#springtrap going in with fill confidence

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Springtrap and Vanny talk to Huntress in DBD..

[genuine-wrestleboy]

freeze or fawn (2/2)

words: 4,110

hey, god! if ao3 going down right as i finished this was meant to be you trying to tell me something, i am simply not listening <3

(on ao3)

You watch your mug spin in the microwave, the day-old coffee inside steaming to gelatinous perfection. There’s a sort of ridiculous camaraderie to it; you watch the coffee, and in the reflection in the glass door, Springtrap watches you. You can feel the cold intensity of his gaze, gooseflesh on the back of your neck.

The microwave whirs on, and you pick nervously at your cuticles.

“Thirty years is a long time,” you say, mostly just to fill the silence.

“It's a very long time,” he confirms dryly.

“And what is remnant, exactly?”

He sighs. “That explanation would also be very long, and I doubt you would even understand most of what I could tell you.”

“Try me,” you offer.

“Later,” he says firmly. “Are you quite done yet?”

“Almost,” you tell him, “I just, hold on—”

You cancel the rest of the time and grab for the mug, burning your fingers a little and half-dropping it onto the countertop with a quiet “ow, fuck". You don't even want to consider what the reaction would be if you started pulling out pans to cook a proper breakfast, so you fish a box of cereal out of the cupboard and resign yourself to eating it dry.

Something occurs to you, and you turn to Springtrap, tucking the box under your arm.

“Do you want anything? Can you, like, eat? Other than, uh—” You clear your throat. “—you know.”

You watch the change in his posture as the implication of your words sinks in. He pinches two fingers against the bridge of his muzzle, like he’s staving off a headache.

“I liked it better when you were afraid of me.”

You laugh a little deliriously, because you can’t not. Does he really think you're not still afraid of him? You’re terrified, but, well. He’d just eaten you out on your aunt’s kitchen floor, you thought maybe you could establish a rapport.

It’s just impossible to get a read on him, is the thing, to know where your bearings lie. All that threatening anger and violence, and then he’ll catch you off-guard with these stunning little moments of gentleness, of kindness or comfort or affection. Brief little pops of warmth that pass as quickly as they come and leave you stumbling after him for more, your adrenaline on a wildly oscillating loop. No safe place to land, to rest long enough to recalibrate.

“Sorry, I’m still a little—” You make a vague, waving gesture near your head. “I thought you were gonna kill me, so. Taking a while to adjust.”

“I may well still kill you,” he tells you without heat.

“I—okay." How are you supposed to respond to that? “I’d rather you didn’t, for what it’s worth.”

He makes a sort of shrugging gesture. “As for your question, I don't believe I am capable of digestion in my current state, no.”

That doesn’t surprise you, you guess. From your cursory, stolen glimpses you’d be surprised if there was enough left of his digestive tract left intact to begin with, never mind how any of it would still be functional. Honestly now that you’re thinking about it you could probably say the same of anything under that suit—only, you’ve definitely heard him breathe, haven’t you? Did his lungs somehow miraculously escape the damage that befell the rest of him? Does he need to breathe? He’s not constantly bleeding out, so you assume whatever blood might be left in there isn’t actively circulating, but you can’t do it with any real confidence.

On that note, though, does it even matter? You don't understand how he's still upright at all, you can't even begin to guess the rules his body might follow now. If it’s—whether it’s all still connected, or if it should work, does that count for anything one way or the other? And if it doesn't, or if it is, could he—

Oh, no, no, are you insane? You're absolutely not thinking about that right now, you are shutting that line of speculation down immediately.

“You’re ready now, I take it?”

You startle, feeling caught, grab your coffee and nod. Just gonna…let all of that go, for now, then.

 "Yep. What are we looking for?"

"Tools." He's entrusted your superior knowledge of the house's layout with tracking down what he cagily referred to as 'necessary supplies'. "A toolkit, if there's one to be had, but I can make do with a screwdriver and my wits, if needs must."

Your mood soars; you've got good news for him.

"I don’t think they’ll must,” you say. "I’m pretty sure I remember seeing all my uncle's old tools in the garage when I parked yesterday. Not that I doubt your wits,” you add, and the absurdity of attempting to flirt with someone who has expressed a passing interest in your death isn’t lost on you.

