say it. Hence why I’m asking to borrow space for a little bit.”

“There’s always space here. Do you need help setting up somewhere? Put you closer to the laundry room--wouldn’t you need that for dying?”

“Yes, I should say, the socks would have to stay there for at least today and then if I could stay the night, I’d rinse them in the morning and take them with me.”

Calum nods, though you can’t see it. “Yeah, that’s okay. Whatever you need.”

Faintly in the background, voices arise from your side of the phone. “You’re supposed to be gone. You can’t tease us like this,” someone hollers.

Calum just makes out the words but catches your laughter as you respond, “I am a ghost. You do not see me.”

“That’s it, I’m dead. Dead,” the person laughs.

“Are you still using the service entrance? I have let the guards at the main entrances know about you. You literally can just walk into the front door,” Calum states through his laughter.

“If I’m honest, my brain just went on autopilot mode and hadn’t realized I’d missed the turn for the main entrance until I was already past it.”

“Habit, huh?”

“You know they say they die hard.”

“It’s alright. Next time, you’ll get it. I’m shocked the codes are still the same for you.”

“I don’t think it’s been deactivated yet. Part of me wonders if Janet’s ever going to deactivate it.”

“She may not.” It shouldn’t shock Calum if Janet decided not too. Though, he does think it might be a tough sale to security. They could win the battle if need be, but Calum worries about that for another day--should it ever come up. “But what do you need for this tie dying venture? A table or something, I’m sure.”

“I can get all that, don’t worry.”

“You sure? At least let me get you a table out from storage, baby.” Calum figures that it might be a mute point, that you might already have the table, but he’s still going to offer. The last thing he’ll do is not attempt to help. After throwing a quick warning back over his shoulder to the guys assisting him, he starts towards the doors. He doubts he can beat you to wherever you’re headed if it’s not directly outside.

“You’d have to come all the way through the back when I’m already inside to grab it,” you counter.

You are right. The curse to the size of the castle and its grounds is that sometimes it’s much too big for its own good. Getting anywhere in the residential wing is a bit of a chore--long hallways, limited number of doors. Calum’s sure it’s all due to safety, someone somewhere had a reason for the pain, but that’s not going to stop Calum from trying. Not when he knows it’s for your brother. The last thing he wants to do is get in the way of that relationship.

“I can at least try,” Calum quips back. He’s never considered himself a track star, but he’s glad for the years he did football.

“Don’t wind yourself out, love.”

“Is that a challenge I hear?”

Your laughter echoes, skips for just a moment but then your voice filters back in through the speakers. “I wouldn’t dare dream of such a thing. But seriously, I’ve already got a table. You better turn yourself back around.”

Calum continues on, just as he gets to the door, a bit more huffy than he would ever like to admit, he spies you rounding the corner from the hallway storage is on. “Hi baby,” he calls out once you make it closer to him.

“You’re hardheaded, you know?”

“Only….everyday though.”

You pause in the doorway, table in your grip--it’s a smaller one, but taller so you don’t have to bend down so much with it. “Yet, somehow, I still find myself attracted to it.”

“It’s the boyish charm. Need anything else?”

“Boyish charm,” you laugh, leaning into him a little. “We can call it that.”

Calum meets you, a quick kiss before you continue on through the door he’s holding open. It’s a silly thought, Calum tells himself, as he watches you carry on through the garden. You’re careful as you go, keeping the table a good six inches away from the ground as you go. But something does feel a little different. Your smiles at him melt a little bit more, feel a little bit warmer than before. To see you comfortable enough to ask for a kiss--even a peck as it was--in public made his stomach flutter yesterday.

The party was about you, so Calum withheld any conversation about it. The thing his parents did teach him was to be mindful of the time and place in addressing certain conversations. But for you to think, well before asking, that the castle would be free to you feels like further confirmation. You are changing, or maybe it’s a bit more like you’re unraveling. Though you and Calum walked in the early stages, you’d never mentioned your siblings. Now with that bit of information revealed Calum seems just how much you care about them--enough to dye socks so they have what they want.

He can’t say much about your dating life prior. He assumes you might’ve had some experience prior. Calum can say for certainty that building the relationship with him has been slow with you. Worry and concern are the biggest culprits for that. But that seems to be falling slowly to the wayside. Calum won’t take any credit for this. He just watches, carries with him the tiny pieces of how you’d opened up. He does not consider himself a poet; he’s much too meticulous with when and how he shares anything. But if love is watching someone blossom into something more magnificent than they’d ever been before, then he thinks he’d ought to give it a shot to capture the feeling of being witness to it. It’s pride without arrogance, awe without jealousy. An emotion sure pure he’s sure he’s never felt it once since he left his childhood. But he feels it now, watching you pause at tomato plants.

If all Calum gets to do is watch you grow and evolve, then it will still be a life well lived.

“You’ll let flies in, Your Highness,” Janet teases passing back the doors.

“Just put me on fly duty,” Calum laughs, but does move to let the door close behind him. There’s no embarrassment as Calum catches up behind you at being caught staring. “See anything else ready to be picked?”

“Oh, that’s still well beyond my wheelhouse. But I don’t think so.”

“You know more than me.” Calum means it sincerely. That you do know more about the garden than he does. But he thinks too that there’s a kind of life that you’ve lived that Calum had only once thought would be his. It’s a great honor to serve, take on his duty as expected. But there’s a little bit of life, a certain kind of living that he’d never really do. There’s a certain kind of wisdom he didn’t have. Not that Calum would ever want to romanticize your struggle and your suffering. But he knows that your experience gives you a perspective different than his--a perspective that Calum’s glad you’re willing to share with him.

“I’m sure your mother could teach both of us a thing or two about gardening. How’s the shed coming along?”

The new one fades out of view, leaving the current restoration project bare in front of the two of you as you walk closer to it. “It’s going,” Calum returns. “There’s some shelving we’re working on now and the bench. A little behind schedule, but we anticipated that much from the start.”

“Looks good though. A fresh coat of paint?”

It’s the same blue as before, just not chipping anymore. “Yeah, a little birdie suggested it.”

“One smart bird.”

Calum helps you get set up--from getting the table stable to getting the dye into the more appropriate squeezable bottles, and once you’ve sworn up and down at least three times that you’ve got it from there, he ventures back over to the shed. The group doesn’t say much, but the smiles passed around them tell Calum everything he needs to do. He’ll never live this down.

“It’s not a crime to be in love,” he laughs.

“No one said it was. But to think, the same man just a year ago was swearing off love now following his partner like a puppy--it’s quite the sight,” Vance returns, looking up from his measuring where he works on the last few pieces of the built-in bench before they’ll start installing it. Getting power to the shed set them back longer than anticipated and when Vance’s gout flared, there were a few days that a lot of the light work went into place--like the painting and verifying the shelving design. This weekend is hopefully one of the last two big pushes to get the main structures in place. From there Calum will work on getting the table ordered, chairs, and the final furnishings.

“I guess a lot changes in a year,” Calum answers.

“I guess it does. Now c’mon lover boy, you’ve got a bench to install.”

It’s easy to get lost in the pop of the staple gun, in the measuring and re-measuring. Calum finds himself waiting for the click of each piece slotting in together; it’s a satisfying sound. It doesn’t take too long with Vance’s help to get the skeleton of the bench installed. Though it does take a little bit of finesse to get the paneling up over the skeleton. By the time the sun starts to dip just a hair down in the sky, but not quite touching the horizon, the bench is fully nearly assembled. The top isn’t bolted in yet and won’t be until the cushion is fashioned to the top, so the lid is resting on the structure for the time being.

“Give it a test,” Vance suggests. “Make sure it’s up there sturdy.”

Calum’s weight seems to make no difference to the unit. There’s no creaks, no sagging. With a bit more courage, Calum swings his legs up and stretches out over the item. His feet hang off just a little, but that’s little to be concerned about. Given the space of the shed in total square feet, there was no way to make the bench as tall as him. But it’s solid beneath them.

“It’s good,” Calum states, pushing up from the bench.

“You’ll need these for tomorrow,” Vance calls out, pulling out a bag of metal hardware from his belt. Calum catches it with ease and notices the black hinges and screws assembled into the bag. Tomorrow Tamara comes by to help get the bench upholstered, though Calum suspects she’s always going to want to get Calum to finish buying the furnishings tomorrow too. Vance is taking the day to spend with his wife for their anniversary so it’s nice to be able to switch off to other aspects in the meantime.

“Have fun tomorrow.” The guys laugh just a little at Calum’s statement. Even though Vance called Calum out about Calum’s own behavior, Vance was just as guilty. Every chirp of Vance’s phone made him pause to see if it was his wife. Albeit, Calum suspects there’s more going on at home over the last few weeks. Vance was talking more and more now about wanting to be a dad. It’s not his place to put out information that wasn’t ready, but Calum holds the suspicion close to his chest.

Vance flips them off but his own laughter bubbles. “Your minds are absolutely in the fucking gutter, man.

“Might be, but we already know exactly what’s going to happen tonight,” Parker pipes in from the opened door of the shed.

“And you can’t even get your dick wet, so I don’t want to hear it,” Vance huffs.

Parker was behind Calum in age by about a year and a half, but the two of them shared more in common than initially suspected. Parker’s highschool sweetheart hadn’t called it off before leaving for college. It left Parker behind, his family unable to afford the costs. Parker had taken courses with the community college before moving to vocational school to learn welding and HVAC. According to Parker, he’d gone for a trade so that he could have money saved up for a wedding when his love returned. Yet, Parker was left heartbroken instead. Parker’s partner returned for spring break of his sophomore year and called it off, admitting to emotional cheating. Not necessarily out of a desire to hurt Parker but out of loneliness, being on campus by himself and having a hard time in the first semester making friends because he was so homesick. It happened slowly--just as a friendship, someone to confide in about loneliness, hangout on the weekends and show him around the strange new town. But it was becoming clearer more and more as time went that there was someone else to Parker. Calum, over a few beers, had gotten the story in the initial days of renovations.

That was five years ago, but Parker hadn’t found anyone else. Not for the lack of trying. Parker always seemed to have a string of dates, stories to tell about who he was seeing, but they rotated out nearly weekly. Each weekend meeting for the renovations started with a hot gossip hour--Parker’s latest string of dates, Vance’s home life about his wife and two dogs, Tamara occasionally joining with stories of her dating life, Logan chimed in with updates about his new partner too, and Calum always carried up the rear in their circle. But Parker is the one that Calum worries about sometimes--the way he laughs at the jokes the other cracks but it sounds a little bit like it’s being forced.

“Hey, at least he’s trying,” Calum interjects between the laughter.

Parker is a decent guy, but possibly still too scorned from his first love to really let anyone in. Calum can’t say he doesn't get it. It’s a shitty box to be in, to know that you have so much love to give but someone hurting you so deeply that it makes you want to hide that love away. Whether or not the pain was caused intentionally never really undoes the fact that it cuts so deeply.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve got the stories to back up his efforts,” Vance agrees easily. “Soon, he’ll settle down with a good guy. I know he will. But I think we’re at a good stopping point for today, yeah?”

The lot agrees. Calum takes survey of the progress--Logan and Paul have been working on the shelves while Calum and Vance focused on the bench. Only the foundations and arches of the unit exist based on the work done today. But it did take a little trial and error to get the arches to match. It’s clear though the shape it’s taking on. Once all the shelves are in and attached, they’ll paint it. Thankfully the paneling for the bench is a dark brown and matches the color for the rest of the furniture so there’s little to do in terms of staining the unit.

The wood and tools are all moved inside. Though Calum’s positive there’s no rain in the forecast, he knows that could change on a dime. Rather than trying to replace expensive equipment, he houses it inside of the shed now that the roof is fixed. The guys give their goodbyes as Calum turns the key on the bolt to lock the doors. Everyone on the project has a key should any one of them get here before the others, but Calum’s most often the first one there and the last one to leave.

“Thanks for that,” Parker states. Calum looks to his left, a little startled that Parker was still around. “For sticking up to Vance like that. I know he doesn’t mean any harm with those jokes, but they do get a little old. So I just wanted to say I appreciate you saying something.”

“Of course, man. Anytime,” Calum returns. “I get it. You know that.”

Parker’s nod is soft. “Yeah, I do. But still, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow for a couple hours at least. I don’t think we’ve got much left to do now.”

“No, it is shaping up nicely. I still appreciate your help with all this. Even though this is pretty far from HVAC.”

Parker laughs. “Yeah, yeah, it’s not exactly the ports on an AC unit, but I’ve got a few more skills than that too. Have a great night.”

“You too,” Calum calls out as Parker heads back for the doors.

Calum’s not sure why he expects that you’re still working on the socks. But all he finds instead is the empty spot that you once had a station up at. There’s not even indentations in the grace to show where you stood.

“Done already?”

Calum spins to see you walking out from where the new shed stands. “I was wondering where you’d gone,” he laughs, though his heart is still thundering in his chest.

“Joy asked for a spare hand.” Looking down, Calum can see the patch on your knees from the grass. Maybe not quite a full on stain, but it’s clear where you’d been working with the dirt too with the dark brown spots.

“You want to borrow something of mine and I do need to do laundry once we get back from drinks, I can throw everything in at once.”

“A shirt at the least. I think I have some spare pants in your room and I do have an overnight bag too.”

Calum nods, reaching out for your hand. He tries to remember if you do. He knows you took most of the stuff out a couple weeks ago, but he can’t recall if you came back with anything more. You could’ve and the time’s just slipped from his memory. But the trek back instead passes in an exchange about the work done--there’s a pause at the laundry on the first floor for Calum to take in the sight of the socks still contained away to allow the dye to set and settle into the fibers.

“They look good,” Calum compliments with a squeeze to your hand.

“Thanks, tomorrow’s the true test to see how the colors did.”

“I’m sure they’ll turn out well.” The two of you continue on up to Calum’s room. The squeak of your shoes as you two climb the stairs. Though the elevators are a faster way up, you head for the stairs and Calum follows behind. But it is a relief to hit the residential hallways. The work from earlier and Calum’s earlier work out are catching up with the burn of the stairs. The echo of slightly labored breathing softens as the two of you push closer and closer to his room.

“We’re never taking those stairs again,” Calum huffs, pushing his door open for you to enter through.

“You might not, but I think I’ll take them again.” Your own retort is stuttered as your breath comes and goes with big inhales and exhales.

“Yeah, right,” Calum laughs, shuffling past you as you paused at his drawers. On your side of the bed, resting on the floor, is the bag you mentioned earlier. It’s a silent shuffle in the room, the opening and closing of drawers, the zipper being opened to your bag.

“Do you want to shower first?” Calum offers. He’s still contemplating what to wear but given your ease to pull his yellow button down out from the closet and your fresh jeans from the drawer, you seem to have him beat. Though time’s not really an issue, Calum isn’t fond of being late when not necessary.

“Do you want help and we can shower together? You know, saving water and what not?” you laugh, slipping behind him.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re suggesting something there,” he teases.

“Do you trust me?” It’s a soft question.

“I do.” It’s an easy answer to an easy question.

“Then trust it’s nothing more than that. I just wanted to be close to you is all.”

That--that’s the kind of confession that makes Calum’s toes curl. “Then please help before we are half an hour late because I can’t decide.”

You press a kiss to his shoulder, though Calum’s sure he’s covered in sawdust and sweat--the conway studio’s T-shirt he’d gotten from Michael as a gift when Michael worked there for an artist on their debut album is a little unforgiving in some areas with the sweatstains that show up. “Of course. Where’s your casual meter? How do you normally meet the boys?”

“It never matters that much, if I’m honest,” Calum returns. Your arms wind around his midsection and Calum’s hold on the hangers slackens so that he can trace over the skin of your forearm with the tips of his fingers.

Your hum vibrates your shoulder but you tap his stomach before pulling away. Calum watches you shuffle back over to his drawers. You browse through the drawer only for a moment or two before unearthing a t-shirt, white with red trim at the neck and sleeves. His taste tester t-shirt. “We can start here,” you offer.

It doesn’t sound like a full on question, but there’s just enough lilt in the tone that Calum reassures you with a nod. He pushes his shirts off to one side of the closet before focusing on his bottoms. There’s some comfort when you’re next to him, watching over his shoulder at the selections. It’s less about the clothes and more about the fact that Calum wants you to know he needs you, cares about having you there for even the little things. Passing on his black jeans, Calum settles for some black trousers. You pick a black belt with a big silver Western buckle to top it off.

“Looks good to me,” Calum affirms.

“Well, let’s giddy up cowboy.” It falls with a teasing laugh, but Calum wouldn’t take it any other way.

The water is warm, hitting nearly like mist over Calum’s shoulder until he gets just enough water to get the pressure right. Once the shower roars, he lets you into the stream first. You only take a moment to get your face wet before you’re moving for his shampoo.

“Is there something in my hair?” he asks. There wasn’t any checking in the mirror before getting into the shower, which might’ve been his first mistake.

“Yeah, there’s some dust.”

“I can do it,” Calum comments, reaching out for the bottle, but you tuck it behind your back. This shower though it comfortably fits the two of you is not the best place to attempt to out muscle someone. Calum soaks his hair and turns as you direct him. The friction of your fingertips over Calum’s scalp is firm but not overbearing. It’s enough to make his eyes flutter close as you work. The kind of tenderness and care that makes his innards melt. So lost in the sensation, Calum nearly misses your directive for him to rinse the shampoo. Your work is swift to comb the conditioner through.

Calum goes to rinse it when you’re done, but you catch him by his elbow. “Not so fast,” you laugh. “Let it sit for another minute. Scooch to where I am.”

“I’ve never let my conditioner sit this long before,” Calum returns, but lets you stand in front of the stream from the shower head.

