#not enough bug animatronics. or none.

[springlock-suits]

I should make it a bug

I need to make. A fnafsona. That isn't just Springbonnie

[genuine-wrestleboy]

the attraction (1/2)

words: 5,031

(here on ao3)

It isn’t that you’re easy to scare, no matter what your friends say. So maybe heights make you nervous, and blood, and the concept of eternity, but none of that has ever stopped you. On the contrary, you like it. Love it, even—the adrenaline, the thrill, that tingle down your spine. Haunted hayrides and rollercoasters and horror films, anything that strips away the thin veneer of safety for long enough to get your heart really pumping. That’s why you’d accepted the invitation tonight, even though you don’t know the first thing about Freddy Fazbear’s, or the rumors your friends excitedly discuss on the drive over.

“Wait, there were, like, real, actual murders here?" you ask, peering out the windshield at the grungy-looking building. It's smaller than you'd expected, the neon sign above the doors flickering weakly.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” your friend tells you with gruesome excitement.

You frown a little. “That seems kind of tone deaf, doesn’t it?”

Another friend rolls their eyes. “There weren’t any real murders, it’s–ugh  what's the word? Urban legend. Creepypasta shit.”

The final member of your group cuts the ignition. “If we see a photonegative Foxy I will fully shit my pants, just warning you guys now.”

Your friends laugh, and you turn back to the old pizzeria, something warm and familiar kindling in your chest. Anxious anticipation; the first sparks of fear.

It's a predictable pace from there. You made sure to get here as close to opening as you could, so the line's not too bad, but the tickets are steep.

"This better be terrifying," your friend groans.

"I better be able to fuck Freddy Fazbear himself," agrees another.

"Yeah? Is that gonna be before or after you shit yourself?"

A shrug. "Depends on what Freddy's into."

"Guys, the line's moving." You love your friends, but if you have to listen to another second of this there are going to be very real murders here tonight.

"Ooh, nice, you wanna go first or last?"

You give this question the consideration it deserves. Which kind of scared do you want to be? Do you want to face the horrors ahead and force yourself to push through them? Or do you want the eerie unknown of endless possibility at your open back? Either way is bound to get a scream out of you, which you know is mostly why your friends offer you the choice.

"Last, I think."

"Alright! Get thee behind me, scaredy!"

"Harr harr," you reply dryly.

Single file and giggling, you friends put their hands on one another’s shoulders and shuffle through the blacked-out doors. You follow suit, but the friend in front of you slaps your hand off their shoulder like a bug.

“You know you grab too hard,” they whisper harshly.

“Right, sorry.” You knot your hands into the front of your shirt instead.

It’s a bit like losing a sneeze, at first—tension building and building and then fizzling out into one long, empty corridor after another. Dim, streaky fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting strange shadows in the corners, but there’s not much else for them to work with besides the creepy crayon drawings tacked to the walls. 

Then, slowly, other things start to appear: the rusted skeleton of an animatronic, strung together with wire like the bones of a museum dinosaur; a dark-stained purple vest and bowtie behind a pane of glass alongside a picture of a waving yellow rabbit suit; a skillful reproduction of a red animatronic head with a loose, toothy jaw that your friend tries to stick their hand into.

Somewhere near the shadowed ceiling, a speaker crackles to life. 

“Please don’t touch the displays,” says a muffled, tired-sounding voice.

“Boo,” hisses your friend, retracting their hand. “It’s not like there’s anything else to do. This place is fucking boring.”

The rest of your friends mutter in irritated agreement. You pinch your mouth shut before you can say something you’ll regret. This hasn’t been what you’d expected, sure, and you’re not exactly scared, but you’re definitely interested. Maybe it’s just because you didn’t know anything about Fazbear’s before coming here, but you think if they just pivoted a little and turned up the lights this place could be really cool, part horror and part history.

Or they could've hired some actors or something, you suppose, but that's neither here nor there at this point. 

The next hallway is entirely wallpapered with vintage advertisements and framed posters, faded photographs and glossy magazine pages and a huge full-blown painting of a goofy-looking bear with a top hat and gentle eyes.

"Mr. Fredbear, I presume." As you lean in to squint at it more closely, you notice a newspaper article pasted on the wall next to it, photocopied and blown up in size to make the letters legible even in this near-dark. 

Kids Vanish At Local Pizzeria—Bodies Not Found

Ah, the creepypasta bullshit. Your eyes briefly scan the body of the article. There’s a surprising amount of detail, considering, you suspect, that not many people are expected to read it. A couple steps further along the wall, you spot another article, and you hold your phone up to it for a little extra reading light. You pause for a moment, in case the voice on the speaker has an objection, but if he does it’s apparently not big enough for him to mention it.

Five Children Now Reported Missing. Suspect Convicted.

“...where a man dressed as a company mascot lured them into a back room, eugh.” If they’re giving you backstory now, maybe this is where it starts to gear up, where the story comes in and the scares really start.

“Hey, guys, check this out.” They’ll like this, you think, gesturing them over. You hope so, anyway.  “Guys?”

You look up to another long, empty corridor, and your heart drops into your stomach. Your friends are gone.

Shit, they’re going to be so annoyed if you get yourself left behind. 

You abandon the articles reluctantly and follow the only path until you hit a bend in the hallway. To the left, there's a glass window, and then what looks from here like a dead end. To the right there’s a makeshift plywood door marked Cast Only, but the sign is in rough shape, and the door itself is hanging slightly ajar, like someone has just gone in. 

Feeling a little dumb, you reach out and try a tentative knock. At least if it is actually an employee-only area there might be someone who can help point you in the direction of your friends.

From behind the door comes the sound of movement—heavy, halting footsteps, the beginnings of a cry. Then a sort of wet cracking sound, echoing silence. A thrill goes through you, and you feel suddenly perfectly clear, excitement honing you like a blade. That's terrifying. As you push open the door, you wonder if they only replay the track when someone is close enough to hear it or whether it's on a loop, whether you'd hear it all again if you stayed put and waited long enough.

You pass through into a cold, dank room that reeks of mildew. The only light comes from an abandoned industrial flashlight on the floor, the bright arc of its cracked bulb swaying ever so slightly side to side, as if it's only just been dropped. It makes the room into a funhouse mirror of itself, shadows stretching off in every direction like hungry searching fingers. It also makes it impossible to tell how big the room actually is, the opposite walls lost to darkness.

Fortunately, you’re no amateur, and you know the best way out of a labyrinth. The wall is distressingly sticky under your hand, but you keep your fingertips pressed steadily against it as you make your way forward. The humid air of the room is like wearing a damp sheet over your head, and your skin tingles with gooseflesh beneath it. Everything feels muffled, your own racing heartbeat the only thing your straining senses can detect. 

The flashlight on the floor wobbles one more time and comes to a rest.

Your next step nearly takes your feet out from under you. Your shoe slips on the floor, the surface suddenly slick, and you barely manage to catch yourself on the wall before you go down. You let out a little involuntary yelp of surprise; it sounds like a gunshot in the otherwise silent space. Clapping a hand over your mouth, you stare out into the darkness, still as a startled rabbit. Nothing stirs, but you could swear you feel the weight of someone else’s gaze.

You pause, scarcely breathing, to give your eyes time to adjust, and slowly the floor separates into grimy checked tile and a spreading pool of thick, dark liquid. A little further down, you can just make out the limp shape of a figure slumped in the corner. Curiosity draws you closer, and you pick your way carefully around the blood, leaving shoe-shaped smears around the edge as you go. That has to be a safety hazard, right? It’s amazing that no one has fallen and gotten hurt yet—or sued Fazbear’s Fright, more likely. Maybe they have really good lawyers.

The figure in the corner seems to be a young man, blonde and ponytailed, wearing what looks like a security guard’s uniform. You brace yourself for a jumpscare as you approach.

 Then you see the angle his neck is at. His back is propped against the wall, but his flat, lifeless eyes stare straight up at the ceiling, mouth hanging slack. There’s a faint trace of blood on his teeth, and a great deal more where a considerable section of his shoulder has been torn away completely. It’s an incredible piece of work, but—honestly it’s edging on a little too realistic. A deep, nauseous discomfort settles thick in the back of your throat, and you step backwards, away from the wall and the corpse, and straight into something else.

You turn, hands raised, and look up and up into the grim, grinning face of an animatronic rabbit.

"Hello!" Adrenaline spikes through you, the one-two punch of terror and delight. It’s always made you a little prone to blurting. 

The rabbit stills, one broken ear flopping as the sculpted head tilts slowly to the side. You do your best not to touch the actor as you duck around him and flee in the opposite direction, away from the door you entered through. 

After a moment, you hear him follow, the same slow, metallic footfalls that had enticed you in here to begin with. You feel yourself grin so hard that it hurts; this place is fucking good. 

The beam of the flashlight clings by its nails to a bank of bulky steel lockers near the center of the room, and it’s these that you aim for. They give off a bluish light of their own, maybe not lockers, after all, but some sort of machinery with faintly glowing panels on their pitted faces. You follow the line of them until there’s enough room to go around, and though there are glowing panels on this side, too, the light from the flashlight is all but blocked. You have about two feet of dimly-illuminated floor before the room descends again into utter blackness. Behind you, the hiss and click of struggling hydraulics tells you that the actor in the animatronic suit is closing in fast.

Okay, deep breath. What’s your next move? Fight and flight tangle in your chest, knotting themselves together as effectively as a noose.

“Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run."

You freeze. Horror slithers down your spine and coils cold in the pit of your stomach. How can he do that with his voice? It sounds…shredded, like the throat that produced it barely remembers what it is. Your own throat activates automatically in sympathy.

But he’s singing. You can’t tell what direction it’s coming from, but you can tell that it’s getting closer.

“Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run.”

Two knocks, trailed playfully along the barrier behind you. Then one deafening bang. You jump, the spell broken, all but throwing yourself into motion.

A mitted hand snaps shut around your wrist and yanks you back. Before you can even process what's happening, your back hits metal with enough force to knock the breath clean from your lungs. The rabbit animatronic leers down at you, both long arms caging you solidly in place. Washed in blue, the finer details of his face are lost, but you recognize enough to connect him to the drawings on so many of the posters in the lobby.

“Hello,” says the Springtrap. The smell that rolls out of his mask when he speaks is a bit of a demented touch.

"Oh wow," you breathe. “I didn’t know you guys were allowed to touch us.”

Springtrap makes a gravelly, gargling sound that you realize belatedly is laughter. He leans in, leans down, looming ghoulishly as he stares you down with unblinking interest. His eyes reflect the cold blue light like polished silver, half-hidden by the suit’s heavy lids. You meet his gaze and feel suddenly strangely exposed, like you might as well be standing here in nothing but your socks. Your heart races in your chest, and, humiliatingly, another, lower part of you starts to respond, too.

Lifting one huge paw, the actor in the Springtrap suit runs the pad of his thumb down the side of your neck, and a gasp drops from your lips. The texture of his fur is like greasy velvet rubbed the wrong way, waxy and matted, and you feel the bite of metal as he hooks the digit into your shirt collar and drags it aside. Your skin tingles in the wake of his ungentle touch.