Springtrap stills like you’ve surprised him, looks you up and down.

“Well, then. In that case it seems like the least I can do not to doubt your memory, hm?"

That's a risk at the best of times, but thankfully, this time, your memory does comes through for you; you flick on the yellowy garage lights to reveal a sturdy black workbench pushed into the far corner, collecting dust beneath neatly organized rows of hammers, wrenches, pliers, and a few very specific-looking tools you don't recognize that hang from a pegboard bolted to the wall. Excitement and relief fizz through your veins, and you turn to Springtrap with a grin.

“Will this work?” You’re angling for a sign of approval, and it’s probably painfully obvious.

He scans the room and laughs, not entirely kindly. You flinch a little when he reaches out, but it's almost reverent when he takes your face in one huge hand, strokes a thumb along your cheek.

“Well done,” he says with feeling.

You had absolutely no hand in acquiring any of the tools in question, and even less in making sure that they stayed around for him to find, but fuck if the praise doesn’t get under your skin and flood straight down.

“Happy to help,” you reply weakly.

He taps you slyly under the chin. “That’s the spirit. Come along.”

You follow him down into the garage, edging around the nose of your car. Leave, comes the thought, sudden and unbidden, get in the car and get the fuck out of there, but how would you even do that? Even if you wanted to leave, your keys are in the house, and anyway Springtrap needs you—he told you that he does, sort of.

Maybe he’d find you again, your brain suggests, and you think about that hand on your face, that glow of praise, pressing your own palm against your cheek as you feel heat rising into it. This is not the time, you tell yourself firmly, to say nothing of whether or not there should ever be a time at all, but it doesn’t do much to relieve the nebulous desire reforming in your belly.

By the bench, Springtrap fiddles with the latch of a dented red toolbox. You’ve noticed before, but he seems to have trouble with movements that require any higher degree of fine motor control in his hands. He is also very clearly irritated by this fact, so you keep this observation to yourself. Eventually he lets out a snarl and rips the latch off the box altogether, chucking it over his shoulder to vanish into the nooks and crannies of the garage.

“May as well make yourself comfortable,” he tells you, leaning in to examine the newly revealed contents, “I imagine we’ll be here for quite a while.”

“Aye aye.” Carefully balancing your mug by the wipers, you hoist yourself up onto the hood of your car, pressing your legs together self-consciously. For a while you just sit there, sipping the now-lukewarm coffee and picking at your cereal, watching Springtrap work. He peels back a section of matted fur to expose the joint of his wrist, measures out an inch of a clear liquid, and dips the corner of a rag into it. The cloth turns black with the grime of years, blood and rust and who knows what else as he rubs it into the protesting metal. When he’s satisfied, he sets it aside and positions the head of a screwdriver against a screw you can’t quite see, and then adjusts the whole limb under the lamp clamped to the bench, out of your view completely.

Fascinating though the process promises to be, you’re pretty sure you’d only be in the way if you ask him to move so you can watch what he’s doing. You lean back against the windshield instead, and exhaustion crashes into you the instant you’re in something resembling a reclined position. It’s been a long morning, and the caffeine you just ingested hasn’t begun to work its magic quite yet. Plus, your night on the sofa hadn’t exactly been a restful one. You’ve been running on nothing but adrenaline for hours now; sleep, when it comes, hits you fast and hard.

You wake with your neck at an angle that barely feels survivable, flooded with impotent panic from a nightmare you barely remember. The back of your head smacks against the glass of the windshield as you jolt back into consciousness, and you cradle it gingerly in one hand, pulling yourself upright.

Springtrap looks over from where he’s leaning against the workbench, fighting something at his hip with a pair of needle-nose pliers.

“You fell asleep.” It isn’t anger, but there’s something odd in his voice that prickles along your skin like being too close to a fire.

“Sorry.” You have no idea why you’re apologizing. “I didn’t realize I was so tired.”

He tilts his head to one side, eyes flat and sharp in a way that sparks a cold, guttering fear in your chest.

“I could’ve done anything to you,” he informs you, still with that strange, keen edge to it.

“Sorry,” you say again, because you’re not sure what else to say. “Did—can I help at all?”