“And you’ll thank me later when you see the difference another minute or two makes,” you laugh. Calum can only watch. The water dripping down over your skin traces every line, every divot. Calum is no artist but he’d carve you into stone like the water is doing--highlight tautness of your muscles as you flex them, carrying over the curve of your butt. You are art work in a way that Calum thinks he understands finally the need to capture it in something so permanent. He knows he’d like to take his time to get every detail right. His memory is fallible. It’ll fail him eventually, but if he carved you into marble he’d always be able to remember the scars, the mole; every cell would hold to eternity in the rock.

“You can rinse now,” you direct after letting the water wash away the soap from your legs after your final scrub down of them.

Calum rubs his styling pomade over his palms--post shower and dressed, the only final touches are his hair. The extra time with the conditioner did soften it a little bit more than he’s used to this being. But that was information he was willing to give out easily. Though as he slips his fingers through his hair to hold the work of the blow dryer down, he is impressed. You watch from behind, fastening the button on your jeans into place.

“You don’t have to admit it, but your face says it all,” you laugh.

“Shut up. You don’t get to be right all the time,” Calum huffs. He wants to keep it together, be able to deliver the sarcasm with a straight face, but he ultimately cracks. His smile lifts his cheeks and he giggles when you shake your head at the antic.

“I’m only right some of the time,” you answer.

“Some, all, it’s all the same difference. Is Teagan okay by the way? You mentioned yesterday being worried about her.”

“I hope so. I really hope so. I don’t--I don’t want to assume anything right now, so it might be just a one off thing.”

“Well, I’m here for you and her. When you’re ready to say more just let me know. If there’s anything I can do in the meantime, just let me know too.” It’s clear the way you waltz around what happened that you don’t really want to say too much about it. Though it does make a small batch of worry stir in Calum’s stomach, he’s not going to force you to discuss something you’re not ready to discuss. He hopes it’s nothing. Hopes that maybe this is extra fret for ultimately nothing. But in the event that’s it’s more, he knows he’ll do whatever he needs to help you out.

“Thanks, love. I appreciate it.” Your arms slip under his and you smooth a small fly away. “Ready?”

“Born ready.”

Calum’s quick to direct you to the elevators on the way down to his car. He can still feel the slight quake in his thighs from the effort earlier when he squats down to get into the driver seat. It doesn’t help that just a couple days ago it was leg day in his gym routine. Yet, each time he forgets how long the recovery is from the torturous routine. The radio turns out immediately from the last time he was in the car, but Calum lowers the volume just a smidge.

“Is there anything I should know before meeting your friends? Any subjects off limits?” you ask after a few minutes of being on the road.

“You already know that Michael’s a producer. Luke’s got his hand in music, solo work. Ashton’s got jobs on jobs. Between his work to start a wellness app, he’s got a candle company. He’s working with Luke I think on some instrumental music. But they’re a cool group. Micheal’s married. Luke’s engaged. Ashton’s newly single so that might be a little bit of a tough spot, but if I’m honest, Violet wasn’t good for him so none of the guys are that torn up about her. We’re there for Ashton of course.”

“So a politician, a producer, a singer, and a hippie walk into a bar,” you start and Calum snorts. “And one of them says to the bartender, I need a drink that’ll help me through the day I’ve just had, with no major side effects and if I saw purple elephant at the end of the cup I wouldn’t be that made either, can you guess who ordered?”

“It was a group order,” Calum returns.

“Correct.”

“And I wouldn’t say Ashton’s a hippie. He’d gotten into school on some scholarships, dude’s practically a whizz, but definitely tends to lean more spiritual and philosophical than not.”

“I’ll give him a fair shake, promise. It’s just--wellness app? Do you know the focus of it?”

Calum hadn’t gotten all the specifics. Ashton mentioned it during one of their last hangouts and by the time that it really sunk in what Ashton was doing, the conversation gravitated to something else--there were jokes, teases, and before Calum could digest in his slight alcoholic haze the idea, the topic was long lost.

“We’ll find out more today I’m pretty sure though. He can go a mile a minute if you let him.”

“I’m excited to meet them then. See what kind of mischief you get up to.” Though Calum wouldn’t call it mischief himself, he’s excited too.

____________________________________

The thing about first impressions is that you’ll never know if you’re landing them well. There are no do overs. Only ever grace and more grace. But as you follow the half step behind Calum into the bar, you’re hoping you won’t need too much grace. It’s not packed for a Saturday, not yet anyway. Though you think that it might be too early to make such judgment at only 8 in the evening. The night is still young and you’re sure that as the hours crept by more and more people would crop up.

“Calum!”

You hear the voice before you spot two men waving with grins on their face. They sit next to each other at the table for what appears to be situated for six. One has blond hair that faintly curls at the top. The other man has a shaggier cut with pink dyed ends underneath a beanie. Calum laughs as he greets them, hugs and pats on the back. They reach out for you too, unphased by your addition to the outing. The man with the beanie introduces himself as Michael and faintly curly haired blond introduces himself as Luke.

Calum doubles down on such introductions, clearly missing the quiet exchanges but no one corrects him before you two settle down opposite of Michael and Luke. Calum pulls out your chair and you cut your eyes up with a soft smile. “Don’t,” Calum commands with a laugh. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Are you telling me he’s not pulling your chair out all the time? I raised you better than this,” Michael jokes.

“I am a gentleman,” Calum counters, “at all times.”

Luke joins in on the ragging with a tsk falling into the air from the suck of his teeth. “Then tell me why I don’t believe you, son. Just doesn’t seem right over here.”

The banter falls between them easily. You know it’s the years, all the time they spent together. And just as quickly as it starts, it stops even though Calum squawks to your left that he is the picture perfect partner to you. “Yeah, but we’ve learned not to trust you.” Michael turns to you at the end of the sentence. “So, let’s hear your thoughts. On a scale of zero to ten where is Calum falling on being a gentleman? Pretend he isn’t here. Which I know is hard since he’s so loud right now,” Michael cuts in over Calum’s muttered huffs.

You ponder the question, even as Calum slips his hand into yours, sliding a menu left behind closer to you, though one’s right in front of you. “Eight and a half. But he’s closing in on the 9.”

“I’d ask when I haven’t been a gentleman, but I fear the answer,” he snorts.

“I have to give you room to grow. Don’t want you to get too comfortable,” you tease.

Michael’s laughter echoes, even in the thump of the bass overhead. You hear his crackle. “I like you already. I’ve heard through the grapevine though that you’re starting a new job Monday?”

“Would the grapevine be about 6’2?” you ask. “But yes, Monday is my first day.”

“Are you nervous at all?” Luke questions.

You shrug, playing at the corner of the menu Calum slid your way. “A job’s a job. The people seem nice so far, so not terribly nervous. I’m a bit more used to first days at new jobs though,” you answer. From what you gathered, there’s a strong likelihood that they don’t share a background like yours. You could be wrong of course. But given what they’re doing now, you’re not sure what kind of background they could have.

“Sorry I’m late,” a scruffier voice calls out. “Sup, Cal.” They laugh and you look up over your shoulder to a man with almost shoulder length hair. There’s a slight wave to the warm brown strands. He smiles at you big and bright, the action making the sunglasses bounce just a little on his face. “I’m Ashton,” he greets, holding out a hand.

You shake it in return, offering your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same, same. Again, apologies for my tardiness. Not the kind of first impression I want to give.”

But grace, but grace, but grace. “Consider the tardiness excused. Better late than never.”

His laughter is soft as he nods. “Right, right on.”

“I was about another ten minutes from putting together a search party,” Michael relays to Ashton as he settles to your right.

“Nah, you can put the dogs back and let them free in the backyard. Though I don’t think South would dare get his paws dirty.”

“You have dogs?” you ask Michael.

He nods. “Two. South and Moose.” Before you can even ask to see pictures, he’s pulling out his phone. There on the table, the screen lights up your face as you swipe through the gallery Michael pulled up. “South has the golden coat--very much a diva.”

“Last time I petsit him, he acted like he didn’t even know me,” Calum huffs. “Until it was time for him to go and then he didn’t want to go.”

“A diva,” Michael concludes.

“They’re precious,” you coo, handing the device back after two more swipes.

“Do you have any pets by chance?” Luke tacks on.

“No, but I’m open to the idea. Just wasn’t feasible for a while.” There’s a nod of understanding but it leads down a tangent about Luke and his dog Petunia. It’s nice for the conversation to flow naturally. By the time you order your first round of drinks and some appetizers for the table, you learn about Luke’s older brothers, Ashton’s younger siblings, the way Michael, Luke, and Calum found each other in middle school thanks to band class. Luke’s mother used to teach Ashton as he is older than the rest of the group, resting right in the same age bracket as you. But even still, he’d been reached out by Michael in a string of bizarre fated events to guest drum for a gig they’d landed.

Though the band didn’t live long, given Calum’s trip off to football camp in Brazil and an unfortunately timed injury to Ashton’s wrist, they still kept close. It floors you for a minute to learn that in addition to school Ashton had taken a job at a KFC. He’d been doing it to bring in extra cash for his family and thankfully through the gigs, he’d managed to worm his way into the music world. He didn’t let the job go fully until he was met with a do or die moment. To say Ashton did is an understatement, but there’s something still modest in the well worn leather jacket and faded t-shirt. You’re sure if you saw the brand’s name etched into either one of the items, it still might give you a heart attack, but something in the ensemble lets you know that Ashton is not overly frivolous. The items stay in rotation until they’re unable to be saved.

“I’ll be right back,” Calum announces, pushing in a little closer to you. His lips press gingerly to your cheek before he stands. “No one scare them off while I’m gone.”

“Oh, we’ll behave,” Ashton giggled from behind his bottle. For a man who was newly single according to Calum, he was keeping his wits about him. He asked you questions, cracked jokes with Michael and Luke. Now without the sunglasses on his face, you spot the bright eyes to match his bright smile.

“Calum tells us you paint,” Luke offers up before sucking the ranch off his fingers. “Working on anything new?”

“Oh, I’m almost finished with this painting for him. So, nothing new really. I should’ve been done ages ago, but something about it doesn’t feel finished just yet. We’ll see if it ever jumps out at me.”

“I’m sure it will soon,” Luke smiles.

“Would you ever consider doing art full time?” Michael questions. He goes in for another sip of his cocktail.

“I much prefer it as a hobby, if I’m honest. I think I could see myself maybe taking it more seriously in the future, but I don’t know if it’s my next career move or not.”

“So you enjoy the restaurant life?” Ashton asks. “Or is that just where you prefer to stay in as your career?”

“A little bit of both, I guess,” you contemplate. “The industry is deadly and I don’t want to be a linecook forever, but I think for right now, I prefer to say that this industry is where I make my money. When I leave work, I leave it--none of it comes back home with me.”

“Except for Calum,” Luke snorts.

“I mean it’s not smart to shit where you eat, but so far it’s yet to blow up in my face so I’m hoping it never does. And technically, Calum’s not been to my place yet, so work has never actually come home with me. Can’t say the same for him.”

The boys cackle at your correction. “Fair,” Luke snickers. “I’m just happy to see him doing well again after everything that happened.”

The air feels sucked out of the room. Ashton and Michael’s smiles fall like bricks from their faces, clattering to the table beneath you all. You’re not aware of anything before, but now that it’s out there it sits on the table within arm’s reach like the wings and fries in front of you. Yet you don’t know if you should touch it. Don’t know if you should follow up on Luke’s line of conversation or pocket it for later.

You reach for a fry instead, dipping into your side bowl of ketchup. “You sure know how to drop a bomb Luke. How’s the music going though?”

You’re curious. What had happened to Calum before? As far as you were aware, he’d not been dating anymore, not seriously before you. Well, not that you knew of while you worked in the kitchen of course. The almost two years had been pretty quiet on the gossip train about Calum until you two got involved. But there’s plenty of time prior to that that you couldn’t account for.

“So, you-you don’t know?” Michael questions. It cuts right under the question you asked to Luke.

“No, no I don’t know.” It’s a simple sentence. Because you don’t. And you’re too tired to panic about what you don’t know. The worry of Teagan and Charlie outweighs whatever information you haven’t been given from Calum.

“It’s a good thing,” Michael clarifies. “There’s been a really good change in Calum because of you. It’s not my place to tell you. But I do want you to know it isn’t bad.”

Luke sets his bottle down and pushes it with the tips of his fingers a couple more inches from his reach. “I’m sorry. Definitely should’ve been more careful about that kind of stuff. But it is good, like Michael says.”

Ashton scoots the bottle Luke pushed away closer to him. “Yeah, buddy, let me just hold onto that for you.”

It’s not fun to know that Calum’s withheld information. But you know that people will always play certain things close to their chest. You kept Teagan and Charlie close for so long. You kept your family drama close. Though it is a jolt, a shock to your system, you think it’s only fair that Calum has the things he wants to keep close too. Everyone has their demons. Perhaps the signs were always there. But there is always a reason.

“So, everyone here is in music somehow. Who wants to go first about their current project? And please one at a time, or I will have to break out the talking stick, or rather talking bottle,” you tease.

“Talking bottle?” Michael laughs.

“Well, it’s a talking stick originally. Whomever has the stick speaks. Everyone else stays quiet and then it goes around person to person and back and forth between people if need be.” Your empty bottle of beer stares back at you and you lift a few inches off from the table. “But when in a bar, you improvise.”

“Are you saying we talk over each other?” Luke laughs with a bit of a squeal to his voice at the same time Ashton states, “I don’t really think we need to go that far.”

“If the boot fits,” you laugh. The fries have gone cold due to the time you’ve all spent talking, less focused on the actual drinks and food. But you reach for another couple as the boys bicker for a moment. They’re more like brothers than they are friends, as you watch them, reminding you of the way Teagan and Charlie interact with each other. It’s a playful banter, a quip always at the ready with them.

“You okay?”

You turn to the question, though you don’t need to. Calum’s scooted in a little closer to you. You can feel his warmth seeping into your back through his shirt on your body. “I’m okay. I like your friends.”

Calum’s lips are soft on your cheek. “Good. I think they like you too.”

“Try love them,” Michael corrects and no sooner than he makes the statement, he’s sucked back into Ashton’s claims that a band, you didn’t catch the name, is overrated. Ashton quickly reasserts he doesn’t mean it negatively.

“They’re just too derivative of a derivative and ultimately aren’t producing anything cutting,” Ashton further explains.

“We’re not talking about fucking algebra,” Michael quips. “We’re so far from the origins of the soundscapes for most genres. It’s all going to sound derivative, because it is. But it’s not about new, or shiny. It’s about saying it in a way that no one else has.”

It’s like Luke’s early faux pas didn’t even happen. Ashton and Michael verbally circle each other all the while Luke watches like one does a tennis match--Ashton then Michael. Michael then Ashton--back and forth for all it to end in a deuce. You wonder if either will ever get the two points to win. But the waitress comes by again and the collection take stalk of the table. There’s a few bottles scattered and you help her collect those, and order up on more drinks--some water, some sodas, a few more cocktails and alcoholic drinks thrown into the mix.

“Would you ever take commissions? Even on the side?” Luke ponders. “Like one off projects and such?”

“Possibily,” you answer with a shrug. The majority of your work went to to a couple local places--the local children’s hospital enjoyed having your work on display as the children loved it. You’d gifted Teagan and Charlie small paintings after they begged for them. “Again, don’t want to make it my career, but you know if someone wanted to pay me to do something for them, I’d entertain the thought.”

“An original painting could do wonders at the local charity circuit,” Ashton pipes in. The comment isn’t for you and you peer over your shoulder to Calum.

He stares wide eyed over his first beer that he’s yet to finish. “It could. But I-if it’s not your thing, you don’t have to do it.”

“Do what?” you question. There’s been no conversation about anything for charity in your presence.

“In December, I have-I have a charity banquet to attend. There’s stuff that people auction off to raise money for the connected charities. I mentioned the the guys that it’d be nice to auction off something more meaningful. But I wasn’t sure if it was even appropriate to ask you about it. You’d only have two months and some change to finish it. There’s a website that goes up in the last week of November, a week and a half before the event so people can see the options.”

“Which charities?” You’d heard of the event, watched clips of the auction with more curiosity than true interest to watch rich people flaunt their philanthropy.

“I think this year is focusing on women’s rights, especially the efforts on pushing law enforcement to investigate those missing. The deadline to submit proposals is in two weeks though. Which is like, not great planning on my end I know.”

“What do you normally auction off?”

“Volunteer time.”

“How comfortable are you with volunteer time?” You’d at least think about it. It might be more than you could handle, but you’d chew the thought over. Especially since you did still have questions about whatever Luke alluded to earlier.

“I like it; I don’t mind volunteering. It’s a nice change of pace honestly. Just--I think others should see your talents too.”

The blush that creeps up on his cheeks nearly melts you. Though your gut initially wants to dismiss it as the flush of alcohol, you know the truth. When Calum casts his gaze down and picks at his nails, you know that he’s a little shy in the confession. You take his hand gingerly on top of the table and the action is enough for him to look up. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

At the very end when the check hits the table, all four boys reach it, cards and cash in hand. Ashton ends up footing the bill but the rest of the boys hand over cash or tap at their screens to ensure Ashton’s paid for their portions. “How much do I owe Calum?” you ask, noticing the bill’s being split four ways instead of five.

He shakes his head. “I got you, baby. Don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

“More than sure.”

“I’ll pay next time.” It’s not fully a suggestion, but you still offer it softly.

Calum takes a squeeze at your hand after slipping his phone into his pocket. “Okay.” It’s easy, simple. He smiles at you and the group pushes up from the table. Michael, Luke, and Ashton all give you hugs as you leave.

“You’ll come next time too, right?” Luke asks. “We bring all the partners. Be a nice time, I think.”