“Can you feel that?" The question bursts out of you like nervous laughter. “I mean, those gloves, do you, are they easy to use? I’m not—I don’t want to seem like one of those assholes who think they’re too good to be scared, I’m honestly terrified, you’re just—” don’t say hot, don’t say hot “—gorgeous.”

Oh god, that is so much worse.

“Gorgeous,” he repeats, and you could swear he sounds amused.

A blush tears its way across your face. “Wait, no, I meant—I mean, I did mean it, I just, mostly I meant that whoever made that suit must be, like, incredible, it looks amazing, I—I am so sorry, I babble when I’m scared. Usually not this much though."

You hear that broken laughter again, and Springtrap reaches and spreads the broad length of his hand along your windpipe. He doesn't press down, but he doesn't have to; one sharp fingertip traces the underside of your jaw, and your breath stutters and catches hard.

"And what if I told you," he says, "that I made this suit?" There’s a grin in there somewhere—you can hear it, even if you can’t see it. There’s also, you think, the hint of an accent, something round hidden in the harsh rasp of his consonants.

"Did you?" you ask dumbly. 

"I did," he confirms. 

"Well you totally killed it. It’s—it must’ve been a real labor of love." Jesus, what has your life come to? You're making first-date small-talk with a haunt actor who has his hand around your throat and you're barely resisting the urge to grind against the seam of your jeans.

"It was." His grip tightens, and you do your best not to go completely boneless against him. You can hear how breathless you are when you speak, but it feels sort of fuzzy and far away.

"It's cool that you get to wear it, too, then. Instead of just, like, watching someone else do it."

Springtrap stills. "That I get to wear it," he says. His voice rests on a precarious note between wistful and annoyed.

 A beat of silence, snapping-tense. He stares at you, thoughtful in a way that doesn’t feel like he’s contemplating your words so much as he’s contemplating you. When he turns your face towards the wall, you let him, swallowing hard against his palm. Hot, foul air stirs your hair as he nuzzles along the juncture of your jaw, your pulse fluttering madly at his fingertips.

“Funny, frightened thing." There's something almost wondering in his voice, almost soft. "What am I to do with you?”

You honest-to-god whimper at that, a thoroughly telling sound you don't quite manage to stifle. 

Springtrap chuckles, rumbling and low. “You seem like you have ideas.”

This might be the most embarrassed you have ever been in your life. Unfortunately, the same could probably be said for how turned on you are.

“Are they, uh, bad ideas?” you ask.

A single trailing finger scrapes itself down your throat, your chest, and the topmost button on your shirt pops free and clatters away. 

“There's a very good way to find out.”

The thing is, you don’t need him to tell you that it's a bad idea, it is an objectively bad idea. He’s a stranger, and you’re in public, and there are—oh god, oh no no. The voice on the speakers, don’t touch the displays, and it’s not that you think Springtrap counts as a display, per se, but.

“Don't they—aren’t there cameras?”

Something about the question seems to strike him as funny. He tilts his head, and you can see the flash of a leer behind his teeth. Another button snaps off with a snk.

“Not in here.”

"Oh," you say.

"Oh," he confirms smugly. 

With a flourish, Springtrap claims a third button, putting your shirt officially past the point of damage that is going to require explaining to your friends later. That, and the red, raised line bisecting your chest, a stinging arrow that leads directly to where his finger pauses with intent between your tits. A low rumble rattles through his chest, the shredded suit honing the harmonics into something snarling and inhuman.

God, you are so fucking wet.

"Fuck," you breathe. You catch yourself pushing your chest forward, tempting his touch like some horny, preening bird. His hand returns to your throat, steady, merciless pressure until your vision starts to soften at the edges.

"Language," teases Springtrap idly. 

"Yes, sir,” you laugh wheezily. You can't help it; maybe it's the oxygen deprivation.

The sound melts on your tongue as he takes your breast in one huge paw, kneading the sensitive flesh experimentally. Heat thrums between your legs, and he hums, pleased, at the needy little noises it draws out of you instead. Despite the hand on your throat, he touches you with this strange, unexpected tenderness, like he hasn’t touched anyone else in a long time. Hesitant. Hungry.

“How refreshing to find someone who knows their place,” he murmurs softly, and, god, that does something terrible to you. You gasp as his thumb brushes roughly over your nipple, once and then again, panting into the stale air as you cant your hips unthinkingly in his direction. He chuckles, rubbing soothing circles against your rabbiting pulse point. “As I thought. You’re just a slut, aren’t you?”

“Hn–!” It hits you like a shock, white heat touching every nerve in your body. Your pussy aches for attention, throbbing and slick and so sensitive you’re pretty sure you could come with a single touch.

“Hm?” prompts Springtrap blithely.

You swallow a moan. “Yes, sir.”

"Good," he says approvingly. His voice is rough as he leans in, "And good little sluts who know their place deserve a reward, wouldn't you agree?"

"Holy shit." If you were any more coherent you'd shove his hand down your pants yourself. "Yes, please, yes, yes, sir."

Mercifully, whatever playful objections Springtrap might have to your language this time don't stop him from obliging. He makes quick work of the rest of your shirt, the remaining buttons sliced apart like butter. The skin beneath them feels burning hot.

This is such a bad idea, what are you doing, are you insane? Are you stupid? Springtrap dips a teasing touch low along your stomach, and you have your jeans undone and around your thighs before your brain even has time to process the thought. He laughs, hooking a claw under the waistband of your panties.

“Greedy,” he says fondly.

“God,” you gasp. Your face flushes with heat, but it’s impossible to distinguish from the heat taking you apart everywhere else.

Springtrap growls and tears your panties open with an effortless twist of his wrist. “Close enough.”

The first hint of pressure on your clit almost makes you howl. You bite down on the heel of your hand, your head hitting the metal behind you with a hollow thunk. Springtrap rubs you in slow, steady circles, watching you raptly with his bright, pale eyes. Pleasure builds fast—you’re already so worked up, it won’t take much to send you over the edge at this rate. His finger eases back towards your eager hole, and you buck your hips forward, a cry falling from your helpless lips.

He presses his fingertip to your entrance. "That's right," he coos sweetly, "Show me how badly you want it."

You know some of those fingers are sharp, you have plenty of evidence on your skin to attest to that fact. It should matter more, probably, but then again a lot of things should probably matter more to you than they do. Right now all you can bring yourself to care about is the slow, ready stretch as you lower yourself onto him, glorious fullness that feels like you've been waiting for it your entire life.

Springtrap allows the movement, following without ever fully removing his grip from your throat. Between his hands, your breath tears into desperate shreds, tight, shallow inhales that leave you dizzy and loose. You roll your hips, pleasure bleeding lazily through you, and it's so good you could sob.

"What a shameless display." His voice wants to be light, but there's a red thread of hunger in it that he can't quite hide. "You'd let anyone have you like this, wouldn't you?"

You keen high in your throat and shake your head, too overwhelmed to form proper words.

"No?" he asks. His thumb grazes your clit, and your whole body jerks at the wave of heat that rolls through you. "You expect me to believe that, with how easily you spread your legs for me?"

You think, giddily, that you might never spread your legs for anybody else again. Springtrap hooks his finger, pressing against a spot that makes you see stars. A moan rises and spills, liquid and sweet, from your tongue, and honestly there’s a chance that you’re maybe also drooling a little, too. He laughs, curves himself to speak directly into your ear.

“Or, let me guess,” he says conversationally, “—is it because I’m gorgeous?”

He punctuates the final word by thrusting another finger into your pussy, and you cling to his arm reflexively as your trembling legs threaten to give out beneath you.

“Ohhh, god, yes.” You’re wet enough that the pain is only an echo, pleasure the screaming constant. He feels huge inside you, like something you’ll never properly recover from, something you’ll need forever. He ghosts brief bursts of pressure against your clit, knowing and cruel, his breath ragged as you fuck yourself raw on his fingers.

“Needy thing, I can feel how close you are, shall I let you come?”

“Please,” you gasp, “please, yes, please let me come.” Everything is swimmy and tingly and sweet, your world reduced to the tight coil of heat in your core and the places where Springtrap touches you.

Sharp fingertips dig into your neck. “Watch your manners, slut.”

Fuck. “Yes, sir, please, sir.” You feel like a match just struck, stuck suspended in the moment before consuming ignition.

Springtrap growls, angling his wrist to slam a thrust home to meet your desperately rocking hips. “Good. You’re so good for me.”

Anything, you think senselessly, you could do anything if it meant he’d tell you that you’re good, and you would, you want to, you—

“Go ahead, come for me, darling,” he hisses, and you clamp your thighs shut around his hand and obey.

Climax consumes you, blissful combustion at last, wrings a hoarse shout from your abused throat and whites out every other sensation in its blazing wake. Springtrap waits patiently as you ride it through, his touch gentling, leaving a litany of little nonsense niceties against your skin as your senses return to you. His fingers slip out of you, soreness already blooming. But bright, giddy joy seeps in to fill your chest, and you laugh, feeling it reverberate against his palm.

“Would it be weird if I asked to give you my number?”

He pets your hip idly, chuckling warmly into the crook of your shoulder, and for a moment you think maybe you’re on the verge of the world’s best and most inexplicable meetcute.

Then you hear the door on the other side of the room creak open. Reality takes you by the shoulders and shakes, and you’d jump back if you had anywhere to go. Springtrap stills, head tilted, listening with an obvious tense recognition. A voice—familiar, the same voice from the speaker, muffled and tired, only now it’s obvious that he’s in the room, and he’s—

He’s calling your name.

“Are you in here?”

You look to Springtrap but he’s just…gone. Without so much as a goodbye, all six foot huge of him, silent as a ghost into the darkness. All the warmth in your body floods away–and you get it, sort of, at least you try to, but mostly now you’re left standing here feeling stupid and—oh fuck. You scramble to get yourself sorted, yanking up your jeans over a cold, uncomfortable wetness and clutching the ruined edges of your shirt together. You turn just in time to see the edges of a light bob across the floor.

“Shit. Shit." He calls your name again, this time noticeably more frantic.

"I'm here!" Your voice is a dry rasp; you clear your throat, not without pain, and try again. "Hi! Here!"

A figure rounds the corner wearing what you recognize now as a security uniform. His hat is pulled low over his forehead, and whatever it doesn’t obscure is covered by one of those paper surgical masks. His light cuts across you; you lift a hand to shield your eyes. He pauses, then seems to start, freeze a little. Then he rushes over to you, pushing his hat back and bending to examine you, half reaching out as he does.

“Please tell me you’re alright.”

“What?” you ask. “I—yeah, of course, I’m fine, I—” You’re probably a little scratched up, but most of that is at least still partially hidden by your disheveled clothes. You look down at yourself, the mess now illuminated by the guard’s cold white light.

You’re covered in blood. Smeared low on your stomach, on your hip, poking suspiciously out from under your shirt. Your hands are tacky with it, too, leaving a trail of smudges everywhere you’ve touched yourself. You pointedly do not check the flies of your jeans.

“Oh, it’s fine! It’s not real,” you tell him awkwardly.

The guard has been made up for the house, and he’s wearing these incredible contacts, black scleras that turn his pupils bright white. They dart over your face with something that feels terribly akin to pity.

“You saw him?” he asks. This close, his voice sounds as rough as yours.

“Him?” you parrot dumbly.