Backlit by the bench lamp, his unchanging smile seems to grow in shadow, longer, hungrier.

“If you’re offering.” He twists his wrist, and a section of suit paneling by his pelvis comes loose and swings open. “Come here, give me your hand.”

You maneuver your way back to the floor, careful to avoid upsetting the remnants of your makeshift breakfast. You do want to help, to be useful to him, but placing your hand in his feels like putting it in the mouth of a lion and trusting it not to bite.

Laughing softly, Springtrap reels you closer, muzzle butting your face as he takes several hot, gulping breaths against your skin. His other hand abandons the pliers to press at the small of your back, fingertips biting through the fabric of your shirt.

“You smell afraid.” He says it like an endearment.

“I—” you stammer, “I'm—oh, oh.”

Your line of thinking stalls hard, that rising tide of fear dissolving in the wake of the long, low groan that all but pours out of him as he guides your hand to his cock. Shock, bitten-back and swallowed, the simmering desire in you rising like a white-water tide. Your knees tremble traitorously beneath you.

"Is something wrong?” he purrs. “I thought you wanted to help."

“I do,” you say breathlessly. His hand at your back feels like the only thing that’s holding you upright.

Springtrap’s fingers fold over yours, inhuman and irresistible, and he growls into the crook of your neck as he pumps himself lazily with your fist.

“So help.”

Well, you suppose, there's that question answered, at least. 

He feels huge in your hand, only half-hard and already too thick for you to get your fingers all the way around. Your pulse pounds in your ears, between your legs, in the palm of your hand. Springtrap shifts forward as you move experimentally, twisting your wrist to cover as much of his shaft as you can.

“Harder,” he hisses encouragingly. “My nerve endings aren’t what they used to be, you know.”

It shouldn't be sexy, that reminder, but he runs a claw up your spine as he says it, little sparks along a willing fuse, and you shiver and tighten your grip until his hips stutter forward and he lets out a loose, throaty moan.

"There you are, darling. Just like that."

The endearment makes a molten mess of your insides, all the blood in your body rushing downwards so quickly that it makes you dizzy. You're still wet from earlier, and between that headstart and the way Springtrap's cock twitches in your hand, you're mortifyingly close to leaking down your own leg like you're in heat.

As if noticing, Springtrap presses a merciful knee between yours, chuckling when you immediately begin to grind against his thigh. The suit catches and pinches at your shorts, your skin, but that matters far less than the welcome pressure against your clit.

"You want my cock that badly?" He catches your chin in his hand, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your mouth drops open. It's all you can do to nod in response, bearing down against his thigh as you work him with long, sloppy strokes. You imagine that girth on your tongue, heavy and hot, and you feel your mouth start to water, drool pooling hungrily in its stead. 

"Filthy," Springtrap murmurs against your hair, his tone warm with dark approval that throbs between your legs.

"Please," you try to say, or "yes" or "god", but it comes out a needy, open-mouthed mishmash of sound, wordless and hoarse. Pleasure builds like syrup, thick and slow, hips and hand rocking at the same mindless, driving rhythm. You can feel the wet spot you’re leaving on his fur, clutching at his arm to keep your balance as your legs start to shake. You feel—god, you feel empty.

Metal screeches and smashes to the floor as Springtrap clears the workbench with one swift swipe of his arm. You jump back, startled, swallowing a frustrated whine at the interruption.

Reaching out, he drags a claw slowly, slowly along the line of your throat, and when he speaks, his voice is calm, but brittle, fast-flowing water under very thin ice.

“Normally, I would take my time with this, but I’m understandably a bit pent up, so if you wouldn’t mind.” He pats the surface of the bench expectantly.

Heat floods your face when you realize what he’s asking, eager anticipation buzzing in your blood. You move to obey; he catches you by the waistband of your shorts.

"Take these off," he says. "Quickly, before I tear them off you."

Oh, you are not opposed to that idea, at all,  actually. Your eyes flick up to his, breath catching, and your expression must give you away, because his grip on you tightens, and he laughs, low and amused.

"I might’ve guessed."

