It wasn’t often that Scott found himself doubting the word of his employer and the younger paused, mouth opening to question just what William meant before closing after a mere moments hesitation. It really wasn’t his place to question...or doubt anything that those above him might have to say.
It was an odd request; but then...Mister Afton was an odd character.
Not to say there was anything wrong with that! The very same could often be said for Scott; swiping judgemental thoughts away like a cat batting a glass off a countertop.
The man had also said please.
Surely that counted for something.
“--Uh. Y-Yeah. Yeah okay.” A bandaged finger scratched idly at the plaster on his cheek and Scott offered a sheepish grin before making a show of shrugging. “I-Ignore what...Mister Afton? Was there something I was s-s-supposed to uh. Be...taking note of or..?”
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send me ‘ open up ‘ for a drabble of my muse talking about one of the most traumatic memories in their life…
There are moments when the sight of the Spring Bonnie costume that William holds so dear makes him feel like he’s suffocating. Moments where brown gaze can’t help but linger–and the words on his tongue turn to lead, leaving the conversation to peter out on Scott’s end of it.
It isn’t the same suit. It wouldn’t make much sense for it to be (but what would he know?)
But he remembers the likeness that had stood on stage alongside Fredbear.
The rabbit who’s back had been splattered with the very same crimson that had ruined the bear’s golden fur.
That had marred the Foxy mask he held so dear, nearly black against the material once it had dried. That had coated his own hands and splattered against the lower half of his face, exposed when he’d realized just what had started to happen.
Time had moved so slow; but it had also moved so incredibly fast. The rush of noise. The springlocks triggering as his brother’s tears had coated the delicate machinery; loosened by the violent movement as he frantically tried to climb out.
The sound still haunts him. The crunch.
The indescribable horror of a child’s head being crushed in such a powerful grip.
The pure overload of sensory hell that had occurred when everyone had realized what had actually happened. The frantic shouts of his friends; the other masked teenagers all sprinting for the exit, leaving him frozen where he stood. The blur of purple uniforms as employees swarmed the stage, herding people away. Blocking the visual graphic detail with such little success. The steady puddle of blood that had begun to form at Fredbear’s feet as it dripped down. Another stain. Another mark. Seeping into the wood. Down to the tiled flooring.
The overwhelming guilt that had all but consumed him on the spot when eyes had turned to him. Accusatory and demanding.
Why had he done it?
Why had he done it?
Why in the world had he done it?
A prank. A joke. A way to impress his friends. Nothing more!
Hadn’t it been funny? Watching his brother cry? Hadn’t it been funny, giving him a birthday party to remember? Teasing him that Fredbear was going to give him a kiss as they hoisted him up on stage.
A joke…a joke a joke.
Why’d he always have to push so far?
This was beyond hiding beneath beds; beyond ducking next to the cords of the television or the base of their grandfather’s clock to scare him.
Was it worth it? The blood on his hands?
Was it?
A sudden loud snap, near his ear, forced the man back to the present–suddenly aware that his eyes had moved to focus on his one remaining hand, clean save for the presence of bandages looped around the palm and fingers. A point was made to turn it this way and that, making absolutely certain. No blood caked between nails. No smears of crimson clinging to the skin.
There was no stage.
No Fredbear. No birthday party.
No dying child. No fearful teenager.
Only the backroom and William, looking rather unimpressed at Scott’s failure to pay attention to whatever he had been saying.
“–Wha?” Another glance towards the rabbit that William had moved to pointedly stand in front of and Scott shook his head, dragging a hand down his face–trying to discreetly rub the burn of unshed tears away. If William noticed, he didn’t mention them.
“I-I’m sorry, Mister Afton, Sir. I uh. I-I didn’t…I..I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Cows, octopi, genuine love and affection, hugs and kisses, mozzarella sticks, enemies to lovers, kar/ezi, jotaro kujo, my constant need to info dump about nightmare on elm street, the nightmare on elm street 2010 reboot just existing within my proximity, the dark, anything that has to do with back and knee labor, cute skirts, heels, secret squirrel, my mental illness, funko pops, the rum tum tugger and macavity musical number from Cats 1998, seeing untagged chal.astor on my dash, pretty mermaids, the sun, other italians,
12.Do you believe rp’ing a ship adds to character development?
Absolutely !
Characters absolutely can help lead other characters toward development, romantic, platonic, familial, even toxic ships all add to a character’s development.
Outside forces help a character change! Romantic ships are no different. I’ve had plenty of ships where my muse ends up shifting and changing, for better OR for worse!
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💪 💪 i feel like alastor and velvet could be fun rivals 🗡️ 🗡️ or straight up enemies if they get to hating each other enough LOL
Shippy SH
💪 rivals
🗡️ enemies
HONESTLY. I agree LMAO.
Velvet honestly thinks Alastor is REALLY cute and has a weird.. Sorta crush? On him? In the sense of.
She wants to own him like a little doll to play with. BUT!! She respects Vox’s hustle and doesn’t swerve lanes but she appreciates from afar.
So I definitely can see them being rivals and Velvet ABSOLUTELY being annoying and obnoxious to Alastor and just CONSTANTLY trying to push his buttons and vice versa.
They both fucking end up yelling at each other foaming at the mouth I’m sure.
Honestly I don’t think Velvet would even outright try and physically attack Alastor unless he pulled a punch first OR he did something to REALLY piss her off; only reason she’d hold back in the first place is BECAUSE “that’s Vox’s toy and I won’t go trying to break it but I WILL play with it-” so!
