#michael afton. ic / and through it all the rise and fall the bodies in the streets

[ahsterism]

@velvrose asked: “why do you have that look on your face?” also for tj and michael heyyyy // more random dialogue prompts

"LOOK? WHAT LOOK?" The way Michael abruptly snaps into reality upon T.J.'s question is difficult to miss, already doing him NO favors in the 'pretending absolutely nothing is wrong' department. As if he was doing well there at all— his arms have stayed crossed over his chest too long for someone who SHOULD be the most loud and brash of them all, and it would only take one glance downward for T.J. to notice the incessant tapping of his foot. Fuck, Michael, get a god damn grip already— he has been here for days, at least, he thinks... he has been BACK long enough to see his siblings again, to see T.J. again. Michael Afton has seen the preservation of souls, vengeful possessions, every way in which withering bodies can defy death... and yet he is here, witnessing the world go against every notion about each passing event he's ever had.

Michael Afton is back in 1983.

He checked the date once, twice, TWENTY times over, met with the same answer each time— the indescribable shock had gripped him for the first couple days in ways he can hardly describe. Rushing to the mirror brought skin and bone and heart and lungs catch every quick breath the longer Michael stared back at his unharmed, teenage body. He doesn't... feel very different, he doesn't think. Maybe he is fifteen, just with years worth of memories... ones of the future shoved into his head. But fuck, he remembers it well. Michael has been frozen in time for years now, his life cut short only in young adulthood yet still trudging onwards. Still, his chest constricts with panic atop years-long guilt as he scrambles to figure out what the hell to do.

Awkward clear of his throat, and Michael glances at T.J., though he lets his gaze linger to the side instead of looking his friend directly in the eyes ( even just the thought brings that overwhelming ache of when Michael first saw him again rushing back ). "I was just— distracted, thinkin' about something, I dunno... whatever-" Dismissive wave of his hand, and he shakes his head, leaning back on his heels. "Let's just go back to... what- uh, what are we doing again?"

[ahsterism-aa]

“michael- i gotta know this. you’re not one of those brits who eat beans on toast are you?” michael your love life is in the balance this is LIFE OR DEATH-

@bullybon // go brit boy go

“HOW MANY TIMES do I hafta tell ya- no! Any poor airhead who thinks that shit seems appetizing isn’t totally right in the head, I’m telling you. Pretty much one of the only cool things my old man’s ever done is not feed us cold beans on fucking bread, or whateva’ the hell it is. If anything’s in balance it’s you assumin’ I’d eat this crap! Seriously, man, what did I do ‘ta you? I’m hurt.” Of course he makes it even more dramatic.

[ahsterism]

@comfrtcrowd asked: an  ( accidental / mutually )  drunken kiss . fitz & michael they're stupid (affectionate) // kiss prompts

LAUGHTER FLOATS THROUGH THE AIR as Michael sways slightly in place, fumbling slightly for the coffee table before he successfully places his drink down, dramatically falling back onto the couch with a satisfied exhale... cracking again when his eyes lock with an also drunk Fitz. "What? M'not— that plastered. I only had, uh..." He presses his lips together in thought, before snorting loudly. "Dunno, actually, never mind."

Michael... is hard to categorize intoxicated. Nothing could ever be SIMPLE with him, can it? Even trying to take the edge off, it always seems to come in waves of carefree highs and melancholic lows and anxious middles, something that... before having someone next to him, only ever felt palatable behind his masks and with his distance.

Right now, though, he is laughter and amusement and dizzy smiles. He doesn't care that he lost COUNT of the drinks because the room might be spinning but he can look at Fitz just fine. And he ALMOST doesn't care about Fitz making fun of his word choice... almost. "What?! It means drunk— least I didn't say hammered," The word slur under his breath, and he leans closer with what can only be called drunken boldness. "Whatever, you're just lookin' at me 'cause y'actually wanna kiss me or something-"

Maybe it would have sounded flirtier if he could keep himself together, though the PROXIMITY between them suddenly stands out... and Michael is hit with just how overwhelmingly he does want to kiss Fitz right now. His head is still fuzzy, enough to kick down his nerves and walls and expose the desperate want that pushed him closer and closer until they're inches apart, until that small distance closes.

The kiss is MESSY and uncoordinated with the distinct taste of alcohol, but god, Michael doesn't care— whether it's the drinks or the yearning talking, he feels like he's floating, heat rushing to his face as they... try to steady their drunken selves against each other. He exhales with a stupid smile after they part for air, already wanting to kiss him again. "Called it-"

[ahsterism]

@velvrose asked: ❝ i’m not gonna let anything happen to you. ❞ (tj for michael hiiiii) // hurt/comfort starters

MICHAEL BARELY MADE IT THROUGH THE WINDOWSILL, sat crouched on the ground just underneath where he had come in the room, face pale and eye wide with shock and adrenaline. He hadn't even realized where he was going— felt so entirely SEPARATE from the version of him that took off through his own window, down the sidewalk, towards a familiar house where he knows he'll find something safe not in its entirety but in the face he finds also trapped in a room he can't escape.