 The fabric of your shorts pulls apart like paper. Even though you know it’s coming, it still startles a cry out of you. Springtrap crowds you back against the workbench, hands bracketing your hips and moving upwards. Your shirt rucks up around his wrists, and he dips his head to nuzzle against your temple with a pleased hum.

“This too,” he says, which is all the warning you get before your shirt goes the same way. Your skin, newly bare, fever hot, prickles in the cool air of the garage, and for a moment you feel like you should cover yourself with your hands.

Then Springtrap hitches you up and drops you onto the bench, fingers divoting your thighs as he pulls your hips flush together. Your head falls back, and you bite out a soft moan as the full length of him slides against you, slick with your arousal. He feels even bigger between your legs than he had in your hand.

“Look at me.” It’s clear from his voice that he’s trying very, very hard to hold himself together.

You look. His eyes burn at you, at this angle almost mirrored. The visible muscles of his neck tense, shoulders taut as he draws himself over you and stills. Beneath that gaze, the broad shadow of his body, you feel cracked open and bare, something soft and helpless shucked from a shell. He rolls his hips forward once, twice, and a shudder goes through you.

“Tell me you want this.”

Without meaning to, your eyes fall, pulled to where his cock parts your folds. His skin is the same mottled purple here as everywhere else, blotchy and dark, and the fluid that leaks from the tip is cloudy and pungent and thick. You imagine it pressing into you, and the ache of desire is almost matched by a sudden, urgent fear. Your words stick in your throat, and he tilts his head to the side, sneering.

"Don't play coy with me now, you were gagging for it a moment ago."

That does something twisting and strange to your stomach. You don’t want him to stop, but you realize you don't entirely believe that he would if you asked him to.

"I want it," you say weakly, then surer, "I want it."

He leans even closer, forcing your legs apart until it edges on painful, lowering his face as if he's about to kiss you.

"What do you want?" Sweet as spun sugar in his terrible wreck of a voice.

You whimper, rocking your hips upwards desperately. “I want—hn!—I want your cock, I want—please, I want it so badly.”

Springtrap touches your cheek with his fingertips, feather-light and fond. He shifts back, and you feel the blunt, solid pressure of him at your entrance, barely enough to tease, and it's already so much and nowhere near enough, you need, you need—

“Go on, then. Beg for it."

You think you could come like this, untouched, to nothing but the sound of his voice.

You would really, really prefer to be touched, though.

"Please," you sob breathlessly. Your cunt clenches on empty air. “Please, god, please fuck me, I’ll do any—anything, please, I need you inside me, please, please.”

Springtrap’s teeth glint behind the mask.

“Now what man could resist, when you ask like that?”

A brief burst of pain, and then gutted, boneless pleasure; you clutch at his shoulders as he fucks you open, needy, gasping moans shallowing your lungs. The slow stretch floods you with warmth until you're drunk with it, liquid and loose. Heavy, hazy heat, the contents of your skull bleeding soupily together, your whole world nothing but that hungry, spreading fullness. Your body, reshaping itself to fit him.

"Fuck, you're so big." The thought tumbles out as it occurs to you, and Springtrap snarls and hilts himself in one harsh, sudden motion, muzzle pressed so tightly to your neck that it bites into your skin.

You suck in a breath through clenched teeth. It's just the wrong side of too much, too fast, but he gives you no time to recover before he starts moving again. Both paws dig a constellation of bruises into your hips as he pins you to the bench, skin slapping yours as he bottoms out on every thrust. You feel shattered, cracked apart, bleeding light into his palms. He sets a brutal pace, driving into your eager cunt with untiring speed until you’re mewling beneath him, overwhelmed with sensation as discomfort cedes again to building sweetness.

"That's right,” he coos. “You'll take it for me, won't you?"

You gasp, nodding through shocks of pleasure. “Yes, yes, please.”

“Yes, yes,” he mimics, teasing—then lower, as you arch up to meet him, “yes.”

That rough syllable echoes in the cage of your ribs. Springtrap rolls his hips forward, deliberate and slow, rutting blissful friction against your neglected clit. A thin, keening sound falls from your lips, and you hook your ankles around his back, closer closer closer like the twin of your rabbiting heartbeat.