“Shit,” says the guard, glancing away. “Never mind. I, uh, need you to come with me, okay? It’s not—your friends were looking for you.”

“They were?” you ask. You feel sort of stunned, swarming inside like a hive of angry bees, too full of buzzing emotions to hear any one more clearly over the others.

The guard waves a hand in front of your eyes. It’s skeletally bony and painted in bruisey purples, presumably to match whatever they’re doing with the rest of his costume.

 “I think you might be going into shock. Can I touch you?”

You nod. He takes your arm gingerly, and you sort of sag against him, your own weight suddenly a lot to ask yourself to handle. Together, you pick your way back across the dark room—he brings you the opposite way, avoiding his mannequin counterpart—and into the building proper, where he lets you lean against the wall in the dim hallway. It feels cool out here, making you very aware of everywhere that you’ve sweated through your clothes.

“Wait here,” says the guard. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna get you something.”

Something? you wonder, but he’s back almost as soon he goes, tossing you a bundle of fabric. You shake it out curiously. It’s a sweatshirt, faded purple and soft with age, the remnants of white lettering arcing across the front: H-U-R-R-I-C-A-N-E. 

“Thought you might need it more than I do,” the guard tells you. He has a faint accent, you realize, just like.

Just like Springtrap. What’s going on here?

“You don’t care if I get it dirty?” You lift your bloody hands illustratively.

“It’s seen worse,” the guard assures you. Little crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes. You wonder if they’re grey under those contacts.

“Well, thank you. I really appreciate it.” You pull the sweatshirt over your head, immediately relieved to have none of your undergarments a sneeze away from being on display.

The guard shrugs, sweeping his flashlight across the hallway like he’s looking for something. “Least I could do. Do you feel like you can walk?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m—” you flash a thumbs-up. “I’m golden.”

That makes the guard laugh, a hard, cold snort of mirth. He gives you another long look, familiar in its surveying weight. Then he lifts his hand slowly, taps a bandaged finger against a coppery nameplate on his uniform shirt.

“Hi, golden, I’m Mike.”

[hearts401]

Hai :3 do u have any wacky wild michael hcs

oh do i!

both adult and teen. loser has been on my mind again.

He gets super fucking cold for no reason and blamed it on ghosts until after fnaf 6 where he brought it up as a joke and the ghost kids were like "...none of us did that" and now he's convinced theres a whole extra ghost after him. (it was cc he didnt mean to initially but cassidy thought it was funny)

He talked to the animatronics all the fuckin time. like he just. chatted with them. especially the fnaf 2 ones. charlie had to sit there and watch him talk to actual robots thinking they were kids. they werent and she told him that in fnaf 6 because she found it so fucking funny

clumsy as HELL i know that man was banging his knee in the SL vents and swearing under his breath

teen mike was also clumsy. probably split his lip on concrete all the time as a kid.

he was also the kinda kid to say "nah, check this out!!" and wake up in the hospital

this is a gross one but. he dealt with bugs a lot post scoop (especially. flies. and what comes with them. iykyk). he'd come into work on mondays smelling like a can of bug repellant. you wont believe what he showers with instead of water.

He was williams least favorite but they had a weird relationship between him moving out and elizabeths death. like some days william despised him and michael just wanted to blow them both up with his mind and some days he comes home like "Hey mike whats up want some pizza for dinner tonight?" and michaels like "fuck yeah why not."

he's henrys favorite afton as a teen and he knows it. and he uses it. Henry fuckin loved that kid he had the man wrapped around his finger. William also notices it and he gets mad at henry over it.

in relation to that, henry was really gentle with michael which was. not helpful im sorry 😭

mike sleeps pretty casually. hes not a light sleeper but not a deep sleeper. unless hes tired. if he hasnt been getting enough sleep youll know because he sleeps like a ROCK.

he fucking loves italian food. for no reason. he just does

he unironically eats beans on toast. He tried it as a joke and then just. never stopped.

he still has his foxy mask it just doesnt fit him. he tries it on again and it hurts his head

cannot afford to go out to eat often and GOD does he complain about it. he is SO FUCKING LOUD when he complains about it. he wants his takeout man

Loves animals but they hate him. A crow tried to take a bite out of him post scoop once nad he had to fight for his life. bro saw his family for a moment there

he is so polite most of the time but if you talk to him after his shift he'll fuck you up. rudest bitch on the block and he was an asshole teen so he knows how to run his mouth

he plays solitaire.

does not know about the context but whenever hes depressed he says "tomorrow is another day" because time moves on anyways!!!! also idk i think its neat

he ate shit in the middle of his shift once and bashed his face on one of the counters and his coworker found the blood the next day and managed to start a rumor that someone died there until michael came in to work with his face bandaged up.

these are so rambly but funny so im gonna keep going

skateboards <3 totally tried to show off and ate shit until william told him if he went to the hospital again he'd take the skateboard. he still ate shit. just hid it better.

taught evan to do a lot. If he didnt feel like bullying him (for an array of reasons, but the biggest is just. boredom. or loneliness. or a mix) he'd teach him something just because he could. skipping rocks, flying a kite. michael doesnt remember it very well but evan does

cassidy kicked him in the knee so hard he was limping for an hour and so he found the golden freddy suit and kicked it too at one point. she didnt feel it tho. and jumpscared him out of spite.

he loves dogs and once brought evan to see one because his friends were busy and he hates being alone and the dog bit the shit out of evan. foreshadowing.

oh yeah i totally think he gets lonely btw. do not leave that guy alone he will get very sad and pathetic!!!

im capping myself here because jesus christ.

[dandy-dog]

📌🌈🐶☀️

★ SOLAR - 24 YEARS OLD - QUEER - POLYAM - CLOSED - AUTISTIC - GNC TRANS GUY - ALTERHUMAN - WHITE - BRITISH - HE / IT ★

Hey there! My name's Cody, but I generally tend to go by Solar, Ray or Sunny online. That said, you can call me pretty much whatever you want. I'm not too picky. I'm a hobbyist artist, occasional writer and professional dog who's had the misfortune of being on this miserable hellsite (do people still call Tumblr that?) since 2014. I was around before then, but I didn't make an account until that point. My blog isn't strictly NSFW, but I do reblog posts with dirty humour and references to sex. So if you're a minor or someone who doesn't want to see that kind of thing? I wouldn't recommend following me. Want to know more about me or about this blog? You can find more info under the cut! ✌️

The dividers in this post were made by @chocoperrito and you can find them here! ❤

》 WHAT'S THIS BLOG ABOUT, DOG MAN?

I'm glad you asked! This is my main blog so it's generally just a mish mash of all sorts. Anything and everything pertaining to my interests goes here, it's a total free-for-all. That said, you can mostly expect reblogs about queer topics, political and social issues, different media that I like, shitposts and furry art. Lots and lots of furry art. I may occasionally post my own art here and possibly my own writing in the future if I feel confident enough.

》 WHAT ARE YOU INTERESTED IN?

I am, in fact, a human person with nuance so you can argue that no matter how many things I tell you that I like? None of this will even come close to conveying the full spectrum of who I am, so please keep that in mind. I'm more than my interests. That said, it doesn't mean I can't at least give you an idea of the things I enjoy so to name a few things offhandedly: I really enjoy art, writing, reading, poetry, photography, filmmaking, animation, cartoons, video games, RPGs, 3D platformers, visual novels, folk punk music, ska music, 80 and 90s visual aesthetics, bright colours, primary colours, breakfast foods, thrifting, kitsch, antiques, tacky button-ups, animatronics, toy restoration, early 2000s internet, xenofiction, medieval fantasy, lost media, queer history, TV history, film history, furry history (namely the funny animal era and 2000s era), cooking, horror movies, folklore, cryptids, musicals, storytelling, worldbuilding, history, psychology, archaeology, zoology, etymology and space!

》 WHAT MEDIA DO YOU LIKE?

I like a lot of different media and the ones I actively choose to engage with fluctuates pretty frequently, but currently the ones of note are... Pokémon, Warriors, Watership Down, Animal Crossing, The Lion King, Ginga Nagareboshi Gin, Beastars, The Legend of Zelda, Bugsnax, Banjo Kazooie, Viva Pinata, Spyro, Crash Bandicoot, Sonic The Hedgehog, Zero Escape, Ace Attorney, Another Code, Welcome To Nightvale, Little Shop Of Horrors, Ride The Cyclone, Starkid, Be More Chill, Heathers, Cats, Waitress, In The Heights, Silent Hill, Resident Evil, A Nightmare On Elm Street, Child's Play, The Gregory Horror Show, The Owl House, Steven Universe, Portal, Half Life, TF2, HLVRAI, What We Do In The Shadows, Our Flag Means Death, Interview With The Vampire, Doctor Who, Red Dwarf, Scott Pilgrim, Sam And Max, The Good Place, Gravity Falls, My Little Pony, Night In The Woods, Slay The Princess, Dragon Age, Fable and Good Omens! Hyperfixations are bolded, because like it or not I am autistic and that does affect which of these wretched things will get a stranglehold on my attention at any given time 👍

》 YOU'RE QUEER? WHAT ARE YOUR LABELS?

I'm a gender non-conforming trans man. I go by he/him and it/its pronouns and I mostly use masculine terms (man, dude, guy, etc.) or non-gendered ambiguous terms (thing, mutt, dog, etc.) to refer to myself. That said, all this does vary whenever I feel like it and I've got no intentions of trying to mirror cis men. I see myself as a man in the same way Bugs Bunny is a man, masculine in theory but pretty malleable in practice. A man but tilted a bit too much to the left so it doesn't quite fit on the "pallatable for cis people" gender shelf.

My gender is pretty intertwined with my non-human identity; All genders feel like a costume but ambiguously fruity man is the most comfortable one for me personally. I'm a vaguely man-shaped dog thing that's just trying to resemble a person above all else, if we're being entirely honest here.

I use the labels pansexual and queer pretty interchangeably. Gender doesn't really play a part in who I'm attracted to, it's pretty irrelevant and just kind of a neat bonus more than anything. That said? Overall I'm predominantly attracted to other queer people! I do class myself as acchillean because of my attraction to other men but in a non-committal handwave kind of way, considering how weird my relationship with my own gender currently is.

I consider myself as polyamorous. I can comfortably exist in both monogamous and polyamorous relationships but between the two? Up to now I've found the latter is my preference.

Also, I know I don't owe anyone an explanation about my identity. I'm talking about this because I'd like to (queer expression is fun to talk about yippeeee) and not because I feel obligated to. People aren't owed your life story, especially people on the internet ✌️

》 DO YOU HAVE A BYF / DNI?

No, I don't have a DNI. I've come to realise that the culture surrounding DNI lists in online spaces isn't healthy and I'd far rather just curate my own spaces however I feel like it! Not that I wasn't doing that before now but given that? A DNI feels like an unnecessary step that just serves to perpetuate that culture which I don't want to do. The block button exists to be used, I block people wherever I need to for the sake of my own comfort and I recommend you do the same 🤷 That said: I'm a queer neurodivergent leftist. So I have the exact kind of opinions you'd probably expect with those descriptors in mind. All good faith identities are valid, any kind of queer exclusion is bad, bigotry towards any marginalised group is bad. Fascism and capitalism are both poison, cringe culture is dead, do what you want forever so long as it's not hurting anything or anyone and everyone deserves kindness unless they themselves don't show it. Truly some never before heard takes here on Tumblr dot com.

