I Like Perching Like A Little Bisexual Gargoyle (feardrummed)

“I like perching like a little bisexual gargoyle” (feardrummed)

𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

★ — Gregory snorts, the beginnings of a laugh as the corners of his lips tug upwards half - noticeably. His eyes are bright, dancing with amusement and mischief ; a light that is only just now beginning to come back to them since that night. She's perched precariously on the edge, and without much further consideration Gregory decides he wants to come up too.

"Hold on ——."

All the warning he gives before he starts his climb up, a little bit more of a struggle given how much smaller his limbs are than Ollie's.

( he can practically hear Michael telling him to get down — not that he would listen even if his guardian were there ).

“ let’s go smash some stuff 'til ya' ready to talk, 'kay? “ // bonnie being the cool parent, god bless, asdfghjkl

★ — Peers up at the animatronic rabbit, through a mess of tousled brown - locks that hang across his face, half - obscuring his eyes from sight. There's a tension held through his entire body ( shoulders lifted, his hands balled into fists at his side, jaw set ) that doesn't quite dissipate at the suggestion, but loosens somewhat.

"Really?"

He's surprised, and still hesitant. Surely there has to be some sort of programmed protocol that insists the animatronics try to help kids through their feelings in a healthy, productive manner ; Gregory's not so sure that breaking stuff is healthy or productive, but he can't deny that it sounds like a good outlet frustration, fear, and anger he's been keeping bottled up inside him since that night. He doesn't want to talk about it, and it's hard to believe the words for it all exist even if he did.

A moment passes — it's clear the offer is genuine, as Bonnie doesn't push further. Gregory's shoulders drop, and he lets out a huff of air through his nose.

"Yeah, okay. Let's go smash stuff."

★ — Every moment of time that this interaction stretches onwards feels more precarious than the last — Gregory's heart racing, a heavy, thrumming staccato in his ears, against his ribcage, beating so furiously ( like the wings of a scared bird ) that it's nearly painful ; trapped, trapped, trapped.

This is the edge of a cliff. One wrong move, and everything comes crashing down. Gregory will fall with the rocks and rubble, only to be buried. An afterthought, not even begetting of a footnote in the list of tragedies. Even in his own timeline, there's no one looking for him, no one that cares enough to make sure nothing happens to him. Hell, he'd been living on the streets for a week before he'd stumbled into the pizzaplex, found himself out of his mind and out of his time. Here? There is no one who will care — no one to notice.

Avoiding eye contact ; it's too much, the realization, this horrific game of cat and mouse he's found himself trapped in. All at once he feels much too small, too much of a child overwhelmed and in over his head.

Then Mr. Afton starts laughing, low and quiet but he's so close that Gregory has no choice but to hear. It's enough to snap him out of his head and back to reality ; the sound akin to ice - water being forced through his veins. His eyes go wide.

" i think you don't have any parents. "

It's a familiar taunt, one he's heard dozens of times from anyone who thought he might make an easy target — bullies in the form of other children and adults. However many times he's heard it doesn't make it sting any less, still clouding his reason and rationality as he begins to kick and shift his weight under Afton's vice - like grip, a hand reaching up to claw at the hand holding him aloft.

"Why do you care?! It's none of your business! I'm here and I leave and nothing else matters! Put me down ——! Put me down or I'll start yelling and all the people out there will come in here to see what's wrong!"

𝚆𝙰𝚂𝙽'𝚃 𝙳𝙾𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙽𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝙽𝙾𝙲𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴. . . . perhaps he didn't have to. somewhere within his charming visage is something dark -- somehow simultaneously screaming out both his innocence &. his guilt. to a degree in which if you saw him in the right light, every explanation would fall into place. henry was arrested, first. next he'll be put through the ringer, though he doesn't yet realize this. the police's lack of evidence was shocking enough as it is. confidence not allowing any sort of worry to live outside general paranoia. if nobody found out, they couldn't prove it. end of discussion.

he would not let this little shit be the end of him. pounding, pulsating compulsions pushing blood against veins . . . hearing the rush in his ears, in the twitches of curled fingers . . .

knows better. you think you're safe to put one down &. off they go crying to the police, or their parents. even if this one didn't have parents around, there were many concerned patrons outside ripe for the picking. no . . . he wouldn't go down so easily. needed to be ensured of silence.

" -- quite amusing, yes. perhaps you have." more than you know, little one. more than you know.

his brows were still lowered in scrutiny, lip curled a bit with jumps in twitching fits. the desire to mangle the child's spine is so unbearably hard to control, but he must. cameras, business. it was a horrid combination. besides, it just wasn't right . . . none of it was right, &. it stank like shit &. suspicion.

yet explanation sends his lowered brow in an arch, grey eyes flickering back &. forth over their shared eye contact. however, all of a sudden, all at once . . . features come alive with manic amusement. curling smile like a bow, with dark chuckles slipping from between the cracks in his teeth. "surely . . ." he replies.

"would you like to know what i think? i think you don't have any parents -- whether that means they've croaked, or that they just don't care about you enough to stay sober for an iota of their pathetic lives. now, would i be right about that?" he asks, hoping to use this as a bargaining chip . . . yes, with an eleven year old.

❝ my list of grievances would be about a mile long. ❞

this is also a year old

★ — Head tilts, his nose scrunching up in some kind of distaste. It's obvious he's going to retort before he even opens his mouth.

"S'that why you've been hanging around this place longer than I've been alive? At some point it just kinda feels like you're torturing yourself, if you hate it so much."

Style Swap!

profoundly normal about guardian / charge relationships in horror media . love when two characters are sent through the maws of hell and one feels desperately responsible for the younger, be it for an actual personal connection or a sense of obligation. when the protector knows they can try to take the brunt of the situation, try to shield the younger as best they can, but they cannot take them away or will this to not be happening. there is no savior, only a companion. only comfort. but it's not enough to keep the monsters away, not entirely. the only way out of the fire is through, and the protector will make goddamn sure the charge makes it.