Breath rumbling low in his throat, Springtrap curves forward, pulling your hips off the bench entirely. The new angle draws him in impossibly deep, and his cock brushes something that sings bone-deep through you, your whole body fizzling like a live spark. You grasp for purchase around his neck, and his even rhythm falters and fails.

“Please don’t stop,” you beg, canting your hips desperately upwards.

Springtrap bites down hard against your shoulder, pulling out nearly all the way before slamming hungrily back into you. The force of it wrings a hoarse moan from your lungs and shoves the whole workbench back a screeching inch. You wonder distantly if you’ll be able to walk after this. 

“Oh, darling,” he chuckles. “That was never an option.”

You feel yourself clench around him, and Springtrap groans, hips stuttering. He moves against you, picking up speed, breath ragged and hot against the crook of your neck. Higher and higher, rushing pleasure climbs your spine like the swell of a wave as he fucks you full of helium and heat, of him and him and him, until it feels like there’s no room in you for anything else.

“So tight for me,” he growls, voice rough. “Only for me.”

“God,” you whimper. Maybe part of you wants to protest the possessive words, but most of you is busy feeling like you're about to burst out of your own skin.

“You like that thought, do you?” he asks, and you nod frantically. 

"I—ah!—yes." You're close, you're so fucking close—

Springtrap grinds into you, steady, unrelenting pressure, building and building without relief. He lets out a harsh breath by your ear, but his voice is soft and confiding when he speaks, like he's sharing a secret.

"I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

He doesn't even slow as you come, howling, around him, fucking you through the aftershocks at that same merciless pace until you’re trembling and spent. You feel like you’ve been split apart and thrown in a thousand different directions, like it’s only his hands on your skin keeping you together. Weakly, you take his face in your hands and kiss the ruined nose, the corner of his grinning mouth; he turns to butt his muzzle against you with a sound somewhere between a snarl and a sob.

“Take it,” he hisses, and understanding hits you a beat too late.

“Wait—” you manage limply; Springtrap laughs like nearing thunder.

"Shhhh. Whatever I want, remember?"

You sob a feeble “fuck” as his hips hit yours, and your cunt fills with spurts of warmth. It's a foreign, electric feeling, and you rock against him mindlessly, the last of your breath escaping you in a weak, panting moan. His cock twitches and throbs, emptying into you as you shudder in his arms, held up easy as a doll. The sound you make would be mortifying, if you had a single brain cell to spare for it.

Springtrap pulls out just as pleasure edges into overstimulation. You wince at the strangeness of the feeling as he sets you down, the soreness already blooming, the sticky wetness that seeps out to pool on the bench beneath you. A huge hand palms high up on your thigh, the gaze behind it lazy and appraising. Then two fingers stroke a line from your ass to your entrance, and you let out a hiss of discomfort as they press a generous amount of come back inside you.

“What a mess,” tsks Springtrap, presenting the fingers to you. You open your mouth dutifully, but he seems to change his mind, instead wiping his soiled hand ineffectually against your leg. “You really ought to get yourself cleaned up. There’s still work to do, after all.”

You don’t know why you’re surprised, it’s the same one-eighty he pulled on you last time, already back to business while your brain is still leaking out of your ears. You let out a frustrated huff, and he tilts his head to the side, eyes glittering curiously.

“I—would you, just, like, come here a second? Please.”

He pauses at your request, then hovers closer, and you have to close your eyes against the bright scalpel-blade of his gaze. The new smells of hot metal and grease sit thick over the smoke and decay, stinging your nose as you bury your face against his shoulder and take a deep breath. You wet your lips; they taste like blood.

After a moment, you feel Springtrap wrap an arm around your waist, then your shoulders. If you lean into it just so, it even feels like an embrace.

[lillykayewrites]

CHANGE ME: CHAPTER SEVEN

Quiet... peace and quiet. But only when I thought the world could be silent forever, with the movie theatre of dreams playing in my mind.....

My eyes flew open.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Bee-

"Shut up!" I whined picking up my phone and shutting of my alarm.

With a groggy grunt, I sat on the edge of my bed and cradled my face in my hands. Poorly attempting to wipe the sleep out of my eyes, as the sleep induced fog completely overwhelmed my vision. I slowly got up and walked to the bathroom with hunched shoulders, yawning as I padded into the dark room. Flipping on the light switch, I squinted while I rummaged around for my things.