》 WHAT ABOUT A TAGLIST?

Not yet, but I'm slowly working on it. In the meantime? Here's what you mainly need to know. You can find my talking and general shitposts under solar talks, or my art under dog draws. I do have content warning tags! I try to be conscientious and tag anything that I know is a common trigger for people (blood, gore, bones, bright colours, insects, etc) as and where I can. I format all of my content warning tags as "cw //" and then whatever the content of the post is that needs tagged. So for example, if you don't want to see insects? You can blacklist them on my blog using cw // insects and that should stop you from seeing anything with a number of legs you aren't comfortable with. This same format applies to all of my content warning tags. If there's anything more specific you need tagged? Don't be afraid to let me know. I'm happy to accommodate you wherever you need so long as it doesn't infringe upon my right to exist; If it's something that triggers you? Then it warrants being taken seriously.

》 WHO'S THE GUY IN YOUR ICON?

That would be my fursona, Circuit! He is me, I am him, I love showing him off to people so although the art may change? He's usually the face of my online pressence. Here's his current (slightly outdated, whoops) reference sheet that I made for him:

If you're curious, the art of him I have as my Tumblr icon currently (as of February 4th 2024) was a commission I got and is drawn by Pawtastic!

》 WOW, YOU TALK A LOT.

Sure do bud. Thank you for noticing! Want to hear me talk more? Then I have some sideblogs you can check out if you feel like it. fuzzypath is my Warriors sideblog (active) funky-fella is my Bugsnax sideblog (semi-active) canid-canon is my writing sideblog (WIP, inactive) I also have a NSFW sideblog dedicated to outright hornyposting, but respectfully I'm not sharing that here. If for whatever reason you'd like to see that? PM me privately to ask for it and if you're both 18+ (have your age clearly stated somewhere on your blog) and someone I trust to see it then I'll most likely give it to you!

[star-going-supernova]

Could you do a chapter where Gregory is held by knife point by Vanny, Vanessa’s sister, and it’s up to Freddy, the animatronics, and Vanessa to save him, and the reason Vanny kidnapped him was that she was the heir to be the CEO of Fazbear Entertainment?

Here we have tumblr generated prompt number 26! This one comes from Damien M on ao3. I will admit, I took some hefty creative liberties with this one because I wasn’t really sure what Vanny threatening Gregory has to do with her being the CEO’s heir. I also went with my go-to name for Vanny-as-Vanessa’s-sister instead. 

Evil Twin 

Vanessa hastily raised her hands and backed up. “Okay, okay, see? Look, I’m not coming any closer.” 

“None of us are,” Freddy said, solemn and tense, and Vanessa felt awful for him. This couldn’t be an easy thing for Freddy to witness. 

Or herself, to be honest. It was jarring to see your identical twin sister hold a knife to a teenager’s neck. To Gregory’s neck. That was how Vanessa would look if she ever… 

“What do you want, Vanity?” she asked as gently as she could. Her sister had always had a worse temper; they couldn’t afford to set her off. 

Vanity, who was looking concerningly twitchy, sneered at her. “What do you think I want, Ness? I want my birthright that you stole. I’m the older twin, so I should be Uncle Tristen’s heir.” 

This again, Vanessa groaned internally. It’d been a sore point for years, had halfway torn their family apart. “I didn’t steal it,” she said automatically, the argument familiar. “We’re not even the eldest of Uncle Tristen’s nieces and nephews. It wasn’t about being the oldest.” 

“That doesn’t matter!” Vanity shrieked. The knife jerked, scratching across Gregory’s neck, but he didn’t make a sound. His eyes were still hazy from the hit to his head, visibly wandering over the ceiling. He looked just barely able to stay on his feet. “It still should’ve been mine!” 

Guilt weighed heavily on her. Gregory wouldn’t be in danger if it hadn’t been for her. She was a volunteer at the library, part of a mentorship program. It looked good on college applications and it pleased the FE board to see she was involved in the community. She’d been Gregory’s mentor for two years now, since they were eighteen and eleven respectively. Now she was a year away from starting to intern under her uncle, and this late night trip to the pizzaplex was a weekly thing for her and Gregory. She’d promised his parents months ago that it was safe.

She hadn’t expected her grudge-holding sister to show up, and certainly not with a knife. 

They all waited in tense silence for Vanity to calm down a little. She blew out a breath, then turned a too-wide smile at Vanessa. “It should’ve been mine,” she repeated. “So I’m here to fix Uncle Tristen’s oversight.” 

Trembling, Vanessa shook her head. “Vanity… it’s not my choice. I can’t give it to you—”

Vanity’s crazed laughter cut her off. “Don’t be silly, stupid. I’m not here to make an exchange with you. I’m here to make sure Uncle Tristen can’t choose you.” 

Freddy shifted unhappily, just a little behind Vanessa. Foreboding rose up in her. “What do—”

“No one would be willing to trust FE to a child murderer.” Vanity giggled, and that was when Vanessa realized her twin was dressed in Vanessa’s clothing. She was wearing her hair like Vanessa did. Her jewelry, her shoes—it was all Vanessa’s. It really was like looking in a mirror because Vanity had done everything she could to make it look like it was Vanessa holding that knife. 

“How tragic that Vanessa sliced the throat of her own little pet project,” Vanity simpered. “She knew exactly how to bug out the animatronics and shut off the cameras—but she wasn’t careful enough. It’ll only take a few ‘candid’ pictures to convince everyone.” 

Freddy’s jaw creaked ominously, clenched in an effort to remain silent and not make the situation worse. 

“No,” Vanessa whispered. “No, no, there’s—we can, we can talk to Uncle Tristen. We’ll ask him—”

“It’s not enough to just be the heir,” Vanity said. “I want to watch you lose everything.” 

Reeling and terrified and disbelieving, Vanessa shook her head. How had she not known the true depths of resentment her twin had for her? 

“Any last words, brat?” Vanity asked, jostling Gregory roughly. 

“Vanessa really gives you tunnel vision, huh?” he mused. 

“Wha—”

Vanity was understandably cut off when the full weight of Moon dropped from the ceiling and crashed into her. It happened so quickly that she was probably knocked out before she even realized what was happening, completely eliminating the chance of her using the knife. Gregory had tilted sideways with pretty perfect timing, ending up on the floor but otherwise seemingly unharmed. 

Cackling as he raised up into a crouch over Vanity, Moon rasped, “Nighty night.” 

It was all over in less than ten seconds, but it took longer for reality to catch up to Vanessa’s panic-numbed mind. She halfway collapsed right there on the floor, her knees weak with relief. She wasn’t too embarrassed by her reaction, since Freddy’s head literally sparked before he careened unsteadily forward. 

“You have excellent timing,” he said to Moon, his voice only shorting out a little. 

“Yeah, like, the best,” concussed Gregory agreed. “Thanks for the save. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining you up there or not.” 

Moon helped him stand, and Freddy immediately took over, searching for injuries. 

Trying not to choke on relief, Vanessa said, “Freddy—and you too, Moon, depending on how long you were lurking—please, please tell me you have footage of her admitting her plan like that.” 

“I am saving it for the third time to a backup server as we speak, Vanessa,” Freddy said, examining Gregory’s head with a critical eye. 

Gregory caught her looking and sent her a thumbs up. She gave him a thumbs down, making him laugh.. 

“I heard enough,” Moon said. His gravely voice usually freaked Vanessa out a little, but as of sixty seconds ago, he was her favorite animatronic. “I will send along the footage and,” he snickered, “the damage report.” He nudged Vanity with his slippered foot. 

“Get concussed, creep,” Gregory said, flipping off Vanity’s unconscious body. 

Vanessa choked out some hysterical laughter, and she figured he deserved that one. She shakily got to her feet and made her way over to the others. Gregory didn’t even fake groan when she hugged him tightly. 

“Get concussed,” she agreed. “And the upcoming sequel: get arrested.” 

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Glamrock Freddy x animatronic reader

But

It's following the glammike au

Michael and reader could've been together before the scooper incident and died together in the fire, maybe reader also got scooped by some of the minor funtimes (yeendo,bonnet,lolbit,etc).

And then both are possessing a animatronic in the pizzaplex.

Michael being Freddy.

And reader maybe being based off of Lefty, having a bigger chest cavity and having a second animatronic inside them that would be the puppet. (Maybe if Gregory ever climbed inside their chest cavity, the puppet could him to make sure he won't get hurt).

Maybe reader could be the daycare's bodyguard, so they would wear some jester based clothes..?

Anyway, when Freddy kind of realizes of who he is, reader would experience the same realization, (maybe when they are with all of those endos, and reader is just trying to calm Freddy down and they let slip that sometimes they have existential crisis), so then they just have this super soft and sweet moment referring to eachother with their real names while Gregory is just:

"ಠ_ಠ. The hell y'all doing? Who's Michael and y/n? Y'all were at eachother's throats a minute ago, why y'all acting like a old married couple?"

I just really love hurt/comfort fica with couples/friends that were separated for a long time and they just have their own moment.

FINALLY I am motivated to write Glammike content <3

.........

Glamrock Lefty.

Yep. That was you. 

Gregory had no idea you even existed, or that you were the Daycare Attendant’s “bodyguard”. But after he fixed the lights and turned them back on, you suddenly appeared to escort him out, all while Sun reprimanded him for breaking his one rule.

Outside the doors, you were about to take him to the lost and found section when you found yourselves approached by three angry Glamrocks..and a concerned one who called out to him by name.

Obviously you knew something was wrong with all of them. Since the concert, none of them have been acting right. And now they were demanding that you surrendered him despite insisting he was safer in your hands.

Freddy seemed to be the only normal one, but you refused to let go of him. Though there was no more time to argue as the power was being redirected to the recharge stations, and Moon suddenly emerged from the daycare with intentions to take Gregory away from you.

He wouldn’t back off when you ordered him to, which convinced you the boy was in serious danger. 

So you hid him in your chest cavity and took off.

Your small marionette animatronic companion--aka Glamrock Puppet--was also hidden within, but she still provided enough space for Gregory and played some soft music to calm him down. He seemed offended, insisting he wasn’t “a baby”, and she stopped.

This kid was really arrogant. Even moreso after you denied his requests to take him back to Freddy.

“My security protocols won’t allow it.” You simply tell him, despite Puppet discreetly communicating to you that Freddy was the only one not acting strange.

For all you knew, his normally friendly demeanor could be a front. Just like Chica insisting she contacted Gregory’s family even though your database revealed he has no known relatives accounted for. Yet she attempted to lead him astray with that innocent voice of hers.

So when Freddy somehow found you two, thanks to Gregory’s Fazwatch, you’re less-than-happy and immediately interrogated him. You were especially suspicious on why he’d make him infiltrate the daycare for a security pass.

It make sense why this widespread “virus” wouldn’t infect you. Your programming was made to combat bugs like this. But for Freddy to explain he malfunctioned and somehow kicked the glitch out?? It was most unusual and you didn’t trust him at first.