He couldn't even explain it to T.J. if he tried. Michael hadn't even SPOKEN with William this time, barely even saw his father's face after he entered the front door much later than he should arrive— that was never anything odd, even BEFORE everything fell apart... before it was just the two of them, Michael remembers the long nights he would stay handling business matters or out drinking when the wounds of their losses were still fresh and bleeding. But the CHILL that his father's arrival sent down his spine this time pushed EVERY one of his instincts to the forefront of his mind.

Last time, he didn't leave, his father caught him on the couch at three in the morning filling the room with a sickly mixed scent of rust and alcohol and potent intimidation that made him feel sick. He beckoned Michael to the basement, to where had been declared off limits since they were KIDS, shuffling through blueprints and scribbled writing that looked almost like chemical solutions and mumbling about how he had finally FIGURED IT OUT... never telling him exactly what 'it' was. 'I could kill you, Michael,' He had whispered. 'You could die over...and over... and you would still be here— how WONDERFUL is that... that there would never be an end? Tomorrow is another day.'

T.J.'s voice pulls him from the memory, and Michael gasps for air again, FINALLY processing the fact that— yes, he did run all the way here, he's in T.J.'s room, he ISN'T there. "It's— fine, I'm fine, it's not— nothin' happened, just-" He pushes the hair from his face— the words feel trapped in his throat. What a selfish asshole he is, to barge in here begging for sympathy but never truly admit to any of it, to drag T.J. into his fire just because he's afraid to burn alone.

"M'serious, my father just got home and... fuck, he prob'ly wouldn't have even come to my room, but I didn't want to talk to him, so...I left." Fuck, it felt so much more terrifying than it sounds. "Thanks— thank you, that— uh... I don't know how t-... it helps. You... you feel safe."

[ahsterism]

Gay as hell to be purple, a color that has historically been associated with the gays. (michael gets to know no peace ever)

WELL... he can't argue with that one ( and enough time has passed along with enough resignation to the fact that he will always be alone in that way anyways that... in a strange roundabout way, he's accepted this part of himself ), but where the hell do they keep coming from with this?

"Yeah, you got me, it's not a skin condition, I just REALLY wanted to be a gross, walking pride flag."

[ahsterism]

@parakosms asked: 013. — Strangle my muse. william @ michael 😌 // violent action starters

NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES he has stepped foot in places like this, it still sends a shiver down his spine with every step. The hallways are dark and damp, lit only by the weak glow of the flashlight Michael clutches to guide his way. On the walls where it shines, he spots decorations— streamers, birthday posters, deflated balloons, crayon-covered paper plates... he only sees them from the light that catches the walls. Otherwise, Michael keeps it positioned forwards, his entire body rigid at the thought of turning to see an animatronic in a room over. Not out of any fear of what they might do to him, not yet, but the fear of what he might find with it... inside it. The pieces had taken a while to put together. Hardly long ago, Michael would have thought it a blessing to be left by his father, craving the freedom and relief he would feel without his mirror-image hovering over him. Turns out the presence doesn't disappear that easily, and relief never lasts all that long.

Delving further into the eerily silent restaurant, Michael runs his hand over his back pockets once more— a handgun tucked in one, and a lighter in the other. He found the gun where he found everything else, stashed away with journals and blueprints and everything that clued him in to all the blood on his father's hands. He can picture his father's stern expression already, commanding him to run. Michael has never been good at doing what he's told.

He finds the man in a back room, forcing the door open with another hand lingering behind, clutching the gun without revealing it yet. "Father..." is all he says when they lock eyes, the same cold, unforgiving stare that held Michael under its thumb for all of his childhood still piercing through him now. He doesn't know what William is doing back here, something to do with tampering in a place neither of them are even WELCOME in anymore. Michael is strikingly aware that he could put an end to it... he NEEDS to stop it all, but it's too easy to freeze when looking at his father feels like staring down the barrel of a gun.

"It's over. I found it. I found everything. I know what you did, and I'm not going t- ah— ah...!" Michael STAGGERS as William's hands wrap around his throat, the action so sudden he didn't have a moment to react before the air was being stolen from his lungs ( almost like, through all this time, he's been looking for the perfect EXCUSE to do just this. as if sucking every last breath of life out of him in that house wasn't enough, it's never enough for William, Michael will never BE enough for him, not until he's choking on his mistakes ).

Michael thrashes against him, but William's grip doesn't let up, squeezing tight enough for him to feel the pads of his dad's fingers pressing rough into his skin. The flashlight clatters against the ground, in favor of Michael trying to push William away from him, no success there either. With every gasp for air, it feels more like his ribcage is CLOSING IN on him, the seconds go by agonizingly slow, taunting him, taking him out, giving him something to cry about— his chest tightens and his lungs constrict, and god, Michael feels so stupid and helpless and TRAPPED.

