#comfrtcrowd

[bravevolunteer-a]

@comfrtcrowd asked: 🎁: for my muse to receive a gift from your muse (maxine,,,, give storebought cookies w a bow on them AHKSDJFSKFJH)

MIKE OPENS THE DOOR about an hour later than he said he would be home. There was a hold-up at work ( his newest job isn't... awful, not yet, but Mike doesn't have the highest of hopes ), and when he finally got out, the biting chill of the snowy weather outside practically froze his car over. He had to turn the ignition three times, adjust the heat over and over, until he could finally lug the car out of the parking lot and down the road to their house. The familiar guilt of knowing he forced Max to stay even longer gnaws at him as he steps inside, spotting her on the couch with the TV on ( it's late, Abby should be asleep ).

The living room looks more alive than usual, at least. Despite the mountain of stress and waves of grief that the holiday season typically brought for him, Mike tried to keep it alive for Abby. Every year, he dragged out the old box of decorations that used to belong to their parents: a flimsy, fake tree that has worn over the years, but still holds a chaotic array of ornaments and lights, a wreath on the inside of the doorway, two stockings ( he never had the reason- or heart- to pull out the three others ), and other miscellaneous things that made her smile. Seeing it momentarily tugs at his chest, and he glances at his watch: it's past midnight, Christmas Eve.

Suddenly remembering where he is, Mike clears his throat, registering her greeting. "Hey, Max." He shrugs off his coat, throwing it onto a hook, wringing his hands. "Sorry m'late, shit happened. Customers were throwing a fit, and the car wouldn't start— ... thanks for staying late, I mean." She had no choice, really, Mike couldn't call. But he appreciates it.

They exchange a few more words, the usual rundown after babysitting, and he's sure she's going to leave... before she hands him something that he didn't even notice sitting on the coffee table. It's a box of frosted sugar cookies— the ones with the sickeningly sweet icing that Abby loves and Mike can't exactly resist either— and despite their simplicity, he's taken aback. "Oh, I didn't..." He didn't get her anything. Mike... only really got as much for Abby as he could, and, fuck, he still hasn't even paid Max for the past few weeks adjusting to yet another job. "You didn't have to get anything for me."

He doesn't think it would be right to reject, either ( it's just cookies, why does he feel so guilty about it? ), so he takes them. He gets paid on Friday, he'll set aside enough for Max this time... and pick up a gift to go with it. "Thanks, though. That's- uh... it's nice of you." He gives a small smile, and he can only hope the acceptance sort of makes up for all he's made her deal with. "Merry Christmas... Eve, I guess. You know what I mean."

[bravevolunteer-a]

@comfrtcrowd asked: 💋: for our muses to share a kiss under the mistletoe FITZ KEES :knife: // festive scenarios

THEY'RE AT A CHRISTMAS PARTY, or rather, a festive excuse to have a party— the only real indications of the season are the decorations hung up in every corner, the spiked eggnog, and the holiday songs spaced between the music. Still, it's the kind of event Michael would usually pass on, if not for the reason behind the slightly intoxicated smile that colors his expression now. Everyone is too caught up in reaching the bottoms of their own drinks to notice the two of them ( except for Annie, whose eyes Michael has caught and tried to shoo away a few times now— he'll apologize later ). It makes it easier for Michael to relax, too, as if he and Fitz are the only ones in the room.

Wincing as he takes a swig after they ventured to the kitchen, Michael shoots him a look that clearly says he did not expect the festive drink to have as much of a kick as it did. "Fuck, that's strong. It's like, 10% egg and 90%... nog? Is that part supposed to mean the alcohol? Why the hell is it called that..." He proceeds to laugh at himself, at least self-aware enough to realize how stupid he sounds, meandering back towards the the real party. But... he decides to linger in the open doorway, leaning back against the wall and turning his gaze towards Fitz again. The kitchen is mostly empty, the kitchen is nice. Lights hang in the window above the sink, the music is softer, and for the first time in a long while... the looming presence of the winter holidays feels a little lighter.

Fitz meets him in the doorway, and Michael almost asks if they should just stay in there, when it becomes clear that he's seen something that Michael hasn't, from the raised brows and slightly-tilted smile ( contained, but amused, also intoxicated ). "What? Do I have nog on my face?" Michael comments, before finally glancing upwards... and then he sees it. Oh.

It's a small garland of mistletoe, hung over the doorway ( a real one— not the mass-produced material with bear faces drawn into the berries that still sits in his fucking home ), and Michael is speechless for a moment. How did he not see that? It's obvious, and as stupid as plenty of other hollow traditions ( he has hazy memories of his parents getting caught under the thing in their living room, when they actually seemed in love... ). No one is watching them, nothing holds them to the garland's silent demands. That thought only makes Michael realize it's all the more reason to follow it. Plus, this isn't foreign to them. They're, well... they're something— they haven't really talked about it. "Well? Can't hurt, right..."

Their lips meet in a rush of heat against the chill, winter air, flooding to his face and flaring through his chest with the stuttering pace of his pulse. Neither of them are entirely steady, the kiss has the subtle taste of alcohol and vanilla, and despite himself, Michael melts into the affection. Eyes still shut, the kiss deepens. He finds Fitz's clothing and intertwines his fingers with the fabric, pulling closer ( the small action, absent of usual hesitance, admits more than he ever says out loud ). A low, content noise hums at the back of his throat, and they break away only for needed air. That might be the most romantic fucking thing he's ever done. He'll blame the dizziness on the alcohol. He almost wants to say something, but more than that, he doesn't want to ruin it, so he just smiles instead, finding Fitz's hand to brush against his own.

