* VERSE / I'll Be Running Into Murky Waters. ) - Tumblr Posts

tag drop - verses

💨 (i'll accept burntrap holding him by the scruff or william plucking local homeless child from ball-pit)

send 💨 to put my muse in air jail bonus points if you add a reason

★ — Gregory yelps as he's lifted into the air ( a rather undignified, embarrassing sound that makes him seem much more like the child he is ), helpless wriggling in an attempt to get his assailant to drop him. Of course, it has an inconsequential effect — he's just too little.

His uncoordinated flailing begins to slow down after a long moment, as the initial panic begins to pass and he actually looks towards the man that grabbed hold of him, seeing one William Afton.

Uh oh.

Panicked gaze immediately scans the surroundings ( looking for anyone he could run to, anywhere he could hide ), quick before turning his attention sheepishly back to the man currently holding him like he's nothing more than a stray pest in the establishment. At least Gregory has the common sense to not meet his eyes with the stubborn defiance he feels swelling in his chest, instead hoping he'll be able to play this off as a clueless interaction.

( he doesn't have any proof the william's the center of all of this, and yet .... something tells him he needs to get away as soon as he possibly can ).

" I — uh — sorry, I was just ... curious, about the backrooms. I thought maybe this is ——, where you guys kept the birthday cakes."

where did you get that ? (ballpit / will)

◜ 𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ◞ : a collection of prompts from the 2023 animated film 𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐀 based off the graphic novel by nd stevenson .

★ — The sudden question causes Gregory to freeze — a deer in the headlights. Veins feel as though ice is suddenly coursing through them, heart lurching into his throat, overcome with a vague panic that he forces himself to swallow down.

He's come to hate being singled out by an adult in his own time, would much rather be left entirely alone than the punishments he almost never deserves that he's come to associate those moments with. Here, in this now, it feels far more dangerous than it ever has before. He's out of place ( out of his own time ), and all it would take is one person to pay him more than a sparing glance, to actually pay attention to him to grow suspicious.

"Its ——. I- I just found it."

Imperceptible wince as he speaks ( he can feel his throat starting to close up, struggling to force the words out ), but he pushes himself to keep going. To keep up the act.

"Is, uh — is something wrong?"

★ — The way in which he's currently being held ( several feet off the ground at that ) makes it impossible for Gregory to escape the man's cold scrutiny. Even so, the boy finds he's subconsciously curling in on himself, arms pulled in towards his chest, legs curled beneath him and shoulders rounding forward as his head practically ducks down into his neck — making himself as small as possible, as if a meek, mild mannered response might aid him somehow.

( he's long since learned that when adults are angry, it's best to keep to yourself as much as possible, lest you make things worse for yourself by talking back. even if he didn't follow his own advice often ).

Gregory feels like a mouse who was smart enough to avoid the trap itself, but not clever enough to look for the thing that set it out in the first place.

He doesn't know. He doesn't know — and that's the scary part. There's still so much that remains unanswered, too many possibilities beyond Gregory's certainty that someone close to the Fazbear restaurants is the start of everything. William Afton had been a suspect, along with what felt like a dozen others.

The man certainly wasn't doing anything to prove his innocence, though.

" .... figured the kitchen would be, uh, too obvious. All the kids would be sneaking in there. But — maybe I got ahead of myself."

Sheepish laugh, and Gregory timidly lifts a single hand towards the man's grip on the back of his shirt, a silent plea to put him down. If he's to be stuck in a predator's den, he'd at least like the opportunity to run.

The question catches him off guard — his parents? Nonexistent, even in his own time. Shock flickers into his expression only for a brief moment ( blink and you'll miss it ). Please, god, don't let him be caught in his own lie.

"They, uh, both work. All day. So they let me come here. We .... live close enough to walk. That's probably why you've never seen them."

𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝, 'round his large knuckles in order to hoist the child up in the air. nobody around. clearly he had to be more careful. children are curious, and who knows whether he would have noticed the break in the wall [...] that which was left out of all building plans.

he doesn't look happy. 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘. fingers tightening around unwashed fabric, as he contemplates. as upper lip jumps. -- his scowling features accompanied by an even lower descent of his eyebrows. though he doesn't look any more than slightly confused, or perhaps annoyed.. further perpetuated as one ridge peaks with a large inhale.

the child is high up off the floor, from the height of william's grasp. what would happen if he just [...] "oh? -- i would have suspected you'd be clever enough to guess the kitchen, first."

he believes the boy as far as he could throw him. that reminds him.. 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎-𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠... but it wouldn't be near as enjoyable. without bonnie. without the knife.

the clatter and chatter outside enough to steal his gaze, whilst watching staff pass by the corridor. will clenches his jaw with a visible wince - expression tightening with the burn of his headache. looking from behind his red-tinted glasses. one hand on his hip, while he shifts his weight.

he twists the child to view him.

the boy suspected him. 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝? sniffing about back here. was that his paranoia talking? or.... "now that you mention it." [...] he tilts his head, with his still bouncing lip tilted the opposite direction. upward into a lopsided, subtle smirk. if he wanted information, he'd just have to play unfair... "--- where are your parents? surely they're looking for you, by now."

★ — Every moment spent within the walls of the pizzeria feels like a carefully composed act. A precarious tightrope that he must walk perfectly. Gregory is to play the part of the wide - eyed and innocent new child, enthralled by the whimsy of the animatronics and oblivious to the dark cloud that overhangs Fazbear as a whole.

But he mustn't be too innocent, fall into the trap of this masquerade he's performing. Cannot afford to let his guard down for even a moment. Lest he fall victim to the very thing he's trying to discover the roots of.

A careful balance. Too suspicious, too unfocused, both run the same risk. And he's already failed at not bringing attention to himself.

That much is obvious as one of the owners comes striding towards him — a man he's ( unfortunately ) found himself already acquainted with. Gregory doesn't trust William Afton, though he can't say he trusts anyone within the establishment at the moment.

( except michael. michael is the only one whose innocence he is assured of ).

Gregory subconsciously shrinks as the man leans over him, letting the wrench slip from his hands with little resistance. The truth is, he had been snooping around the off limits areas ( as he was apt to do ). The tool had been sitting out. Not out of place, per say, but not entirely where it should be either. Gregory hadn't thought before taking it, wandering back out to the main area before he could be caught sneaking about.

"I'm ten, not a baby. I know how to use a wrench."

Muttered response, attempting to duck away from the hand that musses up his hair and swatting vaguely at it. He's too wary to allow such casual contact without a fuss ; though the mention of Michael does cause him to perk up somewhat, a slight hope. Regardless of their slightly antagonistic relationship, Gregory can't help but feel safer around the teen.

"Michael's gonna be there?"

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚢'𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 - it's like william can feel that same ice like liquid nitrogen. [...] crawling through his veins, only to heat up into something he can only revel in.

a child's fear is something he often holds in his hands as of late - can manipulate it like it's made of matter. felt in the tingling of his fingertips even now. [...]

his brows are narrowed, while the side of his cheek pulses on either side. resulting from a steady grinding of teeth, that the man was unaware that he had been engaged in. [...] stopped a bit awkwardly, as he looks over the child. holding the wrench turned weapon, that he'd lashed out with more-recently in anger.

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚞𝚝 -- 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎. compulsions resulting in a need to take out his anger on the one thing he had used to adore in the most wholesome of ways. now turned to bitter hatred. killing his former self, killing michael, killing the children who still got to breathe. all while his own son lies in the solemn grave he drunkenly visits each night on the way home from the bar.

his hair still about his cheeks, hand comes up to push through the strands. as if that re-started time, for the both of them. tilting his head minutely in the meantime.

he starts forward with long strides. loafers rolling heel to toe with each step, laxly and fluidly -- natural.

𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚋𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚠.

"no, not at all. [...] i simply wonder where you might have gotten that from." he half mumbles, bending at the waist to take the instrument from the boy's hand. giving him an off-putting smirk while he gives his hair a ruffle.