"A- aah, wh— ... l- l'mme g- agh-" He can barely form words, trembling as he tries to pry himself free, when an instinctual rush hits him and Michael leaps for the only thing he CAN do. He shuffles his hand back around to grab the gun in his pocket, tearing it out and aiming an IMMEDIATE shot at the ground. Whether it hits his father in the foot or not, he doesn't CARE, as long as it shocks him enough for Michael to stumble backwards, banging against the nearby wall and shakily holding the gun out in front of him. "Y'r not getting rid of me th- ... that easily, not yet."

[ahsterism]

gives michael. a liddle kiss on the forehead :)

OH— oh, Fitz catches him by obvious surprise too much for Michael to play it off, so he goes with warm laughter, like something as small as that didn't make his stomach flip. "C'mon, you're blowing my cover here." Confirmed gay as fuck to be a nightguard.

[ahsterism]

gay af to be a nightguard... why are you watching the cameras? you hoping to see men???

DON'T SAY ANYTHING, Michael, remember your karma. "No, I did see your mom there last night, though." Well— looks like some of him still hasn't matured that much.

[ahsterism]

@tragicsongs asked: “how can you stand this place?” (michael for addy,,,bitching abt the franchise hours) // more random dialogue prompts

MICHAEL LAUGHS— the dry and callous kind filled to the brim with sarcasm before he can even put words to his response. Not exactly directed towards the other poor soul working here herself, but the idea that he could even SLIGHTLY stand just one of these places. Michael Afton has hardly been able to stand a single Fazbear restaurant, location, whatever new bullshit they come up with after the last closes down, since 1983. And yet he keeps on CRAWLING BACK, of course this is the endless chase that became his last purpose. She has a point... any sane person would leave his position at the first chance. He guesses he's just well past that point, but hell if he could explain it all.

"You get used to it, I s'pose," is what he ends up going with, shrugging as he adjusts the name tag fastened to the ( obnoxiously— and from the faded grease stains, definitely used ) purple shirt. "I dunno, maybe it's 'cause I don't have to wrangle the kids all day, less to keep an eye on during the night shift." Right, less, if only a handful of killer animatronics count. Michael has been surrounded by his father's business long enough to know he's just playing into their hands by staying quiet, but there's no point in scaring the one on the ( hopefully ) less deadly shift. "And money, s'why most people end up stuck at their shitty jobs, right?"

[ahsterism]

@pyriety asked: for michael, evan or elizabeth? // send my muse two ( or more ) names for them to honestly admit which one they like the most and why

HE SHOULD HAVE SEEN THIS COMING. That doesn’t make Michael any less annoyed ( miserable would be a better word for it, actually ) about the question, though. “If you’re asking who I liked more when they were… it was Liz. Woulda thought that one was obvious.” Michael has had a lot of time to, well, reflect, but he doesn’t have the energy or willpower to possibly get into every detail behind it all, either. “We didn’t get along THAT well or anything, and nothing was ever the same after… y’know, but there were times we did— sibling shit. Same happened with Evan, just…” Less frequently, no one’s fault but his own. “If I had the chance to, I don’t know, do something now, though…”

[ahsterism]

“anonymous” asked: hey michael <3 do you prefer freddy, foxy, chica, or bonnie? xoxo // send my muse two ( or more ) names for them to honestly admit which one they like the most and why.

“CAN THE ANSWER be none?” At this point, he wouldn’t say he PREFERS any of those fucking things, though… he did have an answer in the past, he supposes. “Foxy, I guess. He was my favorite as a kid, always thought he looked cool… and he’s not the worst to deal with.” That’s it, you’re not getting anything else about that.

[ahsterism]

heyyy michael, would you rather genuinely forgive your father for everything he's done or re-murder your brother :)

"WHAT KIND OF fucking question is that?" Michael knows it's purely hypothetical, but that does nothing to stop his reaction to... all of that suddenly brought up to his face. "... You know that doesn't make any sense, right? If any of us are at risk of getting re-murdered here, it's not him..." That part is said under his breath. "God... fuck, I guess— forgive him, if it meant... no, it doesn't even— I can't do that again. No, never, I don't care, my revenge isn't worth his life." It never was. "There, happy?"

[ahsterism]

@faultfatale asked: annie pulls an eyelash curler out of her bag and wields it like a pair of scissors. "i'm coming for you next, afton." // fuck you [curls him]

WITH THE HORRIFIED YELP HE LETS OUT, one would think the threat is something worse than an eyelash curler, but Michael frantically backs away all the same. "No fucking way, you're not sticking that in my eye! Why does it look like a torture device?" Clearly he has no clue how it works— come on, Michael, she's just trying to make you pretty!

[ahsterism]

william through fredbear vc: remove the bees from me mike

MICHAEL STARES AT THE THING INTENTLY, the glazed over look in his eyes slowly shifting to terror. "Whatthefuckwhatthefuck..." It has to be a bad trip, that's it, but... what if there are bees in it- he KNEW it. "Why would I let them OUT?" He pauses... "If I do will you not tell my dad about this-"

[ahsterism]

tag drop pt. 1: misc general

[ahsterism-aa]

ALRIGHT NO ONE PERCEIVE THIS I DON’T WANNA HEAR IT