“I’d be happy to see you all again,” you agree. The agreement leads to another round of hugs, the group spilling out into the outdoors. The night is darker, a little cooler than you first left it. Calum’s hold around your hand tightens for only a moment and you squeeze in return at the action.

You know there’s always a better time, a better place. The parking lot of this bar definitely does not feel like the right time. But you’re not sure when it will be. “Luke mentioned something when you stepped away to the restroom. And-and I’d like to ask you about it.”

The tension thickens. Calum’s shoulders become rigid under the t-shirt. “It doesn’t sound like a good thing.”

Not a shut down, only a phish for more information. One you’re happy to supply. “It is good in a way. The group seems to be really happy that you’re in a good relationship. But the way Luke said it, it made me think there’s definitely something, or someone before.”

“I don’t want anyone else if that’s what you’re wondering. That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I’m-I’m not worried about that. I’m not really worried about anything. I just--whenever you’re ready to talk about what happened before, I’d like to know.”

You think that’s going to be the end of the conversation. You wouldn’t fault it at all. Perhaps, you’d been all too blinded by Calum choosing you that you hadn’t fully wondered what was going on in his past. You didn’t think the stories of Calum’s childhood could be a smoke screen. They were real. They were all a part of what made Calum Calum. But Luke’s comment cracks open the possibility that you’d been blinded. As hungry as you were to have Calum to yourself the reality of it all is that he’s not to be consumed.

“I just--there’s stuff I haven’t asked you, you know? I want the bad stuff too. So I know how to be there for you. So I know how to love you.” The words fall, buzzing on your lips and tongue. You’d want to pick them up after they’ve fallen, but you know it's wasted energy. They’re out there now. You can’t do anything but watch Calum’s back. The tension has dropped. He doesn’t look ready to run.

“Part of it feels ridiculous,” Calum admits. He tugs your hand, closing the gap between the two of you. “There’s so much worse that’s happening to other people. And my hurt just starts to feel small.”

“It’s not a competition of pain. Your hurt isn’t smaller than someone else’s.” You’re slotted against Calum’s chest. There’s no brim of a hat, no glasses to hide him away. There’s just the fear--plain as day on his face. “If I ever made this feel like a competition, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you didn’t make it feel like a competition. I think,” he pauses with a sigh. “It’s totally different. I feel like I want to love again. With you. It wasn’t always like that.”

Your fingertips ache. You want to cup his jaw, ask him to explain to you from the top what it was like before. You don’t, thinking a camera lens could be pointed at you right now. Perhaps there would always be and now it’s less about them and more about Calum. With caution, you trace at his jaw, trailing up until your palm rests against his full cheek. “I’m glad it’s better now.”

Calum’s eyes shut, lashes nearly brushing the top of his cheeks. Like babies root to touch, Calum turns into your hold, lips pressing to your palm with a kiss. “But it was bad. And you should know.”

“Only when you’re ready,” you whisper. You’re glad there’s no breeze, lest your words have gotten swept up in it.

“Can I tell you on the drive?”

Your answer is only a nod. You want to do more, kiss him. Let him know you’re there. You think if it could be done, you’d crawl into his chest, whisper to his heart that you don’t have plans on breaking it. But this is not a fairytale. You know strife always comes. The only solace one can have is that they don’t cause too much of it.

It’s quiet at first, as Calum pulls out of the parking lot and onto the streets. You watch the signs for the highway, watch Calum take the entrance ramp, spending up so that he can merge. You’re not headed back to the palace. You’re actually going in the opposite direction. You don’t know what could be out there, what Calum has up his sleeve. But you don’t question it.

“Her name is Nora,” Calum starts.

You know of a Nora-- a princess fit to inherit within the next three years. Her particular people believed in a matriarch. Though Queens took husbands, they almost always never turned over power. “Like Princess Nora or the girl next door to the palace Nora?”

“The princess,” Calum answers, but he does grin for a brief moment taking a look at your face.

There are no girls next door--you know that. But somehow the truth still unsettles. You don’t remember murmurs about Nora from the kitchen. The kitchen staff passed time in gossip. You knew more about the royal family you worked for and others merely because the gossip seemingly made the seconds fly by. You’d never cared for it before and didn’t care for it when you worked there. You let the others do the talking.

“We dated back in college for two and half years.”

That’s well before you would’ve even been considering working for the palace. No wonder it hadn’t come up around you. “I’m guessing it wasn’t amicable.”

Calum shrugs. “I don’t know if amicable is remotely close. But it didn’t end badly. Just rough. When we broke up, I spent a year wallowing. I wanted to pretend I was okay, but she was my first love in a way. I’d dated before in high school, but they’d only lasted a few months. Not nearly enough time to mean anything in comparison.”

“I think your training in Brazil ruined you,” you tease, watching through the front windshield as the dark asphalt and street lights whizz around you.

“I know, I know. Not a competition. But the crushes in high school were just that--crushes. We dated, held hands, kissed, but Nora was my first serious relationship. I’d been looking at rings.”

Rings-- the word bites at your veins. Calum doesn’t say it with ease, his hands clutching the wheel so hard his knuckles are paling. They’d been deep into the relationship--enough so that marriage was potentially on the line. Your fingers twitch to soothe his, but you restrain yourself given his work at the wheel.

“Sounds like you never made the purchase?” you probe, hoping it’s as gentle as it can be. You are curious. You want Calum to know that you are listening too.

“Never had the opportunity, thankfully so, I guess. Nora graduated in December and I graduated in May. She’d taken some summer classes to help get ahead and done some work in high school to get a head start. Nora asked me at the start of winter break, right after she graduated, if I intended on marrying her. I was honest. I told her that I would like to, after we both had a couple years out from school. There would be a lot of logistics involved.”

“Politcs,” you point out. “She’s a part of a matriarch. You’re in a patriarchal system.” The quip about you being lower class, how much easier it is to date someone with no political ties, burns at your tongue. But you know Calum. It won’t go well at all; he’ll beg you to stop the self deprecation, tell you that he loves you for you. It’s all things you know.

Calum winces at the phrasing. “I mean that’s what it was. But at the time, I didn’t see it like that. I was idealistic about it, toxically optimistically probably. Not that I’m not the same now, but I hope not nearly as much.”

He risks a glance, like he poised a question. You only shrug at first, but then add on, "Optimistic, yes. Toxic, no. You know when you admit you’re wrong.”

“Improvement then, I guess, from then. Nora didn’t want to turn over her right to rule. I didn’t want to turn over my right to rule. And even if I told her she wouldn’t be, she didn’t see it that way. I thought she was being nitpicky. No one would care at the end of the day because her politics would still stand. I wouldn’t interfere with her work. But ultimately, it was--it was crumbling. The second I answered that we could rule separately but still be together and she looked at me with confusion--it was over. Rock meet glass house.”

You can imagine it--the strong brow on Nora furrowing as Calum spoke. The way she might’ve shaken her head and spoke firmly, black hair spilling over her shoulder as it always did in her press speeches. Nora is a force--fierce with seemingly little fear about the perception from others. Where Calum played a careful game, Nora played the explosive kind. She’s smart, by no means did her passion outshine her intelligence, but she was always speaking out first about things. She was one of the people rallying others. It’s easy to see how with Nora it became all or nothing

Calum continues on, signaling as he speaks to take an exit. “I tried to date, but my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t want to be dating if I’m honest. I’d told myself that I’d just be single. I’d take on the throne and settle into that- give it five, seven, ten years before I married. It really wouldn’t matter. Luke was trying to set me up on dates. But they never went anywhere. Didn’t even want sex if I’m honest. I refused it a couple times and both girls and guys thought I was crazy. Sometimes, I don’t know. Sometimes I did it anyway because it was a distraction. Nothing really numbed the pain though. There was just this constant ache I had. I’d envisioned myself a dad--playing sports in the back garden, or in ballet recitals for daddy and daughter dance classes. I’d always pictured myself on the throne, working in the Cabinet. Those weren’t things I’d want to give up, even for Nora. That’s what made it scary. She had her way of thinking. Her people rule the way they do and that’s fine. But I always knew I was going to be King. I knew even if I didn’t always want it that I wouldn’t give up on the responsibility.”

You can hear what’s between those words, what still causes Calum pain. “But it meant giving up Nora, right? If you were always going to take your throne and she was always going to take hers, then the only thing left is what happened.” It doesn’t shock you to hear how much Calum dreamed of his future. You don’t worry that he still wants it—those things could all be worked out eventually. But you know that Calum’s so caught up on making things work for the best possible outcome that he doesn’t always remember that life is not always about the best.

“Yeah,” Calum sighs. It’s heavy and comes deep from within his chest, “but I wanted it all. You know. I wanted her and I wanted to follow through on my duties. I wanted it fucking all and at the time, it felt like I’d lost everything. We knew after that conversation it wouldn’t be compatible. Nora and I’s relationship required sacrifices that we were too young and too driven to make. Nora deserves where she’s at. She deserves to rule. And I don’t think she could’ve been happy any other way.”

“Do you think you could’ve been happy any other way? As little as I actually know about her--and I reserve the right to absolutely be wrong about it--it was your relationship too.”

The roads are narrowing. You watch now as the dark asphalt lightens, there’s a few more bumps along the way. You round the bend and the ocean opens up in front of you. You know the beach is closed but it doesn’t seem to stop Calum as he pulls to a stop in the parking lot. The lights stuff off from the car, leaving you surrounded in the thick mass of the night. The sun’s long gone. The lights are off in the truck too. The engine knocks just a little as the vehicle settles.

“I might’ve been, but if I’m honest I didn’t spend 4 years in college and 4 years under my father’s immediate wings for nothing. I’d been putting time into my own aspirations and I don’t think long term that relationship would’ve been good for me,” Calum answers as he turns to you. The seatbelt clanks against the plastic interior. “I hope the beach is okay.”

“The beach is fine.” You undo your seatbelt as well, listening to the way it winds back up into place. “Making the right choices sometimes isn’t easy,” you admit. Like the right choice to change jobs. Like the right choice to stay for Teagan and Charlie. Like the right choice for Calum to let Nora go.

“Yeah,” Calum agrees. “Sometimes it’s not.”

You find Calum’s hand, threading your fingers through his. “I hope your choices next time are easier.”

“They’ve gotten easier,” he confesses. “Talking to you was easy. You always treated me like a person.”

“Because you are one.” It’s a simple answer, but you know it to be true. Calum’s just a person. Though he had politics about him, though he was in a world foreign to you at all times and even overwhelming, he was just a person like you. “You’re human like the rest of us.”

“Doesn’t always feel like it.”

You don’t want to imagine the pressure on Calum’s shoulder, a pressure so unsustainable. But the wheel must spin. The cruelty of it all is that someone has to win and someone has to lose.

“What’s the relationship like now with Nora? Is it still tense?”

“Not as much as before. It’s professional at this point, as much as it can be.”

“Two and a half years is a long time though. Makes sense.”

“We tried to make it work. Six months we kept trying to keep pushing and find a solution. But we only sort of grew to resent each other. We were always fighting. Nora called it off, ultimately. She was the one that saw we were crashing and burning. I didn’t want to admit it even if I noticed it too. So to say it was amicable, not quite. It was mutual though.”

You know Calum even in the dark. You know the squint of his eyes, the way his cheeks meld to your hold. You know the catch of his breath when you brush your fingers over the veins on his neck. His veins thump under your touch and then you drag the touch up to his jaw. “Thank you for telling me. That wasn’t easy for you, I can see.”

“I don’t particularly like thinking about it,” Calum admits. His throat seizes. You feel the small quake under your fingers. “I didn’t talk about it. Not even with the boys for a long time.”

“If there’s anyone that understands, it’s me. There’s nasty things in life sometimes. Stuff that we don’t want to talk about, don’t want to deal with. Thing’s we’d prefer to swallow down and never pull back up. I get it,” you assure.

Something warm hits your fingers. It’s only a few drops--tears you assume. Pushing up, you find his lips, a kiss soft and sweet. Calum’s quick to grapple you, encase you in his arms and tug. You’re pulled as far as you can over the console. And you let yourself go. It’s awkward, your back hurts just a little. But Calum exhales into your mouth, shaky as he breathes.

“Scoot the seat all back. You’re going to break my back,” you tease after the hug lasts longer than you anticipate.

“That’s now how I imagined doing it,” Calum teases, his breath ghosting over your lips. He reaches down to pull the lever and push the driver seat back.

Settled onto Calum’s lap, you pull him back into your chest. His fingers are buried--under the shirt--pressing into your flesh like his digits can burrow deeper into your, pass the muscle and fat, into the hollows of blood and organs. You don’t stop him, just press a kiss to his forehead as you cradle his head. His body tremors and there’s the occasional sniffle. The tears are hot on your thumbs, but you wipe them away, slow and steady.

“It’s okay, Calum. You can let it all out now,” you encourage. You know you can’t fix anything. You can’t change the past. But you let him release it. The thing about carrying things that are buried is that they tend to come back when you don’t want them too--like wild animals fed, the things that get buried only ever come back.

Your stroke along his neck, over his shoulders. Your words are soft. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay. You’re safe to let it out.”

The tremors cease after a long stretch of time, 10 or so minutes,--Calum’s crying reduced now to just the sniffles, just the remnant of tears that trail down his cheeks. With one deep inhale, Calum brings his face out of your hands and rests his head down on your shoulder. His lips brush at your neck, in what are nearly kisses. Your knees ache, you’re sure that when you finally sit your toes are going to tingle due to the lack of blood for the time being. But this is all temporary, not something you need to worry about when you can still hear the shuddery exhales of Calum.

“Haven’t had someone in a long time tell me I was safe,” he whispers against your skin. His voice is thick with the tears and emotion he’s split. His arms constrict again around your back, arms locked as if attempting to cage you in. You know better. You know it’s for comfort.

“Well you are; you’re safe with me.”

“Thank you.” The phrase is followed by a kiss this time to your neck. He follows the line to your throat with more gratitude on his tongue. He paints your skin with the phrase. You wonder when you shower again if the words will show up as tattoos on your throat. His forehead is firm in your sternum but you don’t mind the pressure when he falls back into the shelter of your body.

“You’re welcome,” you return to Calum.

His voice rumbles through your chest, you catch something that sounds like smell but you can’t fully place it. You thread your fingers around the back of his neck and squeeze. It’s not enough pressure to cause pain but it coaxes his head back. “I said you smell good,” he laughs.

“Thank you,” you laugh.

The dark doesn’t make it easy, but you imagine that his cheeks might be flushed, that there might be a little bit of pink to them. There’s some light due to the tall streetlights in the parking lot, but you two are far enough at the edge of the beacon of one and the end of the parking lot so it leaves the truck in the glow of a light and not fully lit. His eyes glisten though as he watches you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you huff, pressing at his shoulders.

“Look at you like what?”

“Like you can’t help but love me.”

“I do love you.”

It’s wrong to say what’s pressing at your teeth, do you love me enough for sacrifice. You know it given what Calum had just confessed. Maybe the two of you were still too young and too stubborn for the kind of love that required sacrifice. Perhaps it’s the kind of love that you had to mature into with each other. Calum wouldn’t have much to sacrifice, save for a few comments, a few sneers. You’d always have something to sacrifice.

“What’s going on? You can talk to me,” Calum coaxes, hands moving from your hips to your cheeks, thumbs swiping right under your eyes. There are no tears.

“It’s not a fair question,” you return. “It’s not the right time to ask it.”

“Will you ask it when it’s the right time?” Calum questions. It falls out quietly. You can hear it land into your lap, soft and fragile like the first snow. For a moment, you hope that this winter gives a fresh and deep dusting. The summer was warm and thick. You want winter to be cold.

“If the right time comes up.”

“No, no not if, when. When it’s the right time to ask, you’ll ask, right?”

It’s a promise that will make you a liar. You know it. “Do you want to make me a liar?”

“Just this once,” Calum answers.

“What if it’s never a fair question?” What if it’s just insecurity that you’re letting get the best of you?

“This,” Calum returns, a hand waving between the two of your bodies. “This is not a glass house we’re building. It doesn’t always have to be a fair question. Just as long as it can be made into an honest conversation.”

A conversation--a much more fair objective. You bring your forehead to his--the beer’s a faint ghost on his breath. All you can smell is Calum--the pomade in his hair, the cologne he sprayed on his throat and wrist that smells like expensive leather with a hint of sandalwood and something sweet like vanilla. You trace the veins in his neck, a steady thumping of his heart under your gentle press.

“I’m not sure of many things in my life,” you start. “I never had the chance to live with certainty. I always keep that voice in the back of my head fed, that tells me you’ll grow bored. You’ll want someone with less baggage. You’ll need something more suited for the life you have. Because you’re a fucking Prince. I’m a fucking cook. It’s all I ever had--the cooking and a little bit of art to keep me going. But I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I like you. I love you too. But I wonder how far this can go. How far do you want to take it, you know? I don’t need announcements on social media or anything like that. I just--I keep the voice in the back of my head fed because what if all this leaves me.”

Calum’s lips are soft. His mouth sealing around yours in a kiss. His hands are warm on your face. The tears are hot on your cheek--yours this time. What if you lose it all? What if it all goes away? You cannot consume him. But you wish you could.

“We never know what life’s going to bring, baby.” The silver bracelet Calum slipped on dazzles just a little in the glint of the faint light coming in through the car window. “I know I want to be with you. I know I want to wake up next to you. I want to take you on dates, even if it’s just picnics in the park. I want to show you off to my friends. I want to have a relationship with Teagan and Charlie too. I want to take you all out, have them crash some bumper cars, feed them too much fucking candy and make your parents hate me just a little because I always drop their two youngest off on a sugar high. I want to watch you paint and talk about our days together. I want,” he pauses. You watch his eyes flicker from your face to the space around the car. He’s searching. You don’t know for what though you do hope it’s the words.