Though after giving proof he’s on your side and that getting those passes was the only way Gregory could safely leave, you finally freed the human and allowed him to go to him. Freddy smiled with relief and waved to the Puppet, who sat curled up inside your chest compartment.

Still, you were wary and decided to join the duo in their quest to escape. Although you were built to keep the Attendant safe from disgruntled parents, protecting innocent children was your priority.

It’s just in your nature.

.............

Your adventures through the Pizzaplex soon landed you three in the warehouse: a place where active animatronics obviously weren’t supposed to go. Yet you refused to let Gregory out of your sights, so you carried him around to give Freddy’s battery a rest. 

When it was safe, you let him exit your chest cavity to look for hidden giftboxes and dufflebags. While waiting for him you gazed at the many endoskeletons hanging on racks, feeling a bit uneasy.

You weren’t meant to see what was down here.

All these metal creatures that framed you, Freddy, and the others lived in this very place. It was bizarre, knowing you used to be “born” as one of these. ‘Was I always like this?’

“They’re all the same.”

Hearing Freddy’s murmur of disbelief, you saw him touch the shoulder of a deactivated endo, watching as it swayed lightly. He started questioning a lot about himself, feeling something foreign in his programming creeping its way out. 

Yet he couldn’t stop his ramblings.

“Have I always been a Freddy? Am I Monty with a different shell? What if I am not the first Glamrock Freddy?” His hand trembled slightly. “Are there more of me at other pizzerias? Do we all feel the same? Am I special? If I am mass-produced..am I still art-?”

“Freddy."

He suddenly felt a gentle shake on his armor pad and he gazed at you, eyes wide. “L-Lefty..do you feel it, too?”

“I know what you mean.” You nodded in reassurance. “I always felt like I was..someone else. That I used to be someone else, you know? Not just another Roxanne or Chica, but..an actual person. The Puppet..she tells me things when I’m in sleep mode. Whispering somebody’s name to me. I don’t see the significance of it.”

Freddy’s ears twitched slightly as he tilted his head. “A name? What is it?”

“[Y/n]. I-I know it probably doesn’t mean anything to you.” You looked away bashfully, missing the flicker of recognition in his eyes. “I’m not sure if it’s a guest we recently met or a new employee, or-”

“No. [Y/n] is a familiar name to me, too. Almost like...the name Michael-l-l-”

Hearing his voice glitch, you turned back to him, seeing him put his hands against his head, like he was in pain. “Freddy? Are you okay?!” You asked in alarm, though you abruptly felt pain in your own head, too, and winced.

Was this the virus finally attempting to take back control? Was it taking advantage of your confusion?

What would happen to Gregory if he found you both like this?

Where is he, anyway?

You needed to find him before-

“[Y/n], wake up..it’s alright. No need to panic.”

The pain stopped.

You felt Freddy’s hands on your shoulders. His voice was no longer his, but one with a soft British tone that was somehow all-too-familiar to you. And you slowly looked to see his eyes now glowing a soft white.

Gasping softly, you smiled. “Michael..is that really you?” Your own voice had changed, too, as you finally recalled who you once were. Yet you didn’t panic. 

In fact you felt...happy.

“Yes, it’s me.” He laughed softly with tears in his eyes. “Thank goodness I found you again. It seems we can’t keep ourselves away from this company.”

“No..no we can’t. We’re too attached to it, even spiritually.” You chuckled. “How did you get to be Freddy while I’m stuck as an upgraded version of a cheap bear animatronic?”

“Heck if I know. At least we’re not walking corpses anymore.” “Michael” took his hands away, though he blinked as you grasped them with your own.

Somehow, it just felt right to do this.

“Yeah, this is a much better tradeoff.”

Indeed, that time when you two were living “skinsuits” was such a distant memory now. But you could never, ever forget the look on Michael’s face when he saw that you met a similar fate as him.

After he didn’t come back home after his final shift, you went to CBEAR to find answers...and discovered a room full of blood and hollow Funtime animatronic shells. 

Then you ended up getting “scooped” by some unique characters like Bonnet, Yenndo, Electrobab, Lolbit and the Minireenas--misfit creations left behind who used you to hide and escape just like their friends did.

As one could imagine, this forced coexistence made your life a living hell, your body violently rejecting them after a week of playing “pretend”. And for a while you thought that was the end of you. Doomed to roam the streets as some eternal punishment.

But then Henry contacted you about opening a fake pizzeria. There, you realized your beloved was there all along. Like you he wasn’t truly alive, though you recognized each other nevertheless and had a lot of time to catch up. 

And, well, the rest was history, with both of you finally putting the horrors of the Fazbear franchise to rest as it all went down in flames.

Yet it rose from the ashes once more and dragged you back from the grave, into an animatronic much like the one designed as a cage for the Puppet. And you were stunned at how much technology has changed after all these years.

There had to be a reason you both only awakened now, but at least you were with Michael again. 

At the moment, that’s what mattered most. Nothing else did.

He knew this too and pulled you into a hug, sighing. It was difficult with both of your bulky frames, but you managed. “I missed you so much, [y/n]. I’d kiss you right now but..that would be kind of awkward.”

“I know, Mikey. I missed you, too.”

For some time, you shared the embrace, completely forgetting about everything else in the world...

Until a boy’s throat clearing reached your ears and you both backed away to see Gregory standing there, dumbfounded. “Uh I’m ready to move on. But who the hell are “[y/n]” and “Mikey”??!” His eyebrows were furrowed with immense confusion. “One moment you’re both fighting over protecting me, and the next you’re acting like...like...some old married couple!”

“Gregory! We’re not old.” Freddy pouted, his eyes and voice returning to normal, as did yours.

“Yes, don’t say such silly things.” You noticed the Glamrock Lefty Fizzy Faz can in his hands and beamed, crouching down. “We’ll explain everything..later. But I’m curious, what does my Fizzy Faz brand taste like?”

Although suspicious as to why you changed the subject so quickly, Gregory decided not to push it. Instead he cracked open the soda and took a sip, humming in thought. “It’s..blackberry. Not the worst thing in the world.”

“Sounds delicious.” You stood back up. “Now let’s go. This room isn’t too..healthy for our programming. It’s best to keep moving.”

Freddy nodded in agreement, letting Gregory climb back into his chest cavity before the three of you ventured further into the warehouse, wondering what else you’ll discover.

Within your suits, you and Michael just smiled. For now both of your spirits will remain dormant, and sooner or later you’ll find out why you were here. 

But for now you’ll take good care of Gregory. He wasn’t about to become another missing child. 

Not on your watch.

[sunny-day-dream]

More DJ??? MORE DJ?????? How about First date with a smooch afterwards??? <3

MORE! There's never enough! ('סּ‿סּ✿)

Pairing: DJMM x Reader

Wordcount: 856

Warnings: None

--

Your first date with the DJ had been…very unexpected.

You’d worked with the Pizzaplex as a janitor for a while by that point, having been assigned to clean the arcade each night after closing. They’d opted for a human janitor for this area due to all the hard-to-reach places and power cables running everywhere- not wanting to deal with repairs if the bots got tangled or stuck.

Originally you’d assumed it’d be a quiet, boring job. No dealing with guests, and you got better pay since you were locked in until 6am along with security.

Win-win!

Boy were you wrong!

Very quickly, you’d become acquainted with the overly large animatronic that ran the dancefloor. He was always so happy to see you of a night, and he followed you around as you cleaned, nodding along as you either carried on a one-sided conversation- or just listened to music together.

You’d developed a crush on the rather large animatronic very quickly, and since the two of you saw each other so often, you were always left walking away flushed and smiling at the end of a shift.

You were positively lovestruck.

So, when you walked in for your next shift, adjusting the slightly baggy jumpsuit they liked to call your uniform, you were rather shocked to see the setup that’d been arranged next to the DJ’s stage.

A small table and a seat, a rather nice-looking tablecloth spread out with a pizza and…were-were those flowers?

Soft music filled the large room as you slowly made your way inside, leaving your cart behind as you looked around.

Even the lighting had been turned down and softened, and the only thing missing was-

The DJ Himself.

Speak of the devil

A large form slowly crawled out from one of the many tunnels lining the wall across from you as if reading your mind, seeming to fret in place before he looked around and spotted you, his face seeming to light up as he waved down to you and made his way over.

You were already blushing, unsure of what was happening as he came to a stop before you, slowly offering you one of his hands as the music switched up again, a romantic, almost slow dance worthy tune filling the room as you tried to figure out what was happening.

“DJ, what’s…what’s all this?”

“Would you like - to dance. with me?” He spoke, words a mix of many different sounds as he almost shyly turned his head away for a moment, offering his hand to you again.

You couldn’t stop the large smile that spread across your face, or the happy laugh that followed as you stepped forward and held one of his fingers between both hands.

His own smile seemed to grow as you did, watching your face intently as he lifted his hand slightly, using the momentum to spin you in place as another of his hands came out to lightly rest a finger on your waist, his body lightly swaying in place as you both lost yourselves to the beat of the music.

“Cute thing~”

--

Everything was a happy blur of good music, good company, and good food- and before you knew it, hours had passed and you were fretting over the fact that you hadn’t even started to do your job for the night.

The DJ just watched you as you did so, apparently waiting for you to speak up as you shot him a jokingly accusatory look, the flowers that’d been decorating the table now held in your hands.

“And you- you giant bug! As great as this is, I need to get to work!”

“Already finished. Didn’t you notice when you walked in~?”

“Huh?”

No, no you didn’t.

“So excited!~ Finished it before you arrived. -Working all day long~”

“B-but why?”

The look he shot you was half amused, half exasperated as he motioned to the setup around you both, then towards the flowers.

“Date niiiight! Isn’t it obvious- wanted you to feel special~”

You couldn’t stop the harsh blush that spread over your face at that, before embarrassedly trying to hide it in the bouquet of flowers as his shoulders shook with laughter, a soundtrack being played from a nearby speaker.

“This was a date? You took me on a date??”

“No shit, sherlock!”

You were lovestruck alright.

And apparently, so was he.

It was pretty easy to tell as you worked up the courage to walk towards his face, reaching out to cradle his large cheek with your free hand as you lent forward and planted a soft, almost non-existent kiss against the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you Big Guy, I loved it…”

It was his turn to try and hide his face now, the whole thing almost glowing red as he heated up, three of his hands quickly moving to shield his blush from view.

“Maybe a little heads-up would be nice next time. I can wear something date worthy instead of this old jumpsuit...”

He just glowed brighter, peeking at you from between his fingers as you grinned up at him, looking so happily flustered.

He’d save that picture in his memory forever.

[isuggestwishcraft]

I have no idea why it hadn't been done yet (because I haven't seen any indication that it was created), so it's my time to shine

Accurate Fnaf sb, or, as I named it, Glitch Breach Au

Basically, It's fnaf. Really just fnaf sb without a change exept tiny little detail

It's Accurate™ duh

Which means that every bug, every glitch and inconvenience, exists

Which it turn means that Gregory had fallen through the floor and been catapulted into space via hitbox glitch at least once

Maybe twice

It really can go both silly and angst ways

The difference between those is How Gregory Dies, because that changes literally everything

For crack it's just like in game: s/o kind of picks up Gregory like an angry cat, swings him a little and goes for a bite- and then he just opens his eyes near last save point

Nice and easy, no pain at all

Angst is... Obviously not like that

Greg feels every bite and scratch on him like a permanent reminder that it Happened. Plus, he gets scars

Many, MANY scars, that mostly hide under his hair (coz animatronics bite his head) and clothes

Even just regular restarts when you can't easily get back to map (que falling under it) are painfully, because Gregory needs to die to respawn, so... Yeah......