After a decent chunk of time, I was fully able to open my eyes that finally adjusted to the dull yellow light from my bathroom.

Looking up into my mirror, I was largely taken aback by my shocking reflection. Blinking a couple time to see if it was a trick of the eye, I was sorely disappointed to see when it wasn't.

Dark rings hung under my eyes that made me look like a raccoon and my pale complexion wasn't making my face anymore flattering. It was whiter than usual. I was deathly pale...But my I wish my face was the most unsettling thing, but unfortunately, it wasn't.

"Oh my God... what did he do to my neck?!" I rasped.

Well. He choked me. Choked me nearly to death...

That's what he did to my neck.

Turning my head to fully, the color contrast of my white skin against my throat was a bluish-purple ring of bruising around the base of my neck.

Slowly taking my finger, I put the slightest-to no pressure against it which I pulled back with an immediate groan.

"Uhghgh... oh ow. That hurt." I said with gritted teeth.

Setting my hands on the counter going into a slight trance, I stared at the ill colored ring for a couple more moments before snapping myself out of it.

"You can't do anything about it now..." I said

before continuing to get ready.

   Loosely tying my tie to keep away from my bruising, I looked at myself and my finished my attire. Grabbing my toothbrush, I brushed my teeth and put on a bit of makeup before running out of my room quickly to the kitchen.

I dug through my pantry and grabbed a cup of ramen and threw it in the microwave whilst I sorted through my bag for the night.

Dinging, the microwave beeped notifying me that my sodium filled dinner/breakfast  was now done and I enjoyed my small meal before having to deal with my tempered and dead....coworker.

11:30......

Sauntering once again into my joyous work space I happily sing out, "I'm baccckkk~" into the attraction.

  Getting to the office, I toss my stuff down and take out my bat just for good measures. Not falling for another situation where Springtrap could strangle the living shit out of me.

"Not today Afton!" I sighed heavily bouncing the heavy part of the bat in my hand.

Even though I knew bunny man could still beat me into a pasty white plump if he wanted to, the bat gave me a false amount of confidence that made me not afraid just enough where I could do my job.

As I spun in mindless circles in my chair for fifteen minutes, I was snapped out of my thoughts by the phone dude that called the night before.

"This place isn't rainbows and unicorns Dude!" I exclaimed frustratedly mocking my apparent night guard trainer.

As he continued his long drawn out "exciting" rant, he brought up supposed training tapes from a previous Freddy's location that burnt down thirty years ago.

'Vintage tapes from the original Freddy's?'

I thought excitedly, curious to here what was to be said on the other line.

After a couple seconds, the Phone Dude voice disappeared and was replaced with an upbeat and slightly nervous voice that came over the phone,

"Uh... Hello! Hello! Hello!" He spoke,

"Hey~" I replied in a joking manner.

"Uh, welcome to your new career as a performer/entertainer/for Freddy's Fazbear's Pizza." The man continued as I began to to actually listen instead of making fun of him while I fiddled with retro objects around the room and occasionally checking the cameras.

"Uh, these tapes will provide you with much needed information on how to handle/climb into/climb out of  of mascot costumes. Right now, we have two specifically designed suits that double as both animatronics and suits. So please pay attention while learning how to operate these suits as accidents/injuries/death/irreparable grotesque maiming can occur." Suddenly dropping the tablet in my lap I rolled my chair forcefully closer to the phone.

Accidents, injuries, death, irreparable grotesque maiming... now that sounds familiar...

Looking back down to my tablet, the static crunched and I spotted a dark silhouetted figure staring into the camera coming out of the door near the exit.

"No you don't!" I said under my breath as I played a small child's voice that rang over the attraction.

No wonder you respond to it, it's a child! I thought as I worked and the phone guy continued on talking.

"To change the animatronics to suit mode, insert and turn firmly the hand crank provided by the manufacturer. Turning the crank will recoil and compress the animatronic part around the sides of the suit providing room to climb inside."

Shaking my head a the train tape I threw up my hands in bewilderment, "And people still did this even though it was made to practically be a death trap?"

"Yes." a deep and collected voice said beside me.