You squeeze his face. “You want what?” You just want to hear the words: that Calum wants you. You know it’s true. You just need to hear it.

He continues on. “I just want you,” Calum laughs, squeezing at your hips. “I want to adopt a dog with you. I miss my boy, Duke, so fucking much. He’s a hole in my heart but I know that I still have love to give. I know it’s not always going to be easy with me. I know it’s scary. But I don’t want these things with anyone else, baby. If I had the opportunity to beg life for anything, I’d beg for you; that you get to stay with me so that you can teach me things, so I can teach you things. You’ll have to stop feeding that voice. It’s a hungry bastard, but starve it.” His arms are trembling. The emotion rocks his voice.

“Starve it,” he whispers. “I want you to starve that voice so that you can enjoy this too, so that you don’t keep waiting for the bad and start to enjoy the good thing in front of you. We’ll never know what life’s going to bring. I certainly didn’t think life would bring me you. And yet, it did. I’m so happy it did.”

It’s a rush, the surge in the centimeters between the two of you to seal Calum’s mouth in a kiss. I just want you. It’s terrifying to want. Here, especially with Calum. Wanting things didn’t mean you needed them. Wanting things didn’t mean you’d get them either. But you are lying if you say you don’t want Calun. You’re lying if you say you don’t want him to want you. And you’ve always known it. But knowing how far he was with Nora, a part of you just needs reassurance.

Reassurance comes when Calum kisses back. It comes when he pants into your skin how much he waits for calls. It comes when he squeezes at your hips, rocks you over his pelvis. Reassurance comes when hands are deftly teasing skin under shirts. When you don’t waste time with either of you fully undressing, and you watch the fog creep up on the windows, you feel reassured. Reassurance comes when the gratitude Calum painted you in earlier turns into desire, when he tattoos into your skin I love you over and over with his lips and tongue.

You need that reassurance like you need the graze of his teeth over your collar bone. Need the curl of his fingers into your flesh. You need the shuddered moans of your steady rhythm as your pelvis rocks up and down his. You need him. You crave him. You want him. You want Calum in every sense of phrase--you want to tell Calum about your day. You want to hear about his day. You want the dog too. You want Diana and Melvin to be pissed at the sight of you and Calum because they know there’s about to be too much sugar involved. You want to paint for Calum, want him to ask you about each color and each stroke.

“I think you might be the death of me,” you whisper against his jaw. The tension in your stomach tightens as Calum bucks up against your clothed pelvis. You gasp at the feeling. You know the stretch of him, how well he treats you on his cock and tongue. His truck may not be the best place for it, but the thought crosses your mind to beg for it. That is until Calum responds to your statement.

“No,” Calum groans, “No, I want you to live for me.” His hands slide up your back. The tug pulls you in with ease--your chest pressed into his. “Can you do that for me? Can you live for me?”

I want you to live for me. Another gasp leaves you. Body teetering on the edge of release but the shock pulls you far enough from the edge. You don’t want a glass house with Calum either. You want something real. Perhaps, you want something to live for too--needed it without really knowing you needed that kind of direction.

You know you can’t live for Calum long-term. You’ll need something else eventually. But Calum’s the best start. You nod before Calum presses you down onto his bulge again. “I can.”

“Good,” he grins. “Now, c’mere.”

The rumble in his voice makes your stomach liquid. Your skin buzzes as you kiss him again. Your orgasm rockets through you as Calum’s tongue pants your mouth. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, body quaking with the fire of your desire consuming you. “That’s it, fuck, baby,” Calum whispers against your mouth, his voice tight.

Calum won’t be far behind you. You let your hand graze over his nipple, up to his throat. The hold is featherlight. But it’s enough for his eyes to flutter for a moment. You grin. “Make a mess for me,” you command, pressing harder into Calum.

They say fire only needs oxygen--it takes one gulp and then bursts into flames, an inferno of a single spark. Calum only needs the command, the light press of your fingers at the sides of his throat before his body goes rigid. His gasp falls choked before you pull yourself in close, swiping your tongue over his parted lips. The ghost of his breath, the huff of air as he comes down from his orgasm fans over your face. You revel in it, grinning as you listen to his raggedy breathing.

Calum laughs, head falling into the rest. You curl into his chest though there’s dampness from your own orgasms and Calum’s creeping in through the denim. “All that’s missing now is the handprint on the window,” he teases. Calum’s fingers are gentle over your back, tracing the length of your spine.

You reach out to touch the driver side window. “Done.” The scent of leather swells your nose, long after you’ve slipped back into the passenger seat. Calum’s cologne is signed onto the hairs in your nose. The dampness of your jeans turns into a coolness as it starts to dry. Calum’s hand is warm on your knee. I want you to live for me. Insecurity is a useless emotion, yet it still reared it’s ugly head. You were glad to hear Calum’s reassurance. But his demand that you live for him; that you starve the voice in your mind that keeps waiting for the bad, is dizzying. When your entire world has been set in hiding, never being heard or seen, it’s unsettling to have someone draw you out. Calum wants to draw you. He wants you to live in a life that you’d been content with. You hope the spotlight doesn’t burn you.

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remusbutfemale · 1 year ago

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Dead poets society hcs bc I’m insane

Music hcs!

Okay HEAR me out; we all have our ideas on what modern dps would listen to.

But I over analyze every single character so I think I’m spot on.

Starting with Todd!

I have a strong feeling the guy would listen to like a sad romance type of genre? Is that what I can call it😭

—

• These days by Nico

• After hours by The velvet underground

• Always see your face by Love

• The way I feel inside by The Zombies

Neil is very radiohead coded ngl.

• Deleto by Wolf & Bear

• Blossom by Coletta

Literally any Bilmuri song

(He gives off the vibes he would listen to the divorced dad genre)

• Just the artist Origami Button

Okay Steven , I love that man.

Idk what genre this is

• Its fun by the casinos

• Tima by the casinos

(Any song by the casinos)

I don’t think he would listen to David Bowie but I get why people associate him with starman.

• Walking the cat by CottonWood firing squad

Fuckin knox.. idk

Hes 100% into the driver era

• A kiss by the driver era

• Afterglow by the driver era

UGH HE WOULD ALSO LISTEN TO THE OBUNGUS

• new banger by the Obungus

Idk what else he would listen to.

• IV DANTE too probably

Gerard.. I love him too…

I just know bro listens to Daniel Cesar on the DAILY

• Death & Taxes by Daniel Cesar

• Japanese Denim by Daniel Cesar

• ARE YOU OK? by Daniel Cesar

All of his songs basically

Also a bruno major fan

• Old fashioned by Bruno Major

ALSO OMAR APOLLO AND BROCKHAMPTON

• Unbothered by Omar Apollo

• TEAM by BROCKHAMPTON

Okay maybe RINI too

• Aphrodite by RINI

• Meet me in Amsterdam by RINI

Charlie Dalton , love of my life..

Such a tyler fan

• RUNNING OUT OF TIME by Tyler the creator

• DOGTOOTH by Tyler the creator

• A BOY IS A GUN* by Tyler the creator

• Sweet boy by Malcolm Todd

• 4:44 JAY-Z

Also Frank ocean fan

• Super rich kids by Frank Ocean

Sza too

#dead poets fandom #charlie dalton #dead poets aesthetic #dead poets society #steven meeks #dps #neil perry #gerard pitts #todd anderson #music #indie music #music recs #knox overstreet #hcs

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ccstiles · 9 months ago

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More AU lore, who cheered?

We already know a bit about Casper's childhood thanks to Charlie, but I wanted to add a bit more spice to it, as well as what happened after Casper moved!

(quick note: I've seen people color-code names so I'm gonna try and do that, though I don't know if specific characters have specific shades, so bear with me here! :])

First off, Cas' parents weren't the best. They were very absent, preferring to spend their time and money on alcohol and drugs instead of on their child. This is why Cas spends so much time with Charlie, he was the only thing they had.

Then, Casper's dad lost his job, and they had to move back in with Casper's grandparents who lived hours away. That last week with Charlie was horrible, knowing that they had to leave the person that they held closest to their heart, the person who they loved, all because their stupid dad couldn't hold a job.

They didn't stay at their grandparents long. Or rather, Cas didn't stay there long. They got a job in the new town, and saved money till they had enough to get an apartment. It was old and broken down, but it was better than the crampt, smoke-filled house they were forced to move to.

Life was hard for a while, Cas had to get a second job in a shady area. It was scary, but to Cas it was worth it. Everything came to a head, thought, when they were jumped one night.

They were just heading home from their second job, when a group of thugs jumped them for their wallet. It was the scariest moment of Casper's life up till then, they didn't know if they would stop at their wallet, if they would hurt them.

Then, they heard some shouting from the distance, and before they knew it, the thugs that had jumped them were gone.

And in their place stood someone else. A well dressed man who helped them up from the ground and made sure they had their wallet and everything. This was strange to Casper, as no one has shown them real kindness in a long time.

The new stranger offered for him to walk Casper home, and Cas agreed.

While they walked, Casper got to know the stranger a bit. His job was to gather intel for his boss (thought he never said who) and that he was walking back from another mission when he saw Casper in distress. The stranger felt bad for them, so he decided to help.

It was nice talking to the new stranger. When they got to his apartment, the new friend surprised them once more.

"Is this your place?" He said, surprised by how run-down the building was.

"Yeah," Casper sighed, "it's not great, but it's the best I can afford"

"Best you can afford? Do you not have a good job?" The man turned to look at Cas.

"No, I work at the convenience store down the street and the food counter in the bowling alley down town" Casper looked down at the ground as they kicked a rock "they don't pay much, but it's all I can get for now."

"Really?" The stranger looked in shock before they began to think a bit. "What are you good at?"

"Huh?" Cas looked back up.

"What are you good at? Can you fight? Are you really smart with numbers? Can you talk to people well?" He listed a few things out.

"Well, I was really interested in computers when I was in High School. I hacked the school Chromebooks so I could do whatever I wanted on them" Casper smiled at the memory, it was one of their greatest achievements in school.

"Well then," Casper's new friend smiled "how would you like a job as a hacker and intel agent? You seem like you'll do perfectly"

"Wait, really?" Casper stood in shock, had this stranger really offered him a job? As a hacker no less?

"Yeah, it pays really well. Thought, there are a few details that might make you rethink it-" the man began but was cut off by Casper.

"Yes! Yes! Oh my gosh yes!" Casper jumped, smiling wide "I know you're probably in some shady business, but I don't care if I have to hack some rich guys computer or whatever, I'll do it!"

The man just smiled at Casper and laughed. "Well then, I'll come get you tomorrow to meet the boss then."

Casper just smiled as they watched their new friend walk away. "oh, by the way" Casper called out, "what's your name?"

The man turned and smiled once more. "Rook" is all he said "can't wait to start working with you, Casper"

#yuurivoice #yuurivoice casper #yuurivoice rook #not me forgetting to put tags #;-;

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ghosteso · 7 months ago

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The sleeping pills have yet to kick in. Therefore, I’m going to go through my Ghost Wax playlists and explain my reasoning for certain songs. Starting with Cid. As usual most of this is post season one. This is going to get long so look and ofc hints of Vonzem/Goodnight Couple. And for this I’ll choose the lyric that cemented it as a Cid songs for me. Let’s do this!

Secret of Life- Lord Huron

To die for good, it must be earned/ The ways of death can never be learned.

Tbh, this whole songs just screams Voncid to me (I mean look at the title) There’s another lyric that also hits close to me with Cid but this. This one is mostly nodding to Voncid’s status as the last reclaimer. I can’t pull direct quotes just yet but the way he talks to Charlie and parallels there sheer differences hence my chosen for this one.

Thirteen Sad Farewells- Stu Larsen

Darling I should’ve said goodbye/ before you even caught my eye/ now I can’t bear to see this die

The first Goidnight couple song on the playlist from Cud’s perspective and how he can’t let Azem go and how he was willing to let the world burn just to stop from consuming Azem. I want to write a oneshot for this one tbh.

Achilles Come Down- Gang of Youths

Hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone/ Engage with the pain as a motive

More of a nod to post season one as if posting this I haven’t listened to the Patron episodes. But after consuming Azem I do think he is going to realize he isn’t as alone as he thinks. That his relationship with Azem helped him with his other relationships. He has Luca. He has Pip. He even has Emea. And they care about him. There’s more ofc but I think these three are going to be instrumental in helping him grieve with Azem.

1957- Milo Greene

Would it be much better if I knew nothing about you?

More Goodnight couple I can’t help it. Cid’s line in the finale where he’s talking to Azem and Azem tells him he is their love broke me.

Blood Upon the Snow- Hozier

It ceases never to hunger/ And all things nature's given/ She takes all things back from the living

Cid says Hamsa(sp?) are greedy things and somebody else said the hunger inside seemed personal. Then finally consuming Azem.

The Horror and the Wild- The Amazing Devil

Give me back my heart, you wingless thing/Think of all the horrors that I promised you I'd bring/I promise you, they'll sing of every time

More Goodnight couple. Can’t really explain my reasoning for this just trust me this is a Cid song.

Lonesome Dreams- Lord Huron

Where I'm lost and I'm on my own/ Left my best in the beats on this trip, baby/ Just please don't leave me alone

AND

The Ghost on the Shore- Lord Huron

All the dead seem to know where I am

Lord Huron is just Cid coded. Sorry I don’t make the rules

Human- Of Monsters and Men

Breathe in, breathe out/Let the human in/ Breathe in, breathe out/ And let it in

Cid’s relationship with Luca, Pip, Emea and etc.

Dear Fellow Traveler- Sea Wold

You spoke my language and touched my limbs/It wasn't difficult to pull me from myself again/And in our travels, we found our roads/You held it like a mirror, showing me the life I chose

Final Goodnight Couple song. Now I’m heading to bed I think.

#ghost wax #owen voncid #goodnight couple #vonzem

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blazingstar29 · 1 year ago

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I want to talk about fleeting love rq so bear with me lol. First of all someone commented that maverick is the two headed cow from that poem and i’ve never stopped thinking about it. Fleeting Love by Nick Cave is the song of the fic, and even tho it talks about undying love being a phase, he also talks about how it hasn’t felt this good since the stone age. i.e maverick hasn’t felt love like this in so long. Music is SO important to this fic and that’s why i’ve actually included a playlist.

Most of the songs are chapter specific but the last six or so are all for the last chapter. Hold My Hand is referred to a lot on chapter 13 because i think it encapsulates the role tom plays to pete, that is, he sees pete’s pain and wants so desperately to help. Even when pete can’t see it, tom sees that he will be happy again and accepts his imperfections.

Mumford and Sons is so icemav coded and broad shoulders beasts of the sky reminds me of the f-14’s as a title but “it’s alright, take it out on me” also represents that Tom is Pete’s pillar of support. Moreover, lines like “wasn’t it you who said i wasn’t free and wasn’t it you who said i needed peace” sound like a dialogue of Pete talking to Charlie.

On a side note, Charlie is not the villain because ‘women are gross and feminism is bad’. She is the villain because she did bad things and in this fic she is a bad person. I tried to make some inferences in the early chapter where Pete sees what she has to do to survive as a woman.

Continuing on MaS, Monster’s lyrics “so when we come to the place on no return, you’re is the face that makes my body burn”

NEED I SAY ANY MORE

ALSO on a non music stream, in chapter 13 the compromises Pete talks about that tom wants ri make, it’s the hard compromise of DADT. It protects them to a degree, it hides them too.

Anyway i’ve got a lot of feelings about fleeting love and i’ll probably add onto this later

#top gun 1986 #icemav #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #iceman x maverick #fleeting love #fleeting love fanfic #also apparently i have 14 drafts and i remember none of them

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angelofrainfrogs · 1 year ago

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Going Back: Ch. 9

~Coauthored by @zeitghest~

Fandom(s): Five Nights At Freddy’s: Security Breach

Description: Things are looking up for Gregory. After putting the soul of a formerly-immortal killer to rest, he and his new family can finally begin their lives anew. Sure, Gregory might have been cursed with mysterious Remnant in exchange for being involved in this mess—not to mention his caretakers consist of sentient robots and ghosts… But there’s no doubt that the bond they share is unbreakable. They love him, and he in turn.

All in all, life is finally starting to go right for once.

…Unfortunately, true peace is a hard-won battle. There are other things to contend with besides William’s decrepit soul, and Gregory will learn that his role in the lives of the Aftons and Emilys is far greater than anyone could’ve imagined.

Rating: T

Read on Ao3

Bonnie’s approach was lackadaisical, strolling casually beside Freddy as he watched the kid doze off completely. The sugar and adrenaline crash hit Gregory hard, and by the time they piled into the elevator for the attraction the boy was practically asleep in Freddy's arms. Curiously, Bonnie reached out and brushed the shaggy hair away from Gregory’s face, asking Freddy when out of earshot from the others: “So… since when did you want to be a Papa Bear, ol’ sport?”

The rabbit was still somewhat confused by the whole thing. Their AIs desired the safety and protection of all kids, this was true—but Freddy became so devoted to this sole child so fast…

“Oh… it was a rather sudden decision,” Freddy murmured, his gaze moving slowly between Gregory and his old companion. Taking a seat at a table near the lanes, Freddy patted the empty chair by his side with a soft smile. “You and I need to have a long conversation about what you missed, old friend. But for now I will say that it was a combination of many factors that led to the situation Gregory and I are in now. He is such a brave boy and helped with things you cannot even fathom at the moment.”

As he explained, Freddy absently ran his fingers through Gregory’s hair. “Michael influenced my decision greatly. He and I were, ah… bonded, for lack of a better term, and his humanity rubbed off on me—which only heightened my desire to protect and care for Gregory.”

Looking up at Bonnie’s absolutely confused gaze with a measured one of his own, Freddy could see him desperately trying to understand. He didn’t like keeping his friend in the dark, but he also didn’t want to overload his circuits. Still, he could at least give him something to dwell on before they got to talk one on one.

