" THERE'S STILL TIME TO CHANGE YOUR MIND. " Mike Knows His Words Are Useless. Wants To Tug His Baseball

" THERE'S STILL TIME TO CHANGE YOUR MIND. " Mike knows his words are useless. Wants to tug his baseball cap down over his face, casting it in shadow like usual, because being so damn exposed like this makes his skin ( what's left of it ) crawl — but this is more important than his self - image. For Vanessa he bares his face whole, displays just exactly what working for his father has done for him. Purple, bruised flesh all over; scars tracking in every direction; perpetual hell, never allowed to die. Pauses in his pacing to turn to her, gaze serious, heated - " When he throws you aside - and he will - this is what you'll end up like. Trust me. " If he can convince her to abandon the glitch; step away from her duties, hell, sabotage them, burn the Pizzaplex to the ground, even . . . Then he'll consider his work half - done. Leave his father to rot without his helper. " Don't let him fuck up the rest of your life, too. " Come on, Vanessa. You're cleverer than this.

@muutos LIKED FOR A STARTER ! — VERSE 6 / VANESSA.

❝ you deserve so much more than what you were given. ❞ from @hazardes !!

THE MAIN STAGE IS EMPTY, FOR ONCE, THE ANIMATRONICS OTHERWISE OCCUPIED. Michael — Mike, he tells himself firmly, though it’s hard to shed his father’s strict dislike for nicknames — chooses the corner to sit anyway, broad back pressed against the thin wall and knees brought up to his chest. It feels a little more bearable like this, everything that’s happened, though the sight of the empty pizzeria while NOT being in the security office is still incredibly unsettling. Not for the first time, he wonders how Vanessa copes with it: and then is instantly reminded that they’ve been in the exact same position. Though his father doesn’t often let him in the pizzeria past closing time unless it’s to keep watch, which he always does from that same office. The sight of the half empty drink can and the faded, festering posters are more familiar and comforting than anything he’s seen here in this timeline […] though the knowledge that the oldest Afton child cannot escape their father in any universe is disheartening.

“I dunno,” he says, evasive, and focuses on twisting the cheap metal ring around his middle finger, unable to look at Vanessa, “I’ve done— I’ve done a lotta bad things. Sure, life was shit, but—”

But he loved me, at least. I don’t know if your father loves you.

It’s complicated. Mike’s eyes burn with it all, though later he’ll blame the stage lights. He’d never believed his father loved him until he’d arrived here, in this timeline where so much is different but so much is the same — no Charlie, but a missing Garrett. No Michael . . . But Vanessa instead. He doesn’t quite know what to make of it all, and sure, things had been awful, but had they been this bad?

In fairness, maybe this is what other people see when they look at him. Isn’t it always easier to see the flaws in someone else’s relationship than see the flaws in your own? Headache forming, one hand lifting to rub insistently at his forehead and sweep away the thoughts and dark floppy hair he hasn’t managed to make presentable in years, Mike continues:

“I got out.” Mostly, anyway. Though his father asks and Mike still comes crawling, switching from thirty-three to thirteen again in an instant at the sound of his father’s orders. When he meets her eyes, there’s an earnest kindness, a world-weariness beyond his years— “You’re still stuck cleaning up after him. You don’t deserve that. When was the last time he even thanked you, huh?”

“YOU SAY THAT LIKE YOU COME HERE OFTEN,” MICHAEL GROUSES, but now that he can see he’s not under attack from animatronics or anything worse, some of the original hostility is leaving his voice, “you make a habit out of scaring security guard to death?”

He’s out of his seat before he can think maybe this is a bad idea, long boring nights alone driving him to offer his hand out to her, just a little awkwardly. Never been great with introductions, especially when he’s already made a dick of himself snapping at this person. “I’m Michael?” He says it like it’s a question, unsure about why he’s even offering up his name. Calling the cops should be his first priority, but . . . Well, he knows they’ll find worse in this place than just an intruder. So that option’s a bust. “Or Mike, whatever.

I honestly don’t get paid enough to kick you out,” he adds wryly. He doesn’t get paid at all — other than whatever less than minimum wage his father, in all his odd sense of humor, finds funny. Last week it had been twelve dollars and twelve cents . . . In cents. “If you show me the window you got in through so I can avoid getting fired for not fixing it, I’ll give you the grand tour before you go.” It’s not like he has anything to lose. The pizzeria is pretty much clean from anything spookier than the animatronics themselves.

Continued | @bitterborne

𝐊𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧. "𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. 𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝."