Turning my head to the voice, the tall springlocked animatronic man stood at the door leaning on the frame in an intimidating fashion.

"Fuck." I whispered swallowing hard but then remembering I had a bat and in that moment of false confidence, my slight fear of papa bunny went away.

Swallowing my fear and putting on a poker face, I stared at him in the eyes for a couple moments before slowly turning my body and attention back to the phone.

"Why?" I suddenly asked.

Letting out a wheezing chuckle, the animatronic made his way through the entrance of the office. His frame becoming all the more intimidating as he drew closer.

"How many springlock failures did it take before they concluded it wasn't safe? Or were you the only one?..." I added becoming more breathy and feeling my pulse in my neck wear the pain of last night became noticeable once more.

At this point, William was only a few paces away from me. I could feel his cold penetrating gaze bore into me as I stared back with an unnerving amount of bravado.

     Not breaking eye contact , I put my hand down where my bat was concealed and lifted it out with a content sigh.

Seeing my sudden bravery, William let out another chuckle and shook his mechanical head.

"Brave now aren't we~" His mocking tone making me sneer.

"Listen Afton. I made a mistake of letting my guard down last night when I was trying to help you with the kids you killed. So, in summary...I have a bat now, and I will use it if you try to decisive me again. Because believe me! I still want to help, but for right now... I don't trust you." I stated standing up to my full 5'3 height against his 7'0 one.

"Going along with that sir..." I said coyly, while William imitated the action of a lifted brow,

"I have a set of rules that you will agree to if you want my help. If you still want it that is... I just supposed you came bac- "

"Yes. Now get on with it! I want to be rid of this God forsaken place for Pete's sake! Now finish before I find another way out by myself!" William snapped.

"Hmmm~" A coy expression falling over my face.

Got him.

"Fine...Alright rule one, obviously if you hurt me I will hit you with my bat and figure all of this out on my own.

Rule two, if you trick me...You get the bat. Got it?" I said with all the threatening confidence I could muster.

Staring at me disgruntled, William let out a sarcastic sigh that most likely would have had a heavy eye roll attached to it if he could even roll his eyes.

    "Now rule three, I have already started on it, but we need a plan to get you and these kids out of here. Which is where you come in! You know this place better than anyone else, and we need to use that as an advantage." I exclaimed, excitement washing over me a little bit.

I mean, how often do you get to save ghost children from there Prison and a giant dead bunny from going to Hell? Never right?! Exactly my point.

Calming down a bit, I looked up at who I thought would be my worst enemy, actually might be my only chance at helping everyone.

"Well doesn't that sound just delightful..." William scoffed.

"Look, I just want to help you, if you want me to, why does it seem li-"

"Why? Why are you trying to help me? I could care less about them but at least I understand why you want to help those brats, but me? You know what I did! I killed them. I enjoyed it too. I'm the monster. Why tether yourself to the poison you want to stop?" William exclaimed in an outburst. If I didn't know any better, it almost sounded like he was... regretful? But I was too taken aback to even ask.

"Because, if I free you all, it can stop... you have suffered thirty years Mr. Afton, just like they did. Yes, it was a punishment, but no one should go through this any longer. I want this chaos to cease just like they do... even like you do. Deep down, I know you want it to stop. You would have killed me already if you didn't." I whispered, loosening my grip on the bat in my hands.

"You know nothing of me. Nothing. So don't flatter yourself in pretending like you do. I just want to leave this God damn hole in the ground and once I do, I will leave everything else behind including you. This place, those little shits, you, and M-m...ugh" William snarled at me.

The grip on my bat immediately went back to its knuckle whiting state but I never broke a calm and unbothered facial expression.

"I'm sorry. You know what, I don't know you! I don't know you at all. I also get why you don't want any association with this place, me, nor... your son." I said calculatedly knowing exactly what would spark a reaction, which I received just like I expected.

William's head shot up quicker than I could blink.

"Don't. You. Dar-"

"Anyway..." I cut him off.

"Don't interrupt m-"

"I just did...But as I was going to say, the only reason this place isn't burnt to the ground is because I have been fixing the ventilation system. So unless I don't, this place will be in ashes in no more than an hour." I stated matter of factly.