“You have seen and accepted that Evan is a ghost. This may or may not come as a surprise, but so are Michael and Charlie. However, before they got these android bodies they needed other vessels, and Michael happened to pick mine. It is a wonder what a human soul can do to a simple piece of coding.”

Bonnie sat and listened, absorbing the words Freddy told him. He wished to understand how people had souls that could imprint their marks into machines and computers... Was Freddy different now?

Bonnie seemed off-put for a mere second before dismissing the thought entirely, his bunny nose twitching. Freddy was the same as before. But what he felt was real.

“A human soul really made you feel this way?” the rabbit asked tentatively, eyebrows scrunched. It was an incredible thing to come to understand. “When did you realize? Y’know, that you felt human?”

“When did I know?” Freddy hummed, tilting his head. “Hmm... that is a good question. I suppose it was more of a feeling than an exact moment. The night I met those three, there came a time when Gregory and I were in a bit of distress.”

Freddy grimaced slightly at the memory of Monty chasing them on the catwalks. It was a far cry from the friendly gator they'd just encountered in the golf course not thirty minutes before. “Of course my goal was to protect the child, but when I saw Gregory in such a dire situation something in me just... snapped. I realized that this urge to protect far exceeded anything my programming would allow, and I was thinking with my heart instead of my head.”

The redhead smiled down at the boy in his lap. “It was not long after we were safely out of that situation that Gregory first called me 'dad,' and then I could deny it no longer: I felt things—emotions. True emotions. I wanted to care for him and keep him safe, and I wanted to do the same for Michael and Charlie. I felt happy at the thought of protecting them, thinking of how wonderful things would be when set to rights again. After that it was simply a matter of timing and fate as to how I ended up in this body, holding Gregory as I am now.”

Bonnie listened, the look on his face uncharacteristically stoic and unanimated as he absorbed the meaning of what Freddy was talking about. He clenched and unclenched his hand against his bowling shirt. A brief flash of thought crossed his mind; a vague question of, ‘Can I feel things?’ as he watched the small family by the bowling lanes begin to wrestle. He didn’t quite feel all the emotions that Freddy described to him when watching the kids, though Bonnie felt himself becoming closer—but that could be chalked up to simple prolonged exposure.

That didn’t explain the weird stints of unmistakable jealousy he felt when others appeared to be getting along better with Freddy than him, though. He wasn’t programmed for jealousy; the emotion was ugly and unnecessary for entertaining robots.

“A human soul…,” Bonnie repeated wistfully. He looked on as Liz practically tackled both Charlie and Michael to retrieve her brother from their clutches. He chuckled at this display and unhealthily pushed down the false 'emotions,' ignoring them and hoping they would simply scatter with time. Still, it begged Bonnie to ask curiously: “Do you ever feel… bad?”

Freddy’s gaze sharpened, locked onto his old friend’s face as if searching for something. After a moment Freddy let out a small sigh.

“Yes,” he admitted softly. “I feel bad things, too. That is the trouble with these silly emotions—the good ones are amazing, but you must also contend with the negative ones. I have felt anger before—a white-hot, burning thing that I previously could not even comprehend. I have felt scared, annoyed, and anxious, among many other things.

“But regardless of how these emotions might make me feel about others, you are still my dearest friend,” Freddy reassured with his signature grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. After a moment’s pause, Freddy’s brow furrowed slightly, a knowing light in his bright eyes. “I have been meaning to ask: how are you feeling, Bon? Besides what your internal diagnostics tell you, that is. Or, I suppose I should say—can you give me an answer to that question right now? It is perfectly alright if not, I am simply… curious.”

How did he feel? Well, besides from the sudden tight—grateful?—wave of emotion he got from Freddy's assurance, he was feeling strangely. Could Freddy tell there was something wrong with him? Bonnie could sense something wrong. Yet with every background diagnostic test he ran that turned up negative, he wondered if it was all in his head.

“I’m… weird, Fredbear,” Bonnie answered, glancing to others to see they’d moved down the lanes to be fully in the company of the Emilys. “I've been running diagnostics for two days and found nothing wrong. But I swear I feel things, too... Things never in my programming. Not like you, though; you get all the nice things. The best thing my database can liken these to are… self-doubt and jealousy.”

When his eyes shifted back to see a worried expression on Freddy’s face, Bonnie elaborated with wide eyes. “I'm fine! Really, I know these are just programming bugs. Something I'll have to tell Boss-man about later. I'll be alright, Fred.”

Maybe Michael’s soul did something while he was working on his decommissioned body? Though Freddy said they had to be bonded, whatever that means, for those emotions to imprint upon him.

For just a second, Freddy’s worry slipped into an ache of sympathetic hurt. He’d been lucky—Michael was a good soul, and therefore had seemed to transfer mostly positive emotions. It wasn’t that Freddy couldn’t feel jealousy or self-doubt too, and Michael’s anxiety certainly seemed to take a toll on Freddy’s already amped-up concern for others. But the boy was nothing compared to his father. Who knew what sort of influence William’s soul would have on an animatronic, even as sweet a character as Bonnie?

Freddy didn’t doubt they could work through anything in time, but he hated to see his friend grapple with such confusion.

“There is nothing wrong with you, Bonnie,” Freddy said once he’d composed himself, his face once again a mask of serene calm. His voice was low and soothing, coupled with a tight squeeze of the rabbit’s paw. “And I am certain you will be just fine. Tomorrow, you and I are going to have a long chat about what happened while you were out of commission—just the two of us. Hopefully things will start to make more sense afterwards, but until then please try not to worry so much. Fretting about things is my job.”

The ursine man finally cracked a grin, slipping his hand out of Bonnie’s to lightly push the rabbit’s shoulder.

“Just what do you have to be jealous about anyway? The new friends I have met are wonderful, but they are no comparison to my best friend of unquantifiable years.” A light chuckle escaped his lips. “I came running straight to you when I heard you were back online, you know.”

Bonnie couldn’t help but laugh as he shrugged off Freddy’s playful shove. “You came runnin' huh? Aw, shucks.”

It was less of a way to tease his friend and more of a reassurance that Freddy didn't forget about him. No one did. Everyone still loved him and people were probably hoping one day for his joyous return back to the Glamrock crew.

“Yeah, that sounds so silly when you put it that way... And you know what? I should be happy Monty's got a whole big attraction for himself now! He deserves it for how hard he works,” Bonnie said, the dopey, sweet bunny returning the more he worked through those negative emotions. It wasn't long before he gently rested the side of his head on the top of Freddy's own. “Thanks for listenin,' Fredbear.”

“Anytime,” Freddy promised, chuckling as Bonnie aggressively nuzzled their heads together. Seconds after the pair sat up straight Michael appeared, huffing as he pulled out a chair across the table from them. With a raised eyebrow, Freddy asked: “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Mike replied, a grin twitching up the corner of his mouth despite his attempt to keep an exasperated expression. “They’re all ganging up against me, so I left them to their own devices; hopefully they’ll harass Sammy instead.”

“I see; how gracious of you,” Freddy commented, clear sarcasm in his voice. Michael flashed a real grin and leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his palms.

“Thank you! How’s Gregory? He looks totally passed out.”

“He is alright. You know how erratic his sleep schedule is—he probably just had a bit too much excitement at once,” Freddy said, running a hand through Gregory’s hair once more.

“We really need to fix that…” Michael grimaced briefly, then let out a snort. “He looks so calm and peaceful when he’s asleep; not like a little terror at all. Don’t you think, Bonnie?” Pale blue eyes flickered to the rabbit’s, showing he hadn’t been forgotten about.

Gregory's chest rose and fell deeply as they spoke. The kid was in such a deep state of sleep that a thing line of drool began to seep from the corner of his mouth. It was adorable—though worrisome that his schedule had been interrupted so frequently. It seemed the only time he could truly rest was when he completely ran out of energy, his mutated stamina still no match for the very nature of exhaustion.

“You kiddin' me? Look—that kid's plotting our destruction as we speak,” Bonnie replied, pointing down at Gregory with a rounded purple finger. “I think we may be dealing with some form of criminal mastermind here...”

“Mm, good point,” Michael conceded, narrowing his eyes and staring hard at the sleeping boy. His pensive expression only cracked when Freddy noticed the drool and wiped it away with his sleeve and a soft click of his tongue.

“Oh, hush you two,” Freddy chuckled, looking between the pair with a grin. He was so happy to see Michael and Bonnie getting along it was infectious. Tilting his head in question, Freddy asked: “What time is it, Michael? I feel as though we may need to leave soon…”

“You’ve got a phone now, you know,” Mike said, though he didn’t hesitate to take his out and check the display. “Yeah, I think I should take Liz and Evan back down to Henry so we can head out.” He stood, stretching out his arms before glancing at Freddy with a slight frown. “Oh damn; we didn’t get to talk about Gregory’s situation.”

“Hmm.” Freddy glanced down at his son, then let out a small sigh. “As much as I hate to disturb him either, this is an important topic. How about I come with you?”

“Sounds good,” Michael agreed, then stepped over to Bonnie and clapped the rabbit on the shoulder. “It’s good to finally hang out with you, Bon; we’ll touch base again when I come back for my next shift, okay?”

Excitedly, Bonnie curled his paws into fists and held them by his chest as he looked to Michael.

“It's going to be so fun workin' with ya!” he predicted.

When the end of the week was up and the Pizzaplex returned to normalcy after a period of strangeness, it was be obvious his new coworkers would provide some much missed fun to Bonnie Bowl. Upon looking over to said ghost children, it seemed they’d overpowered the Emilys, with both Charlie and Sam being bullied by the two after Sammy dared to call them runts. Liz was still too fast for them and had Sam's arm in a lock behind his back.

“Lizzie! Lizzie, come on! Sam is actually old! You can't rough him up like that!” Charlie attempted to separate them with much difficulty.

Sam shot her a glare, griping to his sister with a bellow: “I am not old! I'm middle-aged at most, but I don't look it!”

“No—” Charlie answered, trying to hide her laugh as she told her twin. “—it’s worse: you just look like Dad...”

“What?!” Samuel shouted, causing Liz to let go as he nearly tumbled into Charlie and Evan.

Michel had moved to the other group for damage control, snagging the Aftons by their shirt collars before they could launch another attack. With a raised eyebrow he asked Sam: “They giving you trouble?”

“Nooooo!” Evan insisted, wriggling in his brother’s grip. He knew full well Michael sent them after Sammy intentionally, but before he could call his brother out Mike went on.

“Uh-huh. Well, Sam, you’re about to be saved—time to go back to Uncle Henry.” Michael released his siblings, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder to where Freddy and Bonnie were saying their goodbyes. “Freddy and Gregory are coming with us to see you off. You want to join, Charlie?” His gaze flickered to Sam with a wry grin. “You’re welcome to come too—if you can handle it, grandpa.”

Completely unaware that Michael had been the one to set the dogs of war loose upon him, Sam looked to his good friend with gratitude. He wasn’t the same relatively meek and stoic kid he had forced himself to grow into. Being with Michael and the others reminded him of what a hell-raiser he used to be with the others.

“Again with the old man crap—” Sam tutted, cracking the aching knuckles on his hands as he rejoined the group. “—aren’t you a month older than me?”

“He's right, Mikey,” Charlie pointed out, willing to stop picking on her biological brother to turn the tide on her best friend. “You are the oldest, technically.”

Michael narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared between the Emilys. “Oh sure, rub it in on me, why don’t you?”

“I mean, you are suuuuper old,” Evan added with a shit-eating grin, not unlike his big brother’s. “Like… ancient!”

“Okay, okay, chill out!” Michael snipped, shoving Evan unsteadily off his feet… though he did feel a minor swell of pride at his little brother’s sass. “You’re only a few years younger than me, damn.”

“Come on, everyone!” Freddy called as he walked over, now with his other arm wrapped around Gregory. “Let us get going before Henry starts to worry.”

“Honestly Sammy, you should take a rest,” Michael said, his tone softening as he amiably patted his back, though his lips were still quirked up in a smirk. “Anyone needs to recover after dealing with the Aftons all day.”

This was what made all the jeers and jokes worth it, knowing his friends really did have his best interests at heart. Sam scratched at his growing beard and reasoned silently about getting a few hours of sleep in his office before the dayshift showed up. If Samuel could see himself now, he might ask his own reflection who the old insomniac was and what they were doing inside his Mall...

“Heh—” Sam laughed, fixing his glasses as if hiding the heavy bags there. “—alright, I could squeeze in a few hours of rest. Then it's back to work.” Sam quick leaned on Michael, giving him a rough hug to communicate his thanks where words wouldn't suffice.

“Make sure Charlie doesn't pick her nose too much while I'm gone,” he asked of Mike, earning a slap on the shoulder from his sister. She gasped at the accusation while Lizzie just raised her finger to laugh at the group.

“Ew, Charlie you don't still pick your nose, do you?” Liz managed to ask through her giggles, which led to Charlie shaking Liz by her shoulders.

“I never did! He's a dirty fibber!” she asserted, throwing a glare Sam’s way.

“Oh no, she totally does—eeevery day,” Michael added, then turned fast on his heel and dashed towards the exit with Charlie in hot pursuit.

“Goodness…,” Freddy chuckled, shaking his head at their antics. He looked to Sam, offering him a smile. “I hope you get a solid nap in, Sam—and thank you again for these!” A pat of his pants pocket indicated the slim outline of his phone. “We will be sure to stay in touch.”

“Bye, Sammy!” Evan piped up, giving his old friend a quick hug on his leg before pulling Lizzie after Charlie and Michael. Freddy lifted Gregory’s rag doll-like hand in a little wave to the CEO then followed after the young Aftons, flashing Bonnie another gleaming smile as they piled into the elevator.

Samuel would retire to his office, heading off after parting ways with Bonnie—though that rabbit was no longer content to stay in Bonnie Bowl either. Without a guard to tell him otherwise, the distracted bunny would travel aimlessly through the Pizzaplex as he used to.

Upon arriving in the basement, it seemed the other children had been running around and leaving their mark while Henry worked tirelessly. Scorched items from the old dinner had made their way around the hidden workshop. Torn, half-melted plushies and collectors’ items were scattered haphazardly with evidence of being abandoned after the ghosts grew bored of their novelty. As soon as they crossed the door, Charlie was quick to ambush her hardworking father with a bear hug.

“Dad! Whatcha working on?” she interrogated.

“AH!” Henry was so focused on the schematics he was working on he hadn’t heard his daughter’s stealthy approach. He would’ve jumped a few feet in the air if her firm grip hadn’t cinched him in place. “Christ! I oughta put a bell on you guys!” He chuckled, giving Charlie a quick kiss on the cheek. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Uncle Henry!” Michael greeted with a wave. As he stepped up to the Emilys, Henry was quick to shuffle a few papers around, causing Mike to raise an eyebrow. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, I’m thinking of repurposing some earlier drafts of your androids so others can have bodies, too,” Henry explained, wrapping his arm around Charlie’s waist. He grinned, swinging Charlie around to show her the workbench of papers. “You’re going to like this one—take a guess who it’s for.”

The schematic on top showed two images side by side: one of the generic inner workings of an android, and the other a distinctive “outer casing” that showed a sketched overview of what it would look like. The body was short and lanky with a bob of wavy black hair. Upon closer inspection the face seemed to take inspiration from Charlie’s, sharing almost all the same features except for the eyes being a smidge larger for even more expressive capabilities.

Charlie speculated for a bit. The design for the animatronic looked so darn familiar. She cocked her head to the side as she let go of her father in contemplation before grasping Mike’s shoulder and shaking him with a gasp. “Look! It's the Marionette! Doesn't she look good?”

The design Henry gave her was so cutesy. With Henry's plans to retrofit the old AIs into newer bodies, she marveled at the possibilities. Would the public need to know that she was just a robot? Did it matter? After all, Puppet could probably pass for a college girl starting her first internship were she to hang around the Pizzaplex.

“Dad, your genius is showing,” Charlie warned him in a joking manner, soaking in the blueprints and designs for her longtime animatronic friend.

“Is it?” Henry said with a slightly embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Really, making another android isn’t going to be too hard—it’s really just a matter of retrofitting a model you’re not using, finessing the outer casing, then uploading the AI. Although, Freddy already proved that was a big success!”

“Puppet is going to love this,” Freddy praised, peering down at the drawing as well. Gregory was sure to get a kick out of this, and seeing as they needed to wake him up anyway Freddy reasoned this was the perfect opportunity. He gave the boy a light squeeze, speaking softly. “Wake up, superstar; we have something exciting to show you!”

With every step and jostle, Gregory didn't move an inch on his own. It was oddly adorable that Gregory only stirred at the sound of Freddy gently beckoning him back to the waking world. The little man rubbed his eyes, groaning that he’d fallen asleep so easily when he tried to fight it so badly. Barely remembering the last half an hour of their fun in the Pizzaplex, Gregory smacked the drool from his lips with a grumpy look on his face.

“Huh? Wuzzat?” he muttered, glowing eyes blinking unfocused at the plans on the desk.

Charlie offered a smile, speaking a little louder to try and wake the boy further. “It's going to be Marionette's new model! She'll be able to talk to us now. Isn't that cool, Gregory?”

Charlie burned to know what he thought. Even though she technically designed the first Puppet, she felt bad with how many kids were scared off by one of her best friends. Hopefully this design didn't freak Gregory out too badly—ironically, she noticed how stand-offish he became around humans.

Tilting his head to the side, Gregory scanned the blue paper and accidentally murmured out loud: “It's Charlie, but cuter—”

Which Charlie was quick to react to. She pinched his cheek and shook his face, thoroughly waking him up now as she asked: “What?! What's that supposed to mean, you little twerp—”

Michael snorted, quick to snatch Gregory out of Freddy’s arms and save him from Charlie’s attack. Setting him down and taking on the role of human shield, Mike held out a palm for Gregory to high-five behind his back. “Nice one.”