Freddy is concerned for the same, but completely different reasons in both versions of this au

"Gregory, I understand that you lived on the streets (because greg obviously told him abt this) and learned many skills in order to survive, but I do not believe that 'riding security bots like go-carts' should be one of them"

The child gets more and more ferral with each respawn

In crack version because of The Great Annoyance, in angst, too, because of The Great Annoyance, but like, angry

(The Great Annoyance in question is William Afton obviously)

For the first, Gregory just like any other player gets tired of maneuvering between bots and wants everything to Stop, so he uncovered the secret, annihilated the bunny pair and burned pizza plex to crisps as per the precepts of Afton family <3

Angst Gregory gets angrier the more truth revile itself, because. "This man is responsible for my eternal suffering? THIS motherfucker, this CORPSE is what KEEPING ME HERE- NO FREDDY LET ME GO I'M GOING TO KILL HIM FOR REAL-"

Also, because I'm a god and can do what I want, both Gregory's find a completely new baseball bat that one of the guests forgot

It also becomes a lethal weapon in seconds

Freddy becomes even more Concerned

Both children can and will clip thought walls if it takes less time than sticking with a normal human path

They also were witnesses and participants to some pretty stupid shit which includes: chika zooming past them not stopping until she hit a wall, security bots getting stuck into the same box 50 times in a row, teleportation but that wasn't that surprising, some of the main 4 glitching enough that their model pose becomes default, loading midsentence, catapulting across the building because walking is for loosers (sometimes literally) and many more

Map is even more useless, but the Map Bot gets scarier each time and none of Gregory's can predict where and when he will appear

With the fact that they both now ins and outs of every corner of this damn place, it's saying something

I suddenly started talking about these children as two separate people so I guess it's two aus now???

Eh, whatever

Angst Gregory knows self-defence against robots as a survival mechanism, crack Gregory lerned it for shits and giggles

Sun/Moon transition at first happens, then it doesn't happen, then it happens again and it's like that until Gregory is banned from daycare. Angst Gregory does not fucking comes back at all

The other one is just unhinged and no barrier can stop him

Vanessa gets killed one (1) time

As a treat

It's a Glammike au

No, I will not elaborate further

Maybe I'm going to add to this later but that's it for now

[fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction]

Aberration Containment

She pulled the face-mask down with a tired sigh that faded into a ruby-red smirk, green eyes glittering at the shimmering light that seeped into the recharge station on the screen. Another successful infusion of Remnant, soon to be complete. Disposing of the remains would be a task for the S.T.A.F.F. to handle for her.

Satisfied with her handiwork, the woman pulled the latex gloves from her hands with a snap, tossing them into the bin by the console. Her fingers dipped into the pocket of her lab coat, emerging with a programming chip that she held up with a derisive glare. Printed onto the glossy black label was a lavender icon in the style of the Fazband insignias, bearing rabbit ears on the head to signify the identity of the software.

She wasn't sure what was causing the programming bug that meant Glamrock Bonnie and Glamrock Freddy failed to comply with her orders fully, but the situation of the previous night was unacceptable.

Roxanne had pinged a child with high intellectual potential whose Remnant could feed into her father-in-law's own and bring him that much closer to full restoration. The child was captured and ready to be delivered to processing, but then it escaped. More than that, the child allied with Glamrock Bonnie and the two proceeded to search for an exit together.

Luckily, they didn't get very far. Monty brought both to heel very nicely and did her the favor of taking the rabbit animatronic out of the picture. Shame the shell was ruined; she couldn't afford to get replacements manufactured now but then it was better this way. Monty could take Bonnie's place in the band and keep a close eye on Freddy to make sure he didn't get any ideas of rebelling as well, and she could take her time parsing through Bonnie's software to see what was causing them to resist her commands.

It wasn't enough that both bear and rabbit couldn't see her in her suit; none of the animatronics or camera systems could. What irked her was them recognizing on some level that the system was hostile to self-awareness from outside itself. The Master File despised peons thinking for themselves.

She tucked the chip into a protective box, pressing it into non-static padding, then closed the lid over it until she heard the satisfying click of the lock. Security Level 10 Access Only.

With Bonnie out of the way and the child soon to be disposed of, all that remained was finishing her work on preparing the two vessels for the Afton souls in need of repair and new bodies. Carefully removing unneeded data from their minds to make way for more useful knowledge and information was going to take some time, but she had all the nights and days in the world to work on them. After all, neither of them had anyone else to report them 'missing' and the guest database had already purged the files of anyone else that had been selected for their Remnant.

A one off occurrence. Just a hiccup in the road to achieving her ultimate goals, nothing more.

[protagonistheavy]

Been watching markiplier's go through the newest fnaf game because Cactus has been watching it. She's pretty familiar with the franchise, but I've never actually played any of the games myself, in fact I've only ever watched the first game... get played by markiplier. So, full-circle.

In any case wow this game seems sooooooooooooooooooo boring. The pacing is just terrible and nothing has worked right in the game to actually create a scary atmosphere. I've noticed this in general that it felt like the series sort of stopped trying to be scary and just be an aesthetically pleasing game that's full of jump scares... and this seems like the real peak of it. All of the animatronics are either too endearing to find scary, or they're sooo over the top in their design to look scary that it just doesn't work. Or they're only around for like, one minute... and then gone.

I mean I guess I am early in this playthrough still, but considering I'm hours in and its been this lackluster, wow. Like, forever ago... the game explained a mechanic about calling the Freddy mech suit over to your location... but then immediately following the instruction on how to do that, Freddy becomes entirely inaccessible... FOR HOURS of game time. Sooo why not wait until the mechanic becomes POSSIBLE before giving it to the player?

And the progression is just all over the place. So many times I find myself listening to Freddy's directions and I'm like, what the shit are you TALKING about. This is hardly an exaggeration of what it feels like talking to him: "I'm sorry, Gregory. But in order to continue, you're going to need the VIP Pass from the door behind me (does not specify which of the five doors behind him he means) which takes you into the laundry room. Use the vents in the laundry room to access the kitchen's bathroom and then take the ladder into the basement, which will grant you level 3 security access to the pizza-making machine, which will give you the VIP Pass." There's NO logical sense of progression, it's just random items located in random places with no rhythm connecting them. And the map design makes this ALL so much worse, the entire layout just reeks of "video game developer architecture" just clearly designed by someone with no sense of how buildings and facilities actually work lol. So almost none the space makes sense in your head, it's so hard to track and wow, I cant believe Mark is giving himself such a hard time for "missing" this one pathway in order to continue... he spent 45 minutes lost, and I cant blame him AT ALL because if this was a WELL-DESIGNED game, the pathway forward would be themed into the map -- you would have lights or camera angles or colors that help guide you to where you need to be. Except this is FNAF sooooo youre just expected to circle around a huge area multiple times until you find the unlocked door....... or, just, the fucking loading zone to trigger the next event lol.

And I cant press enough the fact that NOTHING is scary here. Part of it is because the plot builds NO suspense, it's just unexplained circumstances meant to look eerie and all portrayed from a low POV. But a bigger reason it isnt scary is probably because the horror is just constantly the same. "Don't get caught." That's it. And I imagine this gets better inherently as the plot unfolds, but currently, the only danger, the only spookiness going on... is that things love to grab you by the shoulders. And honestly, since the game is giving me NO other context, all I can assume is that the security is all in the right lol, because it does just sound like a mischievous kid running around backstage. It doesnt seem like anything horrible is happening at all. Why does any of this plot matter.

The humor also takes away from the suspense too. This is something that bugged me a lot of the first game actually, was that the excuse for why all the bad things were happening in an otherwise-standard chain restaurant environment was always "oh the restaurant is just that bad lol, theyre just really bad at being safe and healthy, they have lots of OSHA violations lol." And like they lean on that soooo much in order to deflect any criticisms that would shake anyone's suspension of disbelief. Idk maybe the FNAF universe just isnt for me in that regard, but it's weird that the game is hitting you with these like mostly-comical uhhh yelp reviews? in the middle of all the jumpscare should-grabbing.

Anyway uh I guess the characters are cute and the location itself seems like, fun. Theres lots of cool ideas around here but the execution has not been stellar. Feels a LOT like all they had were cute ideas but no real sense on how to connect things together.

[adobe-outdesign]

Little something for everyone while y’all are in quarantine. Part 2 coming whenever.

Transcript under the cut:

Five Nights at Freddy’s. Where do we even start with this one? FNAF is probably one of the most confusing games out there when it comes to trying to figure out what the hell happened in it. Everyone has their own opinions and interpretations, so I figured I’d provide my own.

Do keep in mind that I’m not going to cover every single part of the lore, as some of it’s fairly self-explanatory. Instead, I’m going to focus mostly on FNAF 4, as that’s where this Gordian Knot of confusion really stems from.

Be warned, this video’s going to contain something truly scary: OPINIONS. [scream effect] Yes, my views on the lore are much different than everyone else’s, so don’t get your springlocks set off just because my theories don’t align with yours. Because for starters…

[Why I don’t think Michael is the brother]

[Mob noises]

Okay, okay, hear me out. Basically, there are two main family in FNAF: There’s the Aftons, comprised of William, Elizabeth and Michael. Then there’s the - is this really their name? Really? okay - Emilys, comprised of Henry and Charlie.

However, in the books Charlie had a brother named Sammy. So the question is, is Sammy canon? And the answer is yes: During Stage 01, we see one of the kids disappear when left alone with Spring Bonnie, which parallels Sammy slash Charlie’s kidnapping in Fredbear’s by William.

This raises another question though: Who is Sammy in canon, then? And I’ll jut outright say it: He’s the Bitten Child. Yeah, I’m kind of amazed more people don’t realize this. The Fredbear Plush is implied to be possessed by Charlie, as its talk about putting the Bitten Child back together parallels the Puppet giving cake in Happiest Day, and the empty girl’s room indicates that the Bitten Child has a dead sister - her being the Plush explains why the Fredbear Plush cares so much about the welfare of this random kid.

Likewise, Charlie and Sammy were twins. The Bitten Child and Charlie have the same blocky sprites, and they both have brown hair and brown eyes.

Most importantly, the Bitten Child is spirited to look exactly like the Puppet. Given that he isn’t the one possessing it, the only way this makes sense if the two were related.

Finally, the Bitten Child freaks the hell out when approached by an employee in a Fredbear suit, and the Fredbear plush says that he’ll “know what happens if he catches you”. Many people believe this means the Bitten Child witnessed the children being murdered, but it’s too early in the timeline for that - Phone Guy says in 2 that the Freddy’s where the murders occurred was shut down and left to rot afterward. The restaurant in 4 is still open, meaning the murders haven’t occurred yet - given some other context, it’s likely they died in 1985.