[bravevolunteer-a]

@comfrtcrowd asked: "oh, that's blood all right." luciano hours idk // prompts from horror/slasher films

MICHAEL HONESTLY WASN'T paying much attention to it— he haphazardly handled the injury ( more focused on getting the hell out of there than applying a bandage right ), not even noticing the obvious crimson red stain bleeding through his shirt until Luciano points it out. He winces as he notes just how much the blood has seeped through the fabric by now. It wasn't like there was anything he could have done in the moment. And it wouldn't be the first time Michael has had to wash blood from his clothes, but now that he's far removed from the animatronic threats, it's annoying.

"Fuck... yeah, it is—" It's a stupid response ( much less ALARMED than anyone else would be, he's starting to wonder how many similar things Luciano has been bound to notice by now ). "It must've bled through the bandage or something. ... It's fine, just—" ... Michael has no excuse! "I'll handle it."

[bravevolunteer-a]

GRABS HIM. SQUEEZES HIM. shakes him around

YOU'RE SCRAMBLING HIM! YOU'RE SCRAMBLING THE EGGS BENEDICT!

[hitoripiledriver]

@comfrtcrowd asked: miya looks up from his switch and stares at reki for a moment, as if debating how pertinent this information is. obviously it's very important. "you have the same birthday as five nights at freddy's." happy birthday reki.

on his BIRTHDAY?!

Whereas birthdays had once been a solitary affair ( outside his family, of course, who was always loud and rowdy, eager to make a big deal out of a special day ), Reki's slowly grown used to having friends around him who genuinely want to spend the day with him.

Right now, it's just the teenagers of their makeshift little friend group — the adults confined to their average day jobs until the sun starts to go down, and they can all get together for a small celebration at Sia la Luce. Reki had ( predictably ) been the one to suggest a skate around town in the meantime. However, it's the middle of summer and the Okinawa sun is brutal. It hadn't been longer than an hour before they'd needed a quick break.

So they're sat outside an ice cream shop. Langa was currently inside grabbing them all a treat ( as he was the one most in need of a respite in the AC, reki hadn't put up a fight ), and Reki and Miya wait on a bench. It hadn't exactly been a surprise when the younger boy pulled his switch out of his bag.

But — then he says that, and for a long, silent moment all Reki can do is stare at him in vague shock.

" .... I'm gonna pretend you didn't just tell me that. I don't need to know that."

[bravevolunteer-a]

@comfrtcrowd asked: ❛ You think I’m capable of murder? ❜ bonnie. lol // yellowjackets season two sentence starters

"FINALLY, YOU'RE GETTING IT, yes." As overly sarcastic as Michael's tone is, Bonnie seems to have hit the nail right on the head— forgive him for being a bit DISTRUSTING towards the animatronics, it only has to do with the recent strange behavior from most of them and the countless other locations where he did have to fend them off from killing him. Bonnie's discontinued status doesn't help, even if it may prevent him from experiencing the same EFFECTS that the other Glamrocks have endured. It takes more than that for Michael to let his guard down. "Clearly you haven't experienced... what they have-" Similar to Freddy, though Michael can't say he's fully opened himself up to working with the animatronic bear yet. "But one wrong move-" He says, with a pronounced point of his flashlight. "And I'm powering you down again, got it?"

[bravevolunteer-a]

@comfrtcrowd asked: ❛ you owe me a dinner. a very nice dinner. ❜ fitz lmfao // a meme i don't want to go find

"THEN I'M NOT MAKING IT," Michael chuckles, a dig at his own cooking skills rather than any denial that Fitz has a point— all things considered, Fitz has put up with much more than what one dinner could make up for. "You prefer going out or ordering in? 'Cause if I try and do it the stove's blowing up in flames." Their choices may be limited depending on what he can cover with the kind of checks he gets from shitty security jobs, and even though Fitz may have said it in retaliation to his most recent stunt... Michael likes the idea. Something normal, a night where they don't have to WORRY about the trail that Michael can't bring himself to stop chasing down and the ghosts that haunt their pasts.

"... And I'll call out." A bit worried over the idea of the company calling someone ELSE in to fill his absence, but they won't get the chance if he simply doesn't show up. They can go one night without a security guard. Shoving away the lingering thought that he shouldn't allow himself this kind of relief, his expression pulls into a smile "That enough to get me outta your debt?"

[bravevolunteer-a]

@comfrtcrowd asked: “You’re not dead, silly” Bonnie hehe // meme i don't remember

MICHAEL LAUGHS, louder than he probably should with the uncertainty of this area of the Pizzaplex ( and the other animatronics roaming... wherever they are right now ). "Yeah, I'm not." He decides to leave out the resounding 'And that's the problem' that caused his response in the first place— if he doesn't count the current state of his body, Michael being alive is exactly where he had first been clued in that something was wrong. He was supposed to burn among the flames with the rest of them. Michael had no purpose left but to put an end to it— of course his first assumption when he inexplicably returns is that his last purpose WASN'T fulfilled after all.

"Might as well be, though, with the way things are going." Typically, he refuses to elaborate, leaving whether or not he's referring to his appearance or his hopes for the night up in the air. "You're not in much of a better spot here than I am, you know. Something tells me roaming around back here isn't what you were meant for."