“I’m glad she has your approval,” Henry said, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the workbench while he watched the interaction with a grin. “I haven’t even showed Mari yet, so you guys were the first opinions I got!”

“Mari?” Michael quirked up an eyebrow, and Henry nodded.

“Mm-hmm; I tried out the nickname last time she was down here and she seemed to like it—I thought it would suit the new look.”

Michael looked at the drawing again, then gave his own nod of approval. “Yeah, it does! She’s going to be really happy, Henry.”

Gregory snickered, sticking his tongue out at Charlie as his brother stepped in to save him from her onslaught. He peeked around Michael's back to glance back at the blueprint. “She was just supposed to be a security robot, right?”

Gregory was heavily attached to the Puppet. She and Charlie had protected him more than a few times. Though he always wondered if it was Charlie's selfless attitude that rubbed off on Mari, or if it was the never-ending protocol of a robot's design that kept them fervently fighting for him when they were bonded... Now, Gregory and the rest could finally pick her brain.

“Oh, she was the best!” Charlie answered for her father. Beaming at her one and only creation and contribution to the Fazbear Family line, she reminisced on the fun they had together. “I don't care if the other kids thought she was creepy! She kept the diner pretty safe. She could play a music box and give out prizes, and she was the first model that could think and react.”

Charlie was attached to the toy in more ways than one. It had become her comfort friend after Evan's passing. Those few months shutting everyone out and just hanging out with the Marionette had turned out to do her more harm than good in the end...

“That she was,” Henry confirmed, patting Charlie’s shoulder. “I think she turned out pretty damn well, all things considered. Oh, oops—pretend I didn’t curse, kiddo.” He flashed a grin at Gregory. “Next time Mari comes down here, I’ll get her approval. Then it’s just a few minor tweaks and we can start working! I’d love for you to help, Mike.”

“Of course!” Michael readily agreed, more surprised his uncle would consider the possibility of him not assisting with something like this. “Gregory can help with the transfer part, too—we’ve got to keep those skills up!”

Freddy listened to the conversation with a smile, glad to see Gregory included. He knew his son would jump at the chance to give more of his robot friends a body just like he’d done for Freddy.

Right—my son.

A slight frown crossed Freddy’s face as he recalled the looming topic at hand. Upon a lull in the conversation, the redhead cleared his throat. “There is another topic we need to discuss tonight before we leave. It involves the children, although I think Henry should be made aware of it as well. Superstar, can you please grab your friends and bring them over?”

Michael ran another hand through Gregory’s hair, though this touch was much softer and soothing. He’d seen the boy tense up at the mention of the pressing topic that, frankly, scared his entire family more than Gregory realized.

For all that Gregory had been preparing for, he felt a self-doubt for one single moment. That was before he felt Michael’s encouraging hand brush through his hair. The look he had been given by his family had bolstered his courage and Gregory gave them a silent but strong nod before running off into the darkness.

“I’ll be right back!” he promised, knowing he could find them even in the blackest shadows.

As his body and mind went through changes, Gregory knew he wasn’t normal anymore. His enhanced eyesight made it easier for him to make out shapes and faces in the dark. It was in one such corner where he found the majority of his spirit friends had gathered. They were hanging around outside the employee entrance in the back of the burned diner.

“Look who finally decided to wake up!” shouted a cheeky Elizabeth, nudging both Evan and Cassidy who resided on either side of her. It only mildly interrupted their game of pretend with the plushies where it looked as if the all the Fazbear characters they gathered had ganged up on the bunny in the middle…

“It’s about time!” Cassidy jeered, looking at Gregory with a short-lived sneer. “We need someone to play Bonnie. Wanna join?”

Gregory spared a laugh at the odd session of pretend. “Hard pass—I actually came to ask you all a favor. Where’s the others?” He stepped closer, looking around for Hannah and the other ghosts he was told had found their ways into their little group.

“Inside; gimme a sec!” Evan volunteered, hopping to his feet and running to the back door. Instead of actually opening it he simply stuck his head through the metal, calling out: “Hey, guys! Gregory’s here!”

Hannah was the first to emerge from the diner, phasing through the door and looking around. Spotting Gregory, her face lit up in a huge grin and she walked over to give him a quick hug. “Hi! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Hannah—” he said, feeling an involuntary and goofy grin pull at his lips while trying to explain himself. “—I wanted to see you sooner. We had a lot of stuff to do and I couldn’t find you.”

That was when he caught Cassidy whispering into Evan’s ear. Paranoia briefly took hold of him, wondering if his friends could see what Gregory felt was obvious to everyone. But it was really just the old ghost warning Evan about the twins coming by to hoist Gregory from the ground by each arm.

“Hey, Smith, you forgot about us, too!” Quinn gripped, taking an index finger soaked in an odd ectoplasm from being in his mouth and shoving it roughly into Gregory’s ear canal—thoroughly embarrassing him as Gregory attempted to shake from their grasp.

“GROSS! Shit—I’m sorry guys! Kn-Knock it off!” the smaller boy griped, flailing harder with no avail as his face turned a bright red from the shame of still being bullied by the neighborhood goons.

“Stop that!” Hannah snapped, raising both hands and giving the twins an identical smack to the backs of their heads. “It’s not Gregory’s fault any of this happened—it was those psycho bunny furries. We’ve been over this, morons.”

Evan stood between Lizzie and Cassidy, wringing his hands nervously. He liked Hannah—she was sweet and friendly and in a vague sort of way reminded him of how Charlie was in their youth while they were all still alive.

Cain and Quinn, though? They made him anxious. While Hannah reminded him of his kind friend, the boys reminded him of his brother in the prime of his tormenting phase. The twins had quickly been curbed of any real desire to harass Evan after their first “prank” ended up with the boy nearly hyperventilating on the floor, crying as Cassidy lost her absolute mind. She’d only been prevented from beating the ever-loving shit out of them by Hannah and Liz literally holding her back—although they did allow her one solid punch each for them to really learn their lesson. Since then Cain and Quinn were wary of the company Evan kept, and while they didn’t actively go out of their way to avoid him they definitely made a point to only play nice lest his guard-friend attacked again… or worse, they somehow incurred his siblings' wrath.

“OW! Hannah, don’t hit so hard!” shouted Cain, rubbing the back of his head. Neither experienced pain after their deaths, unless it was a corrective smack from one of the other ghosts. As Gregory was dropped to his feet, he furiously rubbed the gross goop leaking from his ear.

“Serves you jerks right! I didn’t even do this to you…” He huffed, cursing himself mentally. They’d never help if he kept insulting them. With a grateful glance sent towards Hannah, Gregory’s head whipped around to hear Lizzie speak up.

“Guys—Gregory was about to ask us something,” she reminded the group, curiously invested in whatever adventure the kid had in store now. He thanked Liz with a curt nod.

“I need your help. It’s… real serious. Those jerks that made me live with them are looking for me.” Gregory spoke with a rare tightness to his voice. Looking back on the twins, their combined shit-eating grins fell into what Gregory assumed was genuine worry. They were annoying and mean, but not heartless.

“You mean Rita and Terry, right? Fuck, dude…” Quinn rubbed the back of his neck. He wouldn’t have picked on Gregory so hard just then if he’d known what was going on. They’d seen firsthand the shit Gregory went through at the hands of his foster parents, and their pranks were literal child’s play in comparison.

At Gregory’s nod of confirmation, Cain spoke up after his brother. “What can we do to help?”

Perking up, Gregory’s smile grew back into a recognizably evil smirk, one that Cassidy picked out right away—as the girl had slowly become the patron saint of mischief within their ranks. “Follow me, and we’ll make a plan together.”

Herding them together, Cassidy couldn’t wait to unleash terror onto Gregory’s old family. They began their short trek back to the workshop portion of the basement towards the only trustworthy adults the group knew.

***

“Alright, while it’s just us, fill me in,” Henry said once Gregory left the room, keeping an eye on the door he’d disappeared through. “What’s going on?”

Freddy let out a heavy sigh. “Gregory’s foster parents have come looking for him.”

There was a heavy pause, in which Henry seemed to be waiting for a follow-up. When Freddy remained quiet, the man scratched his beard, a deep crease between his eyebrows. “Wait, so… this kid you adopted actually has a family?! What the hell were you all thinking?!”

Charlie’s brows flew up to her hairline, waving her arms to garner her father’s attention. “No! Well—yes? Kind of? They’re his foster family and he ran away from them almost a month ago, Dad. They just now decided they wanted to find him…”

She gulped, hoping her father would agree with their admittedly felonious idea of kidnapping Gregory. Clasping her hands together to appear meek, she implored to Henry's heart. “Please hear us out—we don’t trust the Smiths. When we first found Gregory, he was covered in cuts and bruises…”

Henry crossed his arms, the epitome of paternal suspicion. “I’m certainly not one to judge questionable life choices, but this is kind of a big deal, guys.”

“They’re neglecting him, Henry—and god knows what else,” Michael spoke up, gaze cold. “At first we thought the bruises were from him running around the Pizzaplex, but most of them were not fresh. Gregory’s been cagey when we try to ask about his home life, but his foster mom showed up looking for him the other day and he finally told us just how shitty they were. He’s just a paycheck to them.”

“We cannot let him go back to them,” Freddy insisted. “He will be terribly mistreated, and we fear for his safety.”

“Shit, guys…” Pulling off his glasses momentarily, Henry rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I get where you’re coming from, but you can’t just take a child.”

“He’s going to die in that house,” Michael whispered, looking at Henry with hardened eyes. “I don’t care if he’s immortal or whatever now—if they already mistreated him so badly before he ran away, imagine what they’ll do when they finally get their hands on him again.”

There was another moment of silence, in which Henry replaced his glasses and looked between the three set expressions of his daughter, nephew, and creation-turned-genuine friend. Charlie seemed like she might drop to her knees and beg for help if her dad still said no, Michael had a dark edge behind those pale blue eyes, and Freddy… Henry let out an involuntary shiver. The normally serene man looked like he was about to march into that foster home himself and take matters into his own hands, which were clenched so tightly in a poor display of controlled rage the knuckles were white.

“Okay… okay,” Henry finally relented with a heavy sigh. He placed a firm, reassuring palm on Freddy’s shoulder as he told the group: “Fine. I can see how serious this situation is, and I’d be a heartless bastard to send the kid back to such a place… so before Freddy makes headlines for committing double homicide, tell me this plan of yours.”

“I would never—” Freddy began, though before he could proclaim his intent the gaggle of kids arrived in the doorway. He recognized all but two, yet another set of twins to add to their rag-tag band of lost souls. Freddy rightfully assumed these to be the other missing kids Charlie and Michael pulled from the depths of the Pizzaplex with Hannah.

Hannah herself initially brightened at the sight of more friendly faces, although when her gaze fell upon Freddy the expression slipped. She didn’t recognize this guy, though she could only presume him to be a friend. Still she leaned into Gregory, lightly tugging his arm. “Who’s the redhead in the sweater?”

Gregory saw the unease on her face and decided to pat her shoulder, pointing at Freddy with a jut of his thumb.

“That's Freddy! Long story; he's my dad now,” he made sure to clarify, though it probably only led to more questions. Unaware of the tumultuous talk they all just had, he reintroduced the groups. “Okay so, now that we're all here, I have something to ask you guys...”

He separated himself to stand alone. He hoped to get everyone's attention easier this way. It started with a deep breath and eyes staring ahead like headlights to focus on how he wanted to explain this.

“I won't go home. Not back with my foster parents. I'd run away again and again until I'm eighteen or something happens to my legs.” Gregory spoke with a straight face, utterly serious. “If they find me, chances are something would happen to my legs. So I need everyone's help to get them away from me. Please...”

“...They hurt you?” Evan's small voice was the first one to break the silence. He wore an uncharacteristically blank expression, save for the little crease between his eyebrows.

“Badly,” Michael clarified, arms crossed as he leaned back against Henry's desk. It may have seemed like a casual pose, but it was really to keep him from bouncing his limbs in an anxious rhythm. Evan's gaze shifted between his brothers before he gave a resolute nod.

“I'm in,” he said, offering his twin a little smile. “I can do all the ghost stuff too, so just tell me what you need, Gregory.”

“Same here,” Hannah offered, raising a hand. She couldn't imagine anyone wanting to harm Gregory, let alone his supposed parents... It made her queasy to think about. “I wanna help, too.”

Freddy slipped a hand into Charlie's and squeezed, silently reassuring—and needing a bit of reassurance himself—that they were doing the right thing. He hated putting children up for such a task, but for now this really was the best thing they could think of that was both fast and effective. Who knew how much time they had before the Smiths called in some real authority to come poking around the Pizzaplex?

“Of course I'm in, obviously,” Lizzie added, shoving herself aside Evan in solidarity. Cassidy joined in wordlessly besides her friends, as any plan of revenge was something she could get behind. All that was left was the twins, both whom looked at each other with a resolute nod.

“We already said we’d help,” Cain replied, shrugging simultaneously with his brother.

“Yeah—” Quinn agreed, knowing they wouldn't have anything better to do. The Smiths deserved whatever was coming to them anyway. If they just treated Gregory right, the kid wouldn’t have tried to sneak away and then he and Cain would never have never followed him into the Pizzaplex. “—what's the plan, Smith?”

The planning phase was where Gregory drew a blank. “I-I was thinking of scaring them. You know? Like, maybe even make them think I died—then there’s no reason to keep looking for me, right?”

“Just scare them?” Cassidy asked. She’d begun doing that thing Gregory hated, where her face flattened and turned the slightest bit uncanny when she spoke, intentionally adding fear to any conversation she was having. “You're thinking small—let’s hurt them so they never come sniffing around here again.”

Gregory was unsure on how to feel about the suggestion, answering honestly as he crossed his arms.

“I'd be lying if I said I never thought of that. But... I...” He trailed off, unable to think of a reason why he shouldn't when they’d hurt him so much over the years.

“Hurting them is definitely going to bring on some unwanted attention,” Michael chimed in, trying not to be unnerved when seven sets of little eyes turned on him. When some of them started to glare he held up his palms, adding: “I'm not saying you can't rough them up a little if you need to, but you can't seriously injure them.”

“Michael's right,” Henry spoke up, surprising everyone with his apparent willingness to go along with their little scheme. “No grave harm or injury—that's not up for debate. As for how much you can scare them, well... we want to make sure they think Gregory’s beyond recovery, so however we can do that without also sending them running for police would be ideal.”

“Um... I'm not totally sure how we'd do that yet, but maybe I can pretend to be Gregory?” Evan suggested with a questioning tilt of his head. “I can look pretty scary if I want to—like Cassidy and the others.”

Michael tried to hide the involuntary wince as he thought about what that “scary” look would be. If it was like the twins, then that meant it would be a spitting image of the moment Evan was as good as dead after being pulled from the jaws of Golden Freddy. If Gregory's foster parents saw their son looking like that, Michael doubted they'd want to stick around...

Gregory rubbed his chin in thought, nodding to Evan. Time would tell if pretending he'd been horribly murdered would work out, though he doubted Terry and Rita would go to the police in Gregory's honor should they draw that conclusion.

“If you could pretend to be a dead me, then could the rest of you guys scare them out of the Pizzaplex?” Gregory asked, looking towards Hannah and the rest. “If they show their faces here and all.”

Raising an eyebrow, he wondered how someone like her could be scary. The twins were scary even without having to change their appearances, though for completely different reasons. Those two psychos would chase you down the street with lit roman candles aimed at you head just for looking at them weird. Hannah might be too sweet and docile for this operation. “Hannah quick—what’s the spookiest face you can make right now?”

All it took was a blink for Hannah's sweet face to change. The features underneath remained the same, though there was a sudden rush of dark, dripping blood that leaked out of the corner of her mouth, along with identical streams of red from her eyes, irises bloodshot and cold. Her throat turned dark and bruised, imprinted with the thin metallic fingers of the endoskeleton that choked the life out of her. It had shaken her for good measure, which added a crick in her neck that caused the expanding blood trails to drift slightly to the right.

“How's this?” she murmured in a voice gravely from torn vocal cords. Her stringy hair was still in a ponytail, though it now appeared greasy and unkempt. Coupled with her greyish pallor, she was most definitely dead.

“Fuck...,” Michael whispered so quietly only Henry standing right by his side could hear. His uncle was quick to slip an arm around Michael's shoulders and pull him close, looking to the ground with a pained expression. Seeing one of the ghost children like this brought back the feeling of dark hatred and regret deep in their souls for everything William had done that led to this moment.

When a warm droplet fell upon Gregory’s lip he knew the stress of seeing Hannah in turn had given him a nosebleed. Feeling the warm red trickle down his face, Gregory quickly wiped at his mouth and fervently nodded.

“Yep—that’ll definitely—oh man... Hannah, holy crap that's good,” he praised despite the shiver of terror racing up his spine.

If the scares from Cassidy and Evan taught him anything, it was that none of them were in any pain no matter how grotesque it looked. Knowing Freddy might freak out, Charlie had risen fast on her tiptoes to quickly shield his eyes before the image of Hannah broken and bloodied flooded his vision. Gregory came forward, unafraid after forcing himself to stare at her twisted neck and battered face he patted the side of her now damp feeling hair.

“Okay bring back normal Hannah, you're going to make my brother sick,” he laughed, trying to keep it light despite the content of their plan-making. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to feel uncomfortable because of the things he asked his ghost friends to do.

Another blink and Hannah was back to her usual self, albeit with a tinge of red to her cheeks from Gregory's comment. Choosing not to address it right now, she glanced towards where Evan stood next to his sister, looking completely unfazed by her transformation. “Huh? He's fine!”