The only other incident the Bitten Child could be reacting to… would be the kidnapping back in Fredbear’s, where William stole one of the twins while in a Spring Bonnie suit. And the only way he would know about it is if he was there during the kidnapping - which is enough for me to say with confidence that the Bitten Child is indeed Sammy.

Also, Sister Location has a lot of kidnapping references. [I kidnapped you.]

Especially in the Immortal and the Restless. Vlad represents William throughout the games - not dong much in FNAF 1, working the night shift in 2, being in the burning building in 3, and the hidden scene representing Baby not killing Michael who she thinks is William. And what is said every episode?

[The baby isn’t mine]

The baby isn’t his because Sammy literally isn’t William’s child; he’s Henry’s.

However, if the Bitten Child is Sammy, then that means this [Older Brother footage] cannot be Michael.

Now, I know all of you smart people out there are already thinking the obvious: The books are an AU. Couldn’t Sammy be the one kidnapped in canon, thus allowing Michael to still be the Brother? And to that I say: …Yeah. If you want to work with Michael being the Brother, then this is the best way to do it, and it’s entirely possible this is the correct answer. …But with that said, I’m not entirely convinced.

[Why Charlie was kidnapped and not Sammy]

For starters, there’s the simple question of motivation. Why would WIlliam be raising Henry’s kid? Killing kids is kind of his M.O.. Even in the books, he killed the child he kidnapped. The idea of him kidnapping and raising a kid is even brought up in the Fourth Closet… then dismissed because it would be out of character for him, which would be strange if he did exactly that in canon.

As established earlier, Sammy also remembers the kidnapping, which would make it weird if he was the one kidnapped and yet is just allowed to freely wander the neighborhood. What’s to stop him from telling someone else, or even just running away?

Moving on to actual evidence, the map in SL’s breaker room lists the FNAF 4 house and the minigame house as two separate observation areas. This could be to differentiate the two for the player, but I don’t know why they’d be separated in-universe unless they were two separate houses. This would also explain why the living rooms don’t look the same and why the grandfather clock is in two different locations.

Likewise, the Fredbear Plush has either a camera or a walkie-talkie in it to spy on Sammy. However, the private room also reveals that William has the FNAF 4 gameplay house bugged. He shouldn’t need to use the Fredbear Plush to spy on Sammy, given that he can watch him both through the house cameras and the (presumable) cameras in Fredbear’s - unless Sammy is still in Henry’s house, which would force William to slip a camera into the place discreetly.

Speaking of the minigame house, there are a few parallels between it and Henry’s house in the books. The house was connected to an underground location in the Twisted Ones, just like it’s connected to the Sister Location in canon. And one of the rooms contains a tiny toy animatronic - just like the ones Henry built for Charlie in the Silver Eyes.

Continuing on that train of thought, let’s look at that tiny Toy Mangle. Assuming the Toy Chica principle is in place here - that being that the literal toys in this game look the same as the Toy Animatronics - the Mangle here looks like the FNAF 2 version of Mangle, not like William’s Funtime Foxy, pointing to it being Henry’s creation and not William’s. The SL extras even reveal that Funfox was supposed to be purple at first, which doesn’t make sense if it was supposed to match the tiny toy version.

But perhaps one of the biggest pieces of evidence regarding this toy is in Mangle’s Quest. While walking, you can encounter a huge silhouette of the Puppet… which makes Mangle look toy-sized in comparison. This only makes sense if this room was Charlie’s, and the Mangle toy was hers.

This also makes sense considering that Sister Location didn’t exist at the time of 4′s release. Scott claimed you could solve the lore back then using only the first four games, and if this was Charlie’s room, you could do it by combining the knowledge of the Fredbear Plush with Sammy’s missing sister and Charlie from the novels. If this is Elizabeth’s room, the only way that could be would be if it was retconned into place behind the scenes.

Additionally, I don’t think Elizabeth’s death is the correct date for this room to be empty in 1983. Handunit says that CBEAR didn’t open until after Freddy’s closed, as it gave them the opportunity to move into the entertainment space without competition. I’d assume this also applies to the original Circus Baby’s Pizza World, which indicates Elizabeth didn’t die until after FNAF 1. Given that Michael still has eyes in FNAF 1, SL in general had to have taken place after it - it’s unlikely William waited 10+ years to finally send Michael to save her, so her death being after FNAF 1 makes more sense timeline-wise.

Meanwhile, Charlie died in the very first Freddy’s location, before the other murders. HW confirms the FNAF 4 location was this first Freddy’s, meaning that she died in 1983. This not only lines up with her death date in the Fourth Closet, but also explains why the room in 4 hasn’t been cleaned out; she only died recently.

This would also explain why Henry claims that no-one was there to save Charlie. It’s his restaurant; wouldn’t he have, like, been there and been watching her if he was the one who brought her in?

And finally, I do have one massive piece of evidence that I feel proves the idea that Charlie is the one who was kidnapped.

[Chica School Days opening]

I know, I know, stay with me. Each of Toy Chica’s husbandos in these cutscenes represent one of William’s victims and how he killed them, as proven by her talking about running over a dog which aligns with Susie’s death in both Fruity Maze and the novels. There are a total of six people she targets.

However, that’s the thing - there are six victims, one for each of the original five - and the Puppet. That means Charlie’s death has to be included in here. And yet, none of the deaths line up with what we see in the minigames… unless you assume Charlie was the one kidnapped. In which case, there is one that fits…

[Toy Chica talking about kidnapping]

There are six deaths, so Charlie must be included. If the only thing that lines up with her death is the kidnapping scene, then Charlie must have been the one who was kidnapped, not Sammy.

But that brings us back to the original problem: If Charlie was the one who was kidnapped, Sammy is still living in Henry’s house. Which means Michael is not the Brother.

[Why do people think Michael is the Brother?]

Let’s move on to explaining away some of the evidence for Michael being the Brother.

The first and most obvious piece is that we play as the Brother in FNAF 4. Michael lives in the FNAF 4 house, so he must be the Brother. Which is a fair piece of evidence. However, I do think there’s something that explains this: Midnight Motorist.

Yes, the reason this minigame has perplexed so many fans might be because they’ve been looking at the entirety of FNAF 4 wrong. Let’s start with the Yellow Guy, who’s likely Henry. Why? Well, he’s driving William’s purple car and yet isn’t purple himself, so he can’t be William yet must have a connection to him. Henry and William were friends and business partners, so the idea of this being a company car or one of them just borrowing it for the weekend makes sense.

Likewise, every minigame and cutscene in FNAF 6 pertains to one of the main characters. The Puppet minigame for, well, the Puppet; Fruity Maze for William slash Scraptrap; and Candy Cadet’s stories for Scrap Baby and Molten Freddy. Henry is the only main character who wouldn’t have something in-game pertaining to him unless this sprite is him.

Moving on, we see him interact with a green sprite. I’d wager this is Clay Burke, for no other reason other than the sprite is presumably color-coded because we know the character, and because Clay is a cop and therefore could easily kick Henry out a bar.

Out a bit from Henry’s house, we see a grave, and around the back of the house there’s a smashed window and an animatronic footprint. In the books, the Twisted animatronics specifically targeted Henry’s family, kidnapped people through aggressive means, and buried themselves during the day. Given that the Twisteds are just AU Nightmare animatronics, it’s likely one of William’s robots was trying to kidnap another one of Henry’s kids.

However, the kid being targeted doesn’t seem to be Sammy or Charlie. Henry’s wife is still present and this is a different house than the one in FNAF 4, suggesting this is early on in the timeline, as Henry got a divorce and moved shortly after the kidnapping. The kid that was targeted here was old enough to lock himself in his room and make a run for it, suggesting it wasn’t one of the two babies but rather the Brother from 4, who’s certainly enough of an Angsty Teen to lock himself in his room several times.

As we can see by the footprints and Henry’s blase attitude, it looks like the Brother escaped from the animatronic… this time. It’s likely William kept trying to kidnap him until he succeeded, locking him into his house once he was successfully captured after the Bite. The dialogue from the FNAF 4 trailer might actually apply to William; he brought home the Brother, he think he sees a ghost haunting him which is why he’s observing him in the first place, and he treats this whole thing like a sick game.

So with the FNAF 4 house out of the way, there’s only a few other pieces of evidence. The logbook shows Michael having drawn N. Fredbear… but given that the Nightmare animatronics were still in his house, it’s likely he would have seen then at some point during the night.

The logbook also indicates that Michael is Mike Schmidt from FNAF 1, with his pseudonym being a combo of his own first name and “Eggs Benedict”. FNAF 4 plays like FNAF 1 does, and you can hear one of Phone Guy’s calls in the background, meaning the Brother must have worked in the FNAF 1 location and heard Phone Guy’s messages. And while Michael does fit these requirements… there is one other character who fits them even better.

[Continued in Part 2]

[our-family]

Continued from here. @wxthered-bonnxe

  The repair process continued to be a grueling process, yet Freddy seemed unbothered. Almost maybe giddy... Chica and Foxy would attest, the bear was far more energetic and cheerful recently. For good reason. It was almost an act; an increased effort at a performance for their friend. Their Bonnie. Could not have asked for a better gift.

  Their Bonnie deserved a warm welcome. Sure he may be relegated to the repair room for now, but that would change, and visits were very frequent. The only times Freddy wasn’t visiting was during the day, or when he rested, or prepared the gift. Bonnie had truly been an awful mess when they brought him back. Covered in mold, dirt, filth... as well as moss, bugs, mushrooms, life. Freddy had spent many hours contemplating how long the rabbit had been left alone and unmoving, long enough to grow plant life... The collection of moss and mushrooms would have been discarded along with the original suit, thrown out and left to rot.

  Fortunately, Freddy had snagged a piece of Bonnie’s old costume. A piece absolutely *covered* in plant life. It had only taken a few days to craft the gift...

  “ Well, ya do deserve a proper welcome-back gift, yanno. “ Freddy replied cheerfully, his voice box smooth as butter compared to Bonnie’s. But obviously, he didn’t care about the stutters. Or the flickering red eyes, the uncanny, incomplete form that Bonnie was left to sit in. None of it was strange or unnerving to an animatronic; they simply understood that repairs took time. “ Be honest if ya don’t like it, Ah can get ya somethin’ else, but... Thought this might be an interestin’ idea. “ The bear wasn’t being bashful. He was almost hesitating with this gift - would it be wise to gift a reminder of Bonnie’s time alone...?

  A large paw was covering a small object as he approached Bonnie, keeping the gift obscured til he was by the rabbit’s side, before lowering his paw. A colorful purple, plastic bowl held a tiny amount of dark, soft-looking dirt. Two perfectly round, shiny stones sat atop the dirt, but most notably was the familiar sight of green moss and mushrooms. Two mushrooms, specifically speaking, both buried in the dirt, with a tiny patch of Bonnie’s old suit holding a growing colony of moss nestled alongside the mushrooms.

  “ Ah swiped it on yer first day... Ya don’t need to keep it, but Ah just thought... It was nice, ya ended up growing life. “

[dahlialittlejames]

The Posthumous Parkitecht P1

2 3 4 5

Now that the story’s done, divvying this up so it’s easier to navigate and read. It’s a long one and mostly posting so I have something of a portfolio entry. Wrote this to the prompt of a dead Imagineer/park designer haunting his own ride! I love the story I got out of it.