𝐏𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞. "𝐔𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰. 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡." 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭. 𝐁𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐬. 𝐔𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐎𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝.

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐊𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚, 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐩 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐒𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬.

"𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭… 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐨𝐨…" 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲.

“ i don’t need you to hover, okay? i got it. “ / teen elizabeth

THE WORST PART ABOUT BEING AN OLDER BROTHER IS BEING CHRONICALLY AWARE OF HOW ANNOYING HE’S BEING. When it’s deliberate, that’s alright — flicking hair bands at his sibling or purposely embarrassing her (or terrorising his brother until he sobbed every night and then. And then) but it’s his fussing and mother-henning that embarrasses him now. Being that ridiculously overprotective brother incapable of giving his siblings space, even though he knows how annoying that can be. He’s just used to tragedy by now: tries to cling on to the good stuff, his loved ones, before it disappears.

Still, he removed stiff hands from her shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he mutters, face flushing— “I know you do. I just know that— I worry, Liz.”

Especially now they’re back here: the Circus Baby Pizza sign glimmers down on them and Michael just wants to grab Elizabeth, hold her close, and run while never looking back. The last time she’d been here hadn’t ended well. And, with him under instruction from his father to monitor the place “until further instruction,” he doesn’t imagine anything here ending better. This is still a Freddy location, after all. This is always destined to be a place of tragedy.

Trying to save his own reputation, he scuffs one hand through her hair as he steps away, […] offering her a smirk at his own teasing gesture. It quickly fades as the door unlocks, allowing them both entrance to the complex. “…Y’know you can still go home, right? I can drive you, make sure you get there okay, and just come back here alone. You don’t have to do this.” Resists the urge to fuss over her again, smooth down her hair and fix her collar and promise her she’d be alright. She’s old enough to make her own decisions, though Michael isn’t going to let her out of his sight whenever he’s patrolling. The Fazbear sister location may be unused, a relic of a time gone by, but he doesn’t trust that their father’s work is safe — especially not after what happened last time to his sister.

IT’S NOT THE FIRST TIME HE’S DEBATED TRYING TO KILL HIS FATHER. Not like it’s a frequent thought — for all the blood on his hands, he still shies away as often as possible from the actual killing blow, as subtly as a twenty two year old can be in the face of paternal authority. For the most part, he’s content (ish) by his father’s side. Pleased to have a purpose, satisfied with parental warmth. He has nobody else, and he’s not sure anyone else would be anything less than horrified at his violent ways — why would he kill the one man that accepts him?

And besides, it’s a useless thought. Wishful thinking, whenever his bitter memories from childhood get the better of him, remembering the man his father used to be — because William has long outgrown his humanity, and stabbing him or poisoning him would be entirely unproductive.

…But this might be the first time he’s ever seen his father so weakened.

The command rings in his ears, and Michael jerks towards the shelf automatically, pausing while halfway there. Power: not often he has it unless it’s over him and his father’s victims. Powerless: not often his father is ever even close to it. He’s tempted, just for an offhand moment. To just smash the vials, in one vicious sweep. To make his father say please. Just for a second.

“What did . . . What did they do?” He asks, morbid curiosity settling like a weight over his bones, trying his best and delaying his task. “Holy shit. What pissed you off so much?”

Because it really is a horrific scene: if he hadn’t been so used to blood and bodies by this point, he’s certain he couldn’t have handled it.

     @bitterborne ★ ❛ you’ve lost a lot of blood. ❜

     It is not often that one of his targets would get a solid struggle in, enough to remove all semblance of control of his anger. Hell, this was the first time William had lost all control, enraged by his victim struggling far too much -- reminded him a lot of that boy who broke his jaw. But oh boy, this one pushed her luck. The actions were one thing, but the words were a whole different park.      When Michael finds his father, the scene is far more gruesome than anything before. William breathes are heavy, feeling light headed from the simmering rage and the fact a good amount of blood has been lost in the struggle. What could resemble a human body is torn to shreds, like a wild animal had gotten its claws on it -- all done with the wrath of a god and a single claw hammer.

     Slowly, his breaths grow into something normal, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe some of the blood off his face, “I'm. . . fine. . .” There is a subtle shake to his hands, feeling the fatigue starting to take over. The amount of blood lost would have killed a man, but William still stands, even if on weakened legs.      He gestures towards one of the shelves, “Grab one of those vials, one of the silver ones. Bring it over. . .” It can be felt, the reserves of the remnant inside his body starting to drain. He must replenish it, before it runs dry. How finicky his immortality could be, but it is worth the prices, worth the risk.

Like Real People Do