“Our other brother,” Evan clarified, jerking his chin to Michael's gaunt face.

“Oh. Uh... sorry,” Hannah grimaced, realizing that, ironically, the adults seemed more disturbed than the kids about this whole thing.

“It's fine, you're... you're all good,” Michael reassured with a shaky smile, disentangling himself from Henry. “That's definitely going to be perfect for what we're trying to do, though.”

Meanwhile, Freddy murmured his thanks to Charlie for saving him from such a horrific sight, squeezing her hand that was still clutched in his own. Focusing on the kids now that the traumatic image was past, Freddy told them: “This plan is starting to come together, I believe—Evan will be Gregory's doppelganger to convince the Smiths that he is deceased, and the others can be staged at certain points. That way, we can assure they only go where we want them to go.”

Cassidy raised her hand with a valid point to make.

“Okay, sure! We can scare them no problem. But what are you guys going to do?” Cassidy asked, resting a fist on her hip as she and using Evan's shoulder as a rest for her opposite elbow.

Removing her hands from Freddy's person, Charlie cleared her throat and garnered Cassidy's attention easily. “Either keeping Gregory safe somewhere, or helping out in the scaring! As long as one of us is following them, we can guide them through the Pizzaplex and back out again in no time.”

Gregory had a devious smile on his face. “I really can't thank you guys enough—”

When the twins ambushed Gregory, this time a little less roughly. Quinn's arm squeezed Gregory around his shoulder while Cain messed with his hair.

“Don't thank us yet!” Cain warned him, though he was grinning even as he said it.

“Yeah,” Quinn agreed, matching his brother’s expression. “The only ones allowed to wail on you should’ve been us, anyway...”

“Alright!” Michael clapped his hands, finally flashing the group a real grin. “Ideally they won't show their ugly faces around here again, but if they do then the plan is on.” He spared a glance at Charlie and Freddy. “We should fill Sam in—think he's had enough time to rest?”

“I hope that boy isn't overworking himself again,” Henry sighed, raising an eyebrow at Charlie for confirmation.

It was Michael that answered brightly. “Oh, he sure is—but I'm trying my best to force him to take naps here and there. He's not nearly as young and spry as the rest of us! Anyway, speaking of rest, we should head back to the hotel.”

It was no doubt that Sam was hit with another wave of insomnia, spurring on yet another restless night of work inside his office. Though it would be assumed he would love to see his family and friends before they headed off to their hotel room again. And if Gregory was promised that they would return tomorrow night for another round of fun, then he would easily part with his friends for now. Gregory was put down by the twins, awkwardly saying goodbye to his newest and unlikely allies before feeling Liz’s arms wrap around his chest from behind.

“Take care, Gregory! You can show Evan and I the rest of the Pizzaplex tomorrow!” she said with a wink, relinquishing him after a hearty squeeze.

While Cassidy wasn’t a touchy person even with people she was extremely close with, only seeming to latch to Evan from time to time, she bumped her fist to Gregory’s with an excited smile. It was Hannah’s turn now, and Gregory opened his arms to give the girl a short embrace goodbye.

“You can come hang out tomorrow too, you know… If you want to,” Gregory said, pulling back to scratch the back of his head.

“Sounds like fun!” Hannah replied, clasping her hands behind her and rolling back on her heels after Gregory pulled away. “See you soon, Gregory.”

“Bye!” Evan piped up next, popping out of existence and reappearing directly in front of Gregory, where he’d jump the boy in an embrace that nearly knocked him over. When he stepped back there was a hard light of determination in his eyes. No one messed with his family and got away with it unscathed. “We’re gonna get this taken care of, don’t worry.”

Henry had been saying his own goodbyes, grabbing Charlie in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to her head. He repeated the gesture with Michael, although he had to force the boy down in a bit of a headlock to reach his crown. To Freddy and Gregory he offered a firm squeeze without the added kiss. After a few last farewells, the group started making their way back to the surface.

“Let’s go, Romeo,” Michael murmured when Gregory lingered in the workshop doorway. Silver eyes snapped up to find Mike wearing a knowing smirk, though he’d been sure to speak soft enough the other kids wouldn’t hear as they broke away to start another round of tireless games.

Gregory was thankful for Evan's assuring words. He was a lot like their older brother in the way he was considerate of others feelings—even if Michael hadn’t always acted that way, it appeared to be something that ran in the family. Then, Gregory was beckoned away by the very same man. With his eyes widening and a bright pink flush apparent still on his cheeks he shushed Michael as if he hadn't already spoken quietly. As he caught back up to his father and Charlie, Gregory waved goodbye to Mr. Emily. Then it was back to slipping his hand into someone else's for comfort once again—this time it happened to be Charlie's and she turned to look over her shoulder at Michael, then back down at Gregory. It was time to pick on their little brother again it seemed.

“So Hannah's pretty cool, huh?” She asked, trying to gauge a reaction from Gregory. Taken aback by her question, Gregory stuttered then quickly recovered to answer her.

“Huh? Uh... Yeah? Hannah's super cool. All of my friends are.” He cleared his throat, looking around for something to change the subject. “Can we get waffles when we go back home?”

Michael snorted, amused by his little brother’s horrible attempt to deflect. Even so he decided to go easy on Gregory for now because of his stressful situation—though not without slipping in one final quip.

“Waffles sounds good—and this isn’t over, kid,” Michael both threatened and promised. Though Gregory’s crush on a ghost girl was morbid and unfortunate, it was also kind of sweet. Reaching out, Michael aggressively ruffled the boy’s hair, much to his chagrin.

Before long they’d reached Sam’s office, where the CEO could be heard busily shuffling around inside. Michael knocked on the door with a frown, calling out: “That doesn’t sound like sleeping, Sam!”

At Sam's door, there sounded to be the banging and subsequent falling of metal onto a rubberized floor. Sam's office/workshop used to echo with the clattering of metallic parts until he coated his floor in liquid rubber. Having been thoroughly startled like a child caught playing video games late on a school night, he shouted back.

“Uh—just straightening up, Mikey!” Sam replied, attempting to straighten the endoskeleton he was working on and to shove it away in hiding.

“I’m not your dad, Sam, relax!” Mike laughed, entertained as always by his childhood friend. Although he really did wish Sam would take better care of himself—Michael had only been partially joking with the comment about Sammy being legitimately old compared to the rest of them. When the door was opened a minute later the group stepped into a room that looked in quite a state of disarray. “Damn, Sammy, if this is ‘straightening up’ I’d hate to see it before the bomb hit…”

“Michael, leave him be,” Freddy chided gently, having a soft spot in his heart for Sam and his messy workshop. Like father, like son it seemed, for Henry’s wasn’t much better. Addressing his creator, Freddy offered a smile. “We have spoken with the other children and made a plan for dealing with the Smiths if they come around searching again, so you do not need to worry about that, Samuel.”

Sam couldn't say he blamed Mike for his reaction to his workspace. It seemed he was falling into his father's old habits of hoarding spare parts and broken things he’d promised to fix whenever he had the time.

“It's a pigsty, I know...,” Samuel said with a sort of defeated laugh, as if rhetorically asking, 'Well what can ya do?' He rose from his workbench and did some light stretching to relieve the ache he now felt in his joints. “I got a quick fifteen minutes of sleep in before the stress of this deadline woke me up again.”

This was his life now—the path he'd chosen when deciding to take up the family mantle. No wonder his dad needed Uncle William in the beginning. Doing it all by himself felt impossible some days... Though Samuel did physically relax when Freddy relayed that there was a plan put in place for Gregory's so called “parents.”

“Good—see? Told you that you're in good hands, kiddo,” Sam said to their shared responsibility, Gregory, before glancing to Mike. “If they come around, they'll likely want to talk to me. Can I trust to have my Security Guard slash Parts & Service manager around to help?”

He already knew his friend had his back. If Michael was more versed in the plan, he could take care of the Smiths should they show up again.

“Of course; I'll try and stick close by, but if you ever need me and I'm off on an adventure just give me a call,” Michael replied, patting the pocket where his phone rested. His mouth quirked up in a grin. “Luckily for you, this guard doesn't need nearly as much sleep as his boss.”

Freddy breathed out a relieved sigh, pressing a hand to his chest. Now that Sammy was on board with the plan to an extent, the ursine man realized he'd been holding in a lot more tension than initially anticipated. He leaned down to pick Gregory up, doubting his son would protest the affection as they shared a hug before Freddy rested the boy on his hip.

“Thank you again for all of this, Sam,” Freddy said, unable to fully express his gratitude. He wasn't just talking about the help with Gregory's foster parents, but for accepting their story and building the Pizzaplex in the first place. Without Sammy, this Freddy wouldn't exist. “We are indebted to you—truly.”

Samuel listened to them, leaning on his desk while trying to hide just how tired he really was before waving his hands meekly in front of his chest.

“No no, I-I'm just trying to make things right. No one's indebted to anyone here,” he protested in the most polite way possible.

The generosity of the Emilys really knew now boundaries; all of them would give up the shirts on their backs and the roofs over their heads if you asked nice enough. Sam saw that his security measures failed—many children's lives were ruined because of his negligence. If he could make their afterlives better along with Gregory's then maybe he could still manage to sleep at night.

If he found the time...

“Still... You work too hard...,” Charlie said, sounding worried for her brother. He wasn't a young man anymore, and the stress he was pushing himself for just didn't seem healthy to her.

“Charlotte,” Sam told her firmly, there was no arguing with him, he was simply too nice to want to draw that line in the sand. “You are a good sister, but I'm fine. Look at me!”

To which Charlie looked him up and down with wholly unconvinced expression.

“Well that's clearly bull, but I don't want to offend Freddy's sensibilities by arguing,” Michael joked, though there was an edge in the harsh pat he gave Sam's shoulder. “Just make sure you're taking care of yourself, alright?”

“Yes, I would be more than willing to assist where I can as well!” Freddy piped up, feeling a strange twinge of inadequacy. He'd been expected to do so much as the ursine leader of the Fazbear band, and yet now that he was human it seemed like his current existence had devolved into watching over others.

Not that he minded, of course—that'd been his favorite thing to do as an animatronic bear, to look after the children that came to see him. But he just knew he could be doing more...

“Freddy, you're amazing—trust me,” Michael assured, flashing him a grin. “None of us would be where we are right now without you, either. Give yourself a little more time to relax before jumping back in. And you—” He whirled around, pointing an accusing finger at Sam. “—better get some sleep, or I'm going to turn the lights off and sic Moon on you to drag you to the Daycare.”

…That actually didn’t sound too bad.

“Freddy,” Sam laughed, flashing his extended family a tired smile. “If you ever want a job, I could use a new stage director. You’ve got all the cues and controls programmed in your head already so I wouldn't have to train anyone.”

Actually, that would clear up his schedule even more. With the youthful and accusing face of Mike staring him down, Samuel stood and cracked his aching fingers.

“You're right. I'll go hit the hay. Maybe sleep until noon... Day shift should be able to handle the salvage project and get everyone's parts together,” he grumbled in thought. “I hate to send you off, but my manager thinks it's best to sleep before I keel over.”

He laughed, coming around to pat on Freddy's shoulder. Sam would say his goodbyes, and the moment his family was gone he'd exit his office and lock the door behind him. No one needed to see what he was working on in there, and he didn't need the opportunity for someone to come by and mess with his ongoing creations. Sam went down to the Daycare and slid into the ball pit, happy to see the lights were already off and waiting for him.

With Freddy ecstatic at the prospect of working at the Pizzaplex again, the family set off for the hotel in high spirits. There they would get a multitude of plates piled high with waffles and laugh the rest of the night away until they drifted off to sleep one by one, safe in each other's company.

***

Previous Chapter ~~ Next Chapter (Coming soon)

Looking for more? Check out the Chapter Masterlist on Tumblr!

Or check out the entire Wires that Bind Us Series on ao3!

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tu-es-gegg · 11 months ago

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28 , 32 and 1!

28. Favorite animation(s)

youtube

(i have so fuckign much holy shit)

32. Drop a lore hot take🔥 (Or cold take🧊 who cares)

i can try to name a few

idk if this is a hot take, lmao i think the presidential elections arc were kinda mid in retrospect (this one is kinda hard to discuss because of yknow) but like, at the time it was ok it was enjoyable and there were some good additions to the server because of the end result, but like idk the election debates themselves weren't really fun for me to watch because theres a lot of yelling and ofc irl political theories and influences got roped in because thats just kinda what happens, and thus people there also fought abt it, also like half the candidates say outright they hate the federation and are running for president to WORK with teh federation so like that's not going to go great so idk what was going on, its weird because dsmp elections i liked but ig at the time theyre weren't taken as much seriously, and the stakes in the elections were not focused on politcal bureaucratic gains and more of personal stakes for a nation itself. idk when i look back at the elections and try to watch back then in 2023, even from gegg perspective i only could stand to rewatch the dinner and everyone hanging out, the actual presidential debates i couldnt BEAR at all. also elq wtf were you going to do with charlie please explain

also i dont understand why doied exists like the only other precursor to that is abuleoier somehow on the island and also having a past with being in prison adn such, but like i was so confused when he appeared like what. i love roier's lore i loved the tape streams, i just wish there was more prep to that, the namemc spoilering and the messages were really clever but i wanted at least SOME hints before doied jsut.... appeared.

uhhh the bobby death should not have been counted its obvious there was lag at the time and other egg deaths because of lag was also not counted, i cant rememebr exactly what happened for them to come to the conclusion of the death but god bobby did not deserve to die, damn you telmex

AND ALSO I WILL SAY THIS, QSLIME WAS AT LEAST A GOOD ENOUGH FATHER TO FLIPPA, MAYBE NOT A GREAT INFLUENCE, he wasn't the best at first is the thing, like yes he did instigate fights and cause a bit of an unstable household because of his very temperamental attitude but when nearing the later parts, he learned the swing of things of being a good enough parent, like he paid attention to flippa's needs, the difficult part of it was communication because at the time they couldnt communicate without the preset signs, instead of the free use of jsut text, it was only later she started using sign for slime, she did with mariana but not yet charlie as much at that point, plus i think there were some issues of flippa understanding charlie just generally (which is fair even i dont understand him), ITS THE THING OF LIKE, he kinda was fumbling at first but flippa genuinely was happy and taken care of by both parents. its was unfortunate that was cut short because of the thing. most part is jsut a bad influence in terms of being selfish and possibly spreading that to flippa but honestly i wish she stuck aroudn logner so i could see that happen GOD;;;; it frustrates me because qslime's path to being a good parent IS RIGHT THERE but when trying to try again he's scared of fuckign up liek everyone tells him and liek that reminder of his mistakes isnt helping him in the slightest to actually trying again, GOD GOD:;;;;

1. Favorite theory and least favorite theory (If you have one)

ok i like the theory that the federation made the codes in teh first place and then tried to cover up but they came back to get the islanders out any which way they can, then leading to my theory that codeflippa was a real egg at one point because of how the resistance describe her in that one report, not a faulty vode but a faulty egg , so i have reason to beieve she was an egg merged with a code in order to have a stable form the way she is. also that theory that at some point the eye guy started to corrupt codes themselves which is why some codes went rogue against orders from the resistance.

uhhhhh least favourite, idk i dont have any theories i dont like much, mostly because they are kinda convincing, i think i saw maybe a theory abt ll the islanders were experiments from the federation, maybe some select few have fistory but i dont think ALL of them

#qsmp #qsmp ask game #ask #wackytheorist

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dykevanny · 1 year ago

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you asked for asks so-

if you could make one headcanon for each of the major characters in the current FNAF story canon, what would they be?

Each of them…… well here’s some hcs that are real to me :3

I think will and mike are both gay . I think thats a fun headcanon.. except will is super repressed about it and kind of takes out his internalized homophobia on mike? Another complication in their relationship tou know. Mike sorted out all his feelings on his sexuality in his early 20s before sl luckily but still…..you knoww

The ghost kids still act like kids in the animatronics, they don’t trust any adults because of what happened to them. They’re real nice to kids though hehe

the ghosts in general can shift their form a little but have a consistent basic form... Usually a dark, vague form with a bright color to mark eyes/details. For example william as glitchtrap in princess quest.

scrap baby fixed herself up but intentionally left her hair looking a little crazy, she likes it better that way.

alsoooo Charlie in life had a huge interest in clowns (which is why security puppet looks like one) and that rubbed off on Liz a lot :3 hence why Liz liked circus baby so much..

crying child/Evan taught himself to sew to fix his plushies and clothes,, he never wanted to bother mrs afton about it.

mike has sharp canines . Like a fox!!

Henry is also gay fun fact he’s a single dad and adopted Charlie !! He’s also a bear trust me trust me

puppet and mangle are FRIENDS traust meeeeee they hang out in pup’s box sometimes. Spaghetti besties..

Ennard/molten freddy likes collecting old animatronic heads to use as masks for funsies. <3

vanessa . I’ve talked about my hcs for her . But here’s one…. She’s always wanted to make a video game!! She has a passion + special interest in coding and has al;ways loved the way you can tell stories through games. Unfortunately she didn’t get the time to once will started possessing her. She’s working on a game to sort of. Process everything thats happened.

Gregory has discovered post-sb that he likes fashion a lot :3 Cassie inspired this a little

cassie has learned a lot abt robotics in her time post-elevator ending,, she single-handedly fixed the glams and helps maintain the mimic

mimic……i have rewritten it in my head. But i think it has a soft spot for children as a result of being made as David’s companion. Also that guy uses it/it’s i think

roxanne wolf transgender.they used to have foxy but then foxy was like yarghh. I am not a guy. So they rebranded her completely . Hrt hit so hard she’s a wolf now.

glambon was a bit of a gossip i think :)

ummm.also the glams (besides Monty) have faux fur so they’re fluffy…

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shallowseeker · 2 years ago

Text

Dean wants what he can never have...so what's stopping him?