Enjoy the ride!

Joseph Elias was not a dreamer. He was a man of machines, of bits and bobs that fit together to form something swirling and tapping and cranking along that the world might never see unless they looked. They had to look hard, mind, but he didn’t mind if they didn’t see. They weren’t meant to. They were just meant to get from A to B without breaking the magic.

On the days he took up crafting the animatronics- that’s when Joe showed through. His hands would bleed his heart into the gears and plates, his colors clothing the creatures until they were alive as he. His first was a safari, with a lion he crafted until you could feel its breath upon your face and smell the dust in its mane, the lights above the diorama warmed so you could feel the sun blazing down. Riders came out wishing they could pet its fur. The Park noticed. They watched.

He took the eyes over his shoulder and crafted them his pitch for a ride of his own. He loved crafting animals real as could be, because you could learn from them. It was a realism he lovingly designed into a band of insects, for an educational ride in the Park. He handed over the designs and explained his premise. A place where children and guardians would see the world as if from the ground an aphid’s size, the undersides of the leaves riddled with holes left behind by his wonderful bugs.

Sun would gleam through the glassy plastic leaves, shining down on guests to emphasis photosynthesis. The learning would be so immersive, the riders wouldn’t even know they were learning! Joe’s pitch impressed the Park.

For the wrong reasons. The Park sat him down. Gently, they showed them the modifications of the design. His worms would be underground. His bugs would be flitting over riders’ heads, with hypothetical guests shrieking in fright. The lights would be down, the sun gone in place of a world thrown in bright blues and greens and bioluminescent terror. No one liked bugs, remember? They were fearsome, and if not for the level of realism Joe put in, they’d be too much for the edutainment circuit.

The only way was to sign over to make the ride a horror thriller. Riders would careen down tunnels of earth, insects hissing menace and worms wriggling enough to itch your skin. It would be better for the Park. Joe had to know that. It was the only way he’d make the money and establish himself as a ride engineer in his own right. He signed.

And he went home, to his apartment, with all his notes in hand. He sat and reviewed every detail of the real ride. The one in his heart was warm and peaceful. He’d always found it odd, how real was frightening. Hadn’t any of these people ever held a worm or a beetle? Ever seen a bear or a wolf or a snake and wondered at the way it lived, instead of seeing only its jaw and claws and fangs?

He drank at his desk. He woke the next morning and set to work. His loving shading was brushed down to the garish glowing paint the Park had asked. Joe watched attendants set his bugs’ flowing motions to juttering, stilted jerks. He watched the glass roof be sprayed with black foam. He shook his head. He returned home and drank some more.

The Park wanted boats for the ride’s paths. He obliged. The Park wanted ambient sounds, not insects but snarls and hisses and shrieks. He obliged. The Park wanted this, that, the other. The bugs weren’t bugs but mangled aliens. The earth wasn’t earth but space. He obliged to ride the boat on final dress rehearsal, the ride completed.

He came to work hungover. It was the only way he knew he wouldn’t put up a fight, if he was numbed.

The jumps didn’t scare him. The boat would rock and he’d roll his eyes. He’d see his bugs under their masks and sigh. As the lead architect, he rode alone. No one was there to see the sync go off, the drop throwing the boat he sat in forward instead of bracing back.

In his lack of love for the product, it seemed he’d let it falter.

The boat came back empty.

Joe twitched to life from the dark of the tunnels. He moved his fingers.

Too many fingers. And limbs. Heads to turn and eyes to spin in their metal sockets. He could see the people running about the track, looking for someone. He tried to call out and his many sets of voice boxes fizzed and fuzzed. He couldn’t get his voice out. He was stuck in the dark, painted too bright and unseen by his crew who dragged the bearded human sopping wet from the track.

He was alone, a long time. He could feel something trying to inch into him, to change him. Tweak his movements this way or that. He didn’t oblige. The machinations refused and the crew he used to know threw up their hands in defeat. They couldn’t love a thing that’d killed. The Park didn’t want the bad press.

They were going to close it down. The Park, after all this? Joe gave them what they wanted! He gave them exactly what they wanted, and for what?

He was spread so thin he couldn’t do much to stave off the inevitable. He’d hated the new design too much to remember it backwards and forwards, for when people came to see if he was functioning. He. That was the word, because all these hands and heads and eyes were his to control. He could even make the colors change, or the bodies he controlled jump off their rails. He took a mantis, outfitted in silvery blue armor it didn’t need, and scurried up the top of the tunnel, much farther than it’d been rooted.

It scared the pants off the first to see him do it. The rigger who put the mantis in place just slumped in the boat with the mantis scurrying after and shoving the boat further down the track.

They came to the drop and Joe, for a second, pictured hurling the boat off the track. It would be so easy. He had control of the track, the water’s flow, the mantis with its metal forelegs. This whole place could come down on top of everyone on the crew and the Park that allowed him to go down with the ship.

Then he saw that fear, like his own. Fear of their work going corrupt and rotten, enough to do harm all in the name of funds and sponsors. The rigger’s mouth had a turn like Joe’s own and Joe stalled the boats, the water, and the mantis.

The crew didn’t have time to get off before the mantis was inching closer, fluid as a living thing instead of the jerky lumbering it’d been programmed with. It put its legs over the front of the boat. The drop vanished, smoothing up and out until the ride became flat. He let the mantis cling to the boat like a guide.

The boat came to a gentle stop at the other end. The crew watched the mantis scurry back inside and return to its post.

In their absence, Joe set to work. He couldn’t be sure how long he had to convince the Park to keep his ride in service, especially as he heard rumors of his death between his walls. It’s not as if he had anything more to lose.

He made the ride he planned. It was as if the image came to his mind, and there it all sprang to life. The foam popped and cracked and shattered to let the light of the greenhouse glass through. The foam molded to green leaves, his insects clicking and cracking as their masks and rayguns were changed to props and pebbles.

The water cleared instead of remaining the murk he’d died in. He grew up the stalks of foam and metal to support the leaves. His insects and worms clanked their various appendages and waited.

Oh, their faces. It was crew that saw what he’d done, the first time. The main hall of his ride was a view into the water cycle. He filled the ceiling with puffy foam clouds. Beads of glassy dew winked and sparkled among the leaves, as if raining. The ground darkened and brightened as it soaked water into the soil. The water from the tracks added the ambience. It burbled and the eyes of each crewman would have made Joe laugh if he could.

He sent the boat down further below, where he’d left some of the earth be. The worms pulsed and shivered, green sprouts clinking up and down, up and down- growing into the roots. He had strips of metal plinking away a merry melody, the plucks bringing a rising warmth into the chests of any who heard it. It was magic, real magic.

The boat moved from room to room, for each creature to approach the boat like curious pets. That’s what Joe had wanted. He wanted curiosity, and the best way to make it was showing creatures as they were.

Half the crew was crying in the final room, a show of a cycle of life. Joe had crafted a beehive with honeycombs of foam and plastic, with fuzzy bees drifting across the ceiling. Eggs to workers seeking out pollen and nectar to the queen at the top of the arch out. The queen held an egg between two legs. Joe couldn’t help personifying this last room a bit, to ease the sting.

The music slowly plinked off and the boat was pushed out the doors, waved goodbye a thin black leg.

The ride was unveiled in the weeks after. Somehow, every glitch was absent. The quirks of the machine had vanished, aside from the obvious. If you asked the crew, they’d say it was willing and eager to be ridden. The Park took what it could get. None of the crew admitted that they hadn’t made the changes, but the Park wouldn’t deny them that this had been Joe’s vision. Maybe this was how it was meant to be.

[ghost-in-the-machine]

1987: Survivor’s Guilt PREVIEW!

So, under the cut is a little sneak-peek at the second 1987/FNAF2-era fanfic, ‘Survivor’s Guilt!’ No editing, but I felt compelled to share a bit with you guys after the bug bit me recently and I’ve gotten to writing it again.

I shook my head, not sure what to think now. Still, I flipped to the Prize Corner, just in case. What I saw made my blood freeze.

The puppet was standing upright, its head twitching to the side. It was glaring straight at the camera. Straight at me. Then, the camera cut to static.

I started messing with the computer, trying to figure out what was wrong. I could hear music. ‘Pop Goes the Weasel.’ But where was it-

“You.” A voice like oil rang out through the darkness, sending a chill down my spine. “You’re the one who left her, aren’t you?”

“Wh-who are you?” I yelled, trying to figure out where it was coming from.

“Oh, none of your concern. It’s not like you’ll remember, right?” The voice was mocking me now.

“I said I’m sorry! It’s just-” I tensed myself, still searching for the voice. “My friend said the animatronics were acting weird, and I came to check it out.”

“Oh, yes,” the voice said, surrounding me like a curl of smoke. “I know all about that. I’m the one in charge, of course.”

"'Th-the one in charge?' What do you mean?" I couldn't find the source of the voice in the office, or down the hall. I turned towards the cameras, wondering whether I could see anything there. "I-i-is this Freddy or-"

"Please. You think either one of those foolish hunks of metal would think to communicate with you?"

I flinched at the contempt in the voice. Frantically, I flipped through the cameras, which thankfully had cleared up. Nothing... Nothing... Then I reached the Prize Corner.

The present box was missing its lid. And empty.

My stomach dropped, and I heard a strange giggle echo through the building. "Oh..."

"Now you're getting it, mechanic! You're smarter than you look!" The voice paused, then said, "Still stupid enough to turn the rest of my little toys on, though."

'Little toys?' What was going on? "L-look, what do you want? I'll fix Foxy in the morning, I swear! Just leave me alone!"

"You think that's what all this is about? You know exactly what happened to them. Don't you dare play dumb with me!" The voice sounded desperate now, as if I was the only lead it at to... something

"What happened to who?!" I stood up, backing against the wall behind me. "Please, just leave me alone!"

"Oh, don't you worry, mechanic," the voice growled. "I can't lay a hand on you. They, however, can."

I heard metallic clicking and whirling sounds everywhere-down the hall, in the vents. I was surrounded.

I snatched the flashlight off my desk, flashing it all around, trying to ward them off. I could see Foxy hanging from the ceiling, glaring down at me from the hall. "P-please, Foxy, don't do this. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

I heard a robotic roar, and a blur of red lunged at me from the hallway. I ducked to the side, diving under my former friend out of the office. Turning around, I saw it was the old Foxy. He had crashed into the desk, but recovered quickly, yellow eyes burning into mine.

I ran like a coward.

I reached into my pockets, fumbling for my keys. Forget my shift, forget my job, I needed to get the hell out of dodge.

I could hear them chasing me, but I didn't turn to look. The last thing I needed was to know how close I was to dying.

I got to the back exit, unlocked the door, threw it open and slammed it shut behind me. I cast one last look over my shoulder, only to see the puppet slither back into its box.

I ran for my car and didn't look back.

[adobe-outdesign]

something about the nightmare animatronics that always bugged me is the withering on them. there are so many tiny rips and tears on them and it kinda clutters up the designs. plus, its weird how despite the withering none of them are missing any parts like their ears or an eye or a finger or arm or even just a few missing teeth

the Nightmares look like someone shoved them through a wood chipper but it wasn’t strong enough to majorly damage their endos so they just ended up mildly scuffed