"you could have gotten yourself hurt, running around with that."

he stands, tossing the heavy wrench in the air before catching it. still wearing his smug, quirked little grin. a shadow of one, though present nonetheless.

"are you ready to go back, with us? michael should be home from school, if we're lucky enough to be graced with his presence this evening."

POST - IT NOTE (ballpit will)

send “ POST - IT NOTE ” for what my muse would leave yours in a post - it note message !

★ — It's a squarely folded piece of paper, one which the child hands directly to the man. Unfolded, the handwriting is scrawled but still slightly better than one would expect from someone so young. It reads:

' Mr. Afton,

We're sorry we haven't been able to come by the pizzeria ourselves, but Gregory has told us he's been spending time around you. We wanted to thank you personally for looking after our son during the day when we're both so busy. We hope he's not causing you any trouble.

Regards, The Morrows '

★ — Familiar but foreign. This isn't the pizzaplex. At a glance, the young boy doesn't seem out of place, if only a bit isolated, off on his own where he can carefully observe the entirety of the room. But his eyes are wide, almost panicked — heart beating heavy in his chest. He doesn't know how he got here, last he remembers is trying to hide from a white rabbit costume - clad woman. So stuck in his own thoughts ( his own panic ) that he doesn't hear the approach of the golden mascot. Flinches as he comes into view, silent for a long moment before ——.

" —— no they're not."

ONE LINE STARTER! ——— @braveburned / time travel verse

Despite the fact he’s never seen this child before in his life (and he’s fairly certain he isn’t here with parents, or anyone, actually), William doesn’t regret picking this boy for his next remnant experiment; strange as he is, he’s almost entirely alone, and in the case of a missing child?— well, the less people who can report them, the better — and so he crouches down next to the boy now, clad in that costume so similar to the glitch, and offers him a smile of, “Well, hello!… Say, one of your friends was looking for you in the other party room — if you follow me, I can take you to them.”

💬 + rumor has it you’ve been sleeping in the back of freddy’s (…ballpit au)

Send 💬 + a rumor and my muse will react to it.

★ — "And where'd you hear that, huh?"

Never mind the way words set off an immediate panic, doing his best to swallow down the way his heart had practically leaped into his throat and act unbothered by the thought that someone might have noticed him staying behind after hours. It's not like he has anywhere else to go!

★ — Cartoonish tilt of the mascot's head only serves to further unnerve the boy, who takes a step backwards in response — it doesn't do much, there still isn't much distance between him and the rabbit ( still close enough that it would only take one sudden movement for Gregory to be grabbed ), but it rocks his weight backwards as if he's half - preparing to run. His brows are furrowed, frown tugging at the corner of his lips. What an obvious lie. It reminds him of the animatronics calling out for him ; your family is looking for you.

"You're lying. There's no one waiting for me."

Tone is clearly accusatory. ( even if he weren't already on edge, Gregory doesn't trust easily ). His fazerblast is still shoved into his back pocket, and he finds himself wondering if it would do anything against this figure. It didn't against Vanny, but it still might be worth a shot.

"What do you want?"

THIS ONE IS DIFFERENT. EVEN IGNORING THE RESPONSE, WILLIAM CAN SENSE THAT. Perhaps his initial instincts had been wrong: had drawn him over to the boy not believing he’d be the perfect victim but alerting him to some wider problem. Still, he’s come this far now. There’s no harm in trying to convince the kid — no harm at all.

His brow furrows at the boy’s flinch and at the reply, tilting that cartoonish golden head to one side while his dark eyes never leave Gregory’s face. For the kids that know this rendition of the rabbit, they’d maybe be endeared. For anyone else, it’s downright unsettling. “Don’t you know? There’s a secret party happening in the party rooms and your friends have invited you to play with them! With cake and chocolate and all sorts of fun; come on,” William coaxes, layering cheer into his voice he hasn’t felt in a very long time,, “you wouldn’t want to let your friends down, would you?”

why are you in my fucking room

fnaf is a comedy

★ — "I don't know! You think I wanna be in here either?! You're crazy!"

Hissed response — whispering, like he needs to despite the fact that the door is closed.

★ — 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.