A consideration of Pamela as specter of Guilt in Rocky's roadhouse, SPN 14x10

At first glance, Rocky's bar has got everything: lots of family beer and cheeky references to Dean's pop culture, family, members, and friends.

So, why then, is Rocky's bar so anemic? It's a long way from the swing-for-the-moon El Sol type of contentment shown in Dean's prior djinn dreams. It feels peppy and hopeful through its decoration alone...but in actuality, it feels lonely, scared, and sad.

Dean is a social animal, and this is a bar devoid of people except for a dead psychic, a shady real estate developer, and a handful of enemies. There are no customers.

This Michael is clever. Dean, unlike other soldier-coded characters in SPN, is usually very attuned to knowing "what's real." (Families! People!) He has not fallen prey to frank nihilism or despair as often as other characters, at least not in that existential, what-is-real way. (Usually, his despair is about saving loved ones, or the horror of loss and abandonment.) This time, Dean is broken. Michael crows in triumph 14x09:

MICHAEL DEAN: So I left but not without leaving the door open just a crack.

CASTIEL: Why wait?

MICHAEL DEAN: To break him, to crush and disappoint him so completely that, this time, he'll be nice and quiet for a change -- buried. And he is. He's gone. [ Takes a drink of whiskey ] And now I have a whole army out there, waiting, ready for my command, ready for this. [ Michael Dean’s fingers prepare to snap ]

That explains Michael's choice of illusion here, and it foreshadows the nihilism and break with reality that Dean will experience in seasons 14 & 15. ("His life's work, a hoax.")

Dean is about to lose sight of the meaning of his life and will be set up to bear the ultimate disillusioned-soldier's burden: he will be unable to determine what's real.

Sam and Cas have already gone through this,. In fact, most soldier-coded side characters have consistently experienced this: Bobby, Charlie (not soldier-coded but grief-coded for sure), Benny, Mary, AU!Charlie, etc.

Arguably, Dean has broken with reality only a handful of times, but not to same severity and not with the same level of disillusionment as compared to someone like Cas, who was faced with both moral injury from his superiors in Heaven and a complete psychotic break.

///

Dean's heartbreaking self awareness

I think Dean's actually a pretty astute guy, and when you look past all the smack-talk and the witty one-liners, he's one of the best at reading people. Whereas Sam can at times sound like he's reading from a psychology how-to pamphlet, Dean often more easily navigates when to push and when not to push with strangers. He'll talk down on their level, too, which helps to keep it from coming off too scripted or condescending.

An example is 13x05 Nightmare Logic: Dean starts off quippy to a grieving Sasha, but he quickly builds rapport with her by being present in the moment and not trying too hard to psychoanalyze her. When Sasha says she isn't up for a heart-to-heart, he doesn't shame her. He says Okay. He show similar intuition with Claire Novak.

Emotional intuition aside, Dean's too much inside his own head a lot, too. And his fear of abandonment is crippling. If his rapid-fire speech pattern is anything to go by, I imagine Dean's mind is an equally rapid-fire flurry of intrusive thoughts. I wouldn't be surprised if he's prone to rumination.

His self reflection is a torment. We see this in early seasons and especially in 3x10 Dream a Little Dream of Me, when he meets his dark doppelganger.

And, of course, Dean feels guilty. He feels like everything is his fault because he was the primary "rock" of his family for so long. Sam is his brother but also his child, so he can't quite relate to him normally or always accept Sam's attempts to reach out to him. Furthermore, Sam tends to push when he cares, and Dean doesn't always take kindly to being pushed:

SAM: Dean, like it or not, the stuff you don't talk about doesn't just go away. It builds up, like whatever's eating at you right now.

DEAN: There's always something eating at me. That's who I am. Something happens, I feel responsible, all right? The Lindbergh baby – that's on me. Unemployment – my bad.

Dean often turns to alcohol to deaden the absolute tempest he's got inside. I feel like Dean might not be as robust as Sam is at frank compartmentalization.

///

An endless loop of status quo + threat

Dean has very rarely "completely checked out of the fight." In the dream world of Rocky's Bar, Dean has retired Baby, but there's still a horrible storm raging outside. Interestingly, Dean doesn't actually go out in the storm in 14x10; Pamela does. Her recounting of the outing feels stressful, like people are panic buying in preparation for an approaching disaster:

PAMELA: Everybody's shopping at the store like it's the End Days. The milk and bread aisles were a war zone. But I battled through it all for your stupid bag of limes.

Dean is no longer one who braves the storm; so, he's trying to be a shelter from the storm. He's checked out of the fight.

Dean's mind resolves the need to face the storm by mentally assuring himself that the burden of hunting is shouldered by trusted, competent, strong family members: Sam and Cas. Dean wants to be a safe harbor, but he's also hiding from the storm and drowning himself in booze (his preferred coping mechanism). Here, the beer isn't completely celebratory; it's replacement of people and the deadening of emotions. Michael is still drowning him. There's no Mary or Jack to be seen. It's the stasis of being useful, of being available as safe harbor but keeping everyone at arm's length. It's a bare bones kind of happiness.

Meanwhile, Dean and Pamela fight vampires in an endless loop. This shows that, outside of hunting, Dean struggles to have confidence and meaning in his life. He crows that he's famous:

PAMELA (wiping Deans face) Worst part of working here is having to clean up the blood after some pissed-off monster busts in to kill you.

DEAN (smirking) Well, what can I say? I'm famous.

It reminds me of the distraught high-schooler Dean, insisting loudly that he's a hero in After School Special.

The negative reading is that Dean in Rocky's Bar is checking out; it's a bit similar to Cas in season 7; he also wanted play support and let his trusted companions handle things. The root of it is the shame and crushing disappointment that Dean suffered when he choked during Michael fight. Dean was the weakest link. He failed.

And so, now we find him, happily fighting on the sidelines here, serving as Ellen Harvelle 2.0 with his own Roadhouse. (It's like Sam with Amelia in season 8; it COULD be a good thing if it wasn't representing Sam primarily checking out of his duty to Kevin. The same way Cas hunting in Hunter Heroici COULD be a good thing, if Cas wasn't primarily doing it to escape the consequences of his Heaven genocide. As usual, it's all about the balance, at least in the world of SPN.) Indeed, most of the new side relationships and new roles in season 8 are idealized, fantasy-esque ones, without the baggage characteristic of real-life relationships/jobs. That's on purpose. Season 8 is all about fantasy escapism-idealization, which is what gives it its dreamy, "is it even real?" quality.

On a positive reading, Dean has his own business, and he's putting his own stamp on the family business.

Interestingly, even this dream is under threat...from a shady real estate developer. 14x10:

WOMAN: (looking around the bar) Rocky's looks pretty dead. It's a very generous offer.

DEAN: Well, all the same, this bar? I've never had anything this nice. So that sale that you want so bad, well, it's just not gonna happen.

Only small amounts of happiness can be allowed, and this threat to happiness must exist to make even that small amount seem believable.

///

The Pamela of it all

Is the appearance of Pamela related to Cas? I think Yes. But not in the way you might be thinking. She's definitely complex:

CASTIEL You're just a complex manifestation of Dean's memories designed to distract him.

PAMELA You really know how to talk to a lady, don't ya?

I think her set-dressing, sexual symbolism, and stand-in for potential repression have been discussed to death, so I wanna focus instead on what I think the crux of the issue is: her presence as Guilt. See, it's clear from her words that Pamela knows that *Dean* knows what he wants.

On the surface, she's easy company, requires no explanations, and Dean can flirt with her, despite her not being "what he wants." She understands that, and she won't get the wrong idea. The part most people key into is that, she, Dean's subconscious, she chides him that he "always wants what he can't have."

But what can't he have? Peace. Why can't he have it? Well, lots of reasons. But chief among them is that he doesn't deserve it.

So, Pamela. Why Pamela, specifically?

One, this is what keeps Dean up at night: it's the people he couldn't save. He alludes to this rumination all throughout the series. So, of course, he thinks about Pamela. And Pamela was heartbreakingly angry when she died:

PAMELA: Yeah, I don't. I told you I didn't want anything to do with this. Do me a favor? Tell that bastard Bobby Singer—to go to hell for ever introducing me to you two in the first place.

Two, her blindness is because of what first connected Dean to Castiel. Therefore, Pamela is a reminder of the awful fact that one of Dean's cornerstones of happiness (Cas) came to him through great trauma and evil circumstances, kind of like a Leviathan blossom out of a corpse.

But to Dean, having happiness at the expense of others would make him "like a vampire," leeching life and happiness from the living, and that's uncomfortable. Because of Dean going to Hell and being resurrected, Pamela was pulled into this mess, lost her sight, and died. Cas burned her eyes out, something Cas is also horrified to revisit:

DEAN (looks at Pamela, whose eyes are now pure white) You're blind?

PAMELA Yeah, I've been blind for a while. Thank Feathers here for that one.

CASTIEL That was -- Dean, that was an accident.

Subconsciously, this was on Dean's mind, even before he remembered her blindness. But who is blind to what?

I think there are two layers to this. The first layer is that Dean cannot easily resolve being glad that Cas is in his life with the fact that Cas being in his life cost so much in the first place. The second layer is that Dean has experienced the trauma of being vessel now, and that not only re-contextualizes the horror of Sam and Cas's internal battles with Lucifer, it recontextualizes Cas and the Novaks. Dean was already thinking about these things in the previous episode, The Spear 14x09:

DEAN: [ Stopping Cas ] Listen to me. Michael conned me. Kept me trapped and drowning inside my own body. Now, when you and Sam were possessed by Lucifer, I -- I thought I understood, but I didn't, not really. So, yeah, if we get a chance to trap him, I'll take that, but I won't be truly happy until he is dead and I kill him.

Here, Dean is completely sidestepping the fact that Cas also possessed vessels, possibly all throughout his long life, forcing humans into submission and completely dominating them.

But Dean's subconscious isn't sidestepping it.

Loving Cas often makes Dean willfully blind to what he was, because Dean loves the person Cas has become. That's still a hugely burdensome cosmic horror, and it's been cast into a fresh light.

It's something that Cas struggles with, too, of course. (Indeed, in season 15, that's what the specter of Belphegor is all about; thus the "wearing him like a coat" line. Body snatching and angelic brutality are incredibly underestimated components of Cas's self-loathing. (Even the Empty calls them out in all of The Big Empty scripts.)

From 10x09:

CLAIRE: Why? Like you don’t have it coming? You stood there while this monster took my dad. [She puts the gun down, then turns to Cas.] I used to pray to you, Castiel. Every night. I would beg you to bring him home safe.

CASTIEL: I know.

CLAIRE: You know … My father was a good man. In what messed up world does he have to die and you get to live?

CASTIEL: I’m sorry.

CLAIRE: No. You feel guilty. There’s a difference.

///

From 14x02:

NICK: Castiel, you’re just a stone cold body snatcher. You’re no different than Lucifer.

CAS: I...I need to look in on Jack. [CAS walks past NICK, but stops before he gets to the door] You know, in all my thousands of years, what happened to Jimmy Novak and his family are my greatest regret.

///

I don't deserve to be happy

People struggle to accept their lives when they feel they've committed too many evils to be worthy of actually living it. (Like, that's the whole APPEAL of religion for a lot of folks, you know?) Some people set out to do penance or self-punish. But when does noble penance go too far? How much pain and self-flagellation absolves you of sin?

AMARA: I wanted you to see that the real, complicated Mary was better than your childhood dream because she was real. That now is always better than then. That you could finally start to accept your life. I thought having her back would release you, put that fire out. Your anger.

At the point in the story that Amara says this, she is mostly reacting to Dean's anger and nihilism at being cheated in life, but she has a fair point about accepting your life. (Dean swings wildly in season 15, going from the his more typical early-seasons, "I don't deserve a life, but what I do has meaning," to an embittered "I deserved a better life than this, and nothing matters, not even family, not even saving people; it's all rigged!"

///

For Dean and Cas, I feel like Guilt is largely what the "something I can never have" stems from. It's the deep shame at the idea of being happy, of being selfish, at the expense of the more-deserving others. It's also about being bad luck--about being poison.

Cas shields himself from the weight of his guilt by appearing to be motivated by altruism. He likes to appear as if he's adhering to duty, something that Lucifer and Metatron are both shown to be absolutely bitter with him about. It's also why Jack was Cas's perfect raison d'état to feel good about staying on the earth and existing within a human family. It's more than that, too, but a huge attraction to the idea is exactly that.

From 10x10:

CASTIEL: This isn’t about me.

METATRON: (sarcastically) Of course not. The great Castiel never stoops to such selfishness.

///

Dean's self-worth is so abysmally low, I could chunk out a bunch of examples.

From 3x10:

DREAM DEAN: Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument. (angry) Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?

Nevertheless, throughout the series, Dean is incredibly in tune with his inner emotions. He has mini-crises about what he's willing to do for family, he quotes existential literature, he gives everything for his little brother even when it lurches into parental-authoritarian nightmare. He genuinely checks in on his suicidal war companions, and he showers Charlie and Claire with affection.

He was mentally prepared to say "I love you" to Cas in season 7. He creates a mixtape for him in season 12. He was originally drafted as telling Cas, "You're more than a weapon," in Good Intentions 13x14. He comforted Jack about his nightmares, and in Game Night 14x17 was at first super relieved that Jack was safe, "because he was safe with Mary (from Nick)."

Fuckups aside, I think we shouldn't underestimate Dean's amount of "sitting with the emotions in the dark of the night" type of introspection. I'd wager Dean still thinks about how he is only alive because John is dead. He still thinks about Layla and what happened in Faith--about taking another's heart to live. He even thinks about Adam, but he also feels powerless about a lot of these things.

I 100% think it's possible that Dean was suspicious of Chuck AND Chuck's entire family in season 15. Internally, it was a push-pull war of "Cas and Jack are family," and "Cas and Jack are Chuck's family...is he messing with me? Are they messing with me?"

///

How dare you fall in love when so much bad had to happen for you to even meet

(In a kinder world, you'd have NEVER met at all)

What I'm trying to say with this rambling brain exercise, I guess, is I just think it's more interesting to me personally if the Dean-Cas struggles in latter seasons are more about the happiness they feel they don't deserve. The rest is okay: the stigma of society, or shame for attraction, or a lack of self-awareness, or even the popular 2D bigoted bruhaha depictions of a cartoonishly homophobic John. But I feel like you have to work harder for those when the cosmic horror of existing as they are is already baked into their self-loathing.

I don't tend to view Dean as unaware of his emotions; if anything, it feels like he is psychotically over aware of them. I think he suppresses the expression of them, sometimes, but not the emotions themselves. That's why he drinks as his coping weapon of choice.

If anything, it's Cas that has been trained that angels don't have emotions, and when they very obviously do show emotions (because hey, guess what--ALL angels canonically do), they get compartmentalized. Angel emotions "don't count" as real emotions, because they've been told they don't have them, and because they don't feel exactly like human ones. (It's like a person starting hormones and mistaking a change in the expression of emotions for either an absence or addition of feelings.)

Cas typically solves for this by cloaking his own selfishness in angelic duty, as Metatron and Lucifer so astutely note. It isn't until very late SPN that I'm convinced he is willing to honestly "read" his own emotions at all. Cas has to start loving Sam and Claire Novak and the world to even begin to parse why he's attached to Dean in a more-than-the-charge-I-must-protect fashion. I think this is partially why, in season 10, Cas starts out being willing to kill Demon!Dean in the early part and winds up NOT being able to do so in the latter part.

There's a major shift occurring with Cas in seasons 9 onward. I don't feel like he lost his grace and WHAM he suddenly parsed his own emotions. It takes awhile. He actually MARVELS that he has sharper sense of empathy as late as 9x11.

CASTIEL: You know, old me -- I would've have just kept going. I would've jammed that needle in deeper until you died because the ends always justified the means.

Season 10 deleted scene:

Cas: Glory? Oh, I’ve seen glory. And I’ve seen defeat. But I have seen the glory. I have won epic battles, and I have reaped vast rewards. And none of it has meant as much to me as the relationships that I’ve formed on Earth. Sam and Dean? They are like a family to me. Claire Novak? When she smiled at me? Nothing, no angelic crusade or victor’s bounty, none of that could ever hold a candle to that sweet, crooked smile.

What do you want?

Everything Michael says is opposite. We know that Dean was gutted when Jack died, he was devastated when Sam left him alone with John, and he doesn't want Cas around out of obligation...he just wants him. Michael is The Character that goes around asking people, "What do you WANT?" So, he knows, too.

He's also astute enough to realize that he can't give Dean something too nice, or he'll realize he's in a dream. He can't bury him in trauma, because Dean thrives in that. He also can't bury him in blissful happiness, because he'll clock that. So instead he chooses a low-level, threats-on-the-horizon kind of contentedness--having something nice but not indulging too much.

In fact, in the terminal seasons, Dean and Cas seem low-key aware of how happy they make each other, but they can't LET themselves be happy. It would be selfish to seek more. They can't have it. But not because of what the other feels. It's largely because they feel they don't deserve to have this happiness. In Dean's case, happiness might even be dangerous, an invitation for more death. By the time they're on the cusp of something, The Empty strikes.

From 7x21

CASTIEL We live in a "sorry" universe...I mean, why should I prosper from... your misfortune? [CASTIEL puts down a marker and moves DEAN’s marker back to the start.] But these are the rules. I didn't make them.

And that's a real shame.

#queue #december writings #shame in spn #destiel explorations #for the record i'm not opposed to any of the other readings per se #it can be many things simultaneously #i just feel like the backdrop of the world is brutal OUTSIDE of how they feel about each other #the mere fact they're both EXISTING is a crime #and they're both aware of this

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