"So I suppose that is your ingenious plan? Burn the place? Make it look like it was nothing more than an accident, how clever~" William spoke with mockery in his tone.

   Biting the inside of my cheek I looked at him with sass, "Yes. Yes it is, and honestly it is probably better than any of your plans because it's been thirty years and you're still here PeePaw." I retorted angrily, pointing a finger at the animatronic leaned up against the inside of the glass window.

"I beg your Pardon? What did you just call me?..."  William snarled.

Smirking to myself, sprawling like a joyous child in the moment, "Oh! What did I call you? I bet you forgot your hearing aids this evening, what I said was PeePaw~" I responded with a wide, pearly, shit eating grin.

Standing almost stunned for a moment, as if I bruised the dead man's ego so badly he had to take a puff of his inhaler. William was finally able to growl lowly at me,

"You just called me old...?" He spoke with astonishment.

"Yeah, mock me gramps and I'll mock you!"

"This is juvenile banter! I will not play any longer! I am not old!" William exclaimed in a defensive tone.

Chuckling a bit, I stared at the fully annoyed animatronic. I looked down at my hands that held my bat and realized I had let the tension go in my fingers again, which were now delicately holding the metal object.

   When I looked back up, I was unexpectedly met with William inches away from my face. Drawing back in surprise, I kept my face steady but I am sure he noticed my breathing become suddenly ridged.

"Wow...you're still pretty fast for your age!" I said snidely.

"Watch your tongue now darling~ and enough of the games! How about we put that little plan of yours into action now, shall we?" The Brit tempted, putting a grotesque decaying hand to my chin, and caressed his thumb down my jaw.

My smug face evaporated to a shocked expression,

Didn't he look like he just wanted to kill me?

Pulling away from the dead Prince Charming, I grabbed a box of matches from my bag warning an excitable facial expression from William.

Opening up the compact little box, I took out one of the delicate wooden matches and stared at it intensely.

"Give that to me!" William snapped quickly, eager to light the place ablaze.

Giving him the match and box, stepping out of his way, he looked around the room in a calculated way. His eyes going back and forth and peering down at the camera system.

"The fire can't start from in here, we need to go to room seven and it will look like the arcade had an electrical break which ultimately started the fire." William declared.

"Smart...alright, I'll follow you."

Turning to me and giving his best smirk, William lead me out of the office and down the hall giving me the Springtrap power walk.

But when we reached the hall that showed on cam eight, William came to a halt.

He stood frozen in his place, it seemed like he had shut down, but I knew he hadn't because for as small as it was, the twitch in his fingers gave him away as he stared forward.

Breathing a sigh, I cautiously moved past him to see what was so daunting to make a literal possessed machine paralyzed. But when I did, I too came to a stop

The children...

Simultaneously, flashing lights came over the attraction indicating the ventilation was shutting down. Slowly moving to stand in front of William, I let out a calming breath, breathing in the dust and damp air that was becoming stuffier by the second.

"Please, this doesn't have to harder than it is... we can all leave this place and you can rest! You don't have to be in pain anymore."

The children didn't move, they just continued to stare as my eyes frantically looked at each of them for any reaction or response.

But as I thought we would stare at the line of spirits forever, another figure appeared from behind them.

"You've got to kidding..." William let out a dark laugh.

"Hello Y/N.”

[adobe-outdesign]

To quoth Se7en: WHAT'S IN THE BOX, SCOTT

Transcript under the cut.

So now that the angry mobs have left, let’s move on to Part 2: The Box. I know this sounds like a strange topic to switch to after we were just talking about the Brother, but we need to understand the box before we can answer that question. So to start, let’s go over:

[Everything We Know About the Box]

First, in FNAF 4 the Fredbear Plush tells Sammy that they will put him back together. In Scott’s post about the box, he said that the box contained all of the pieces put together. This links the box with Sammy.

Our next hint comes in Sister Location, when Michael says this:

And I found her. I put her back together, just like you asked me to. She’s free now.

People tend to misinterpret this as Michael referring to putting Ennard together, but that’s not the case. Rather, based on FNAF 4 and some things in TFC, it seems that being “broken” refers to the state of one’s soul - if you are broken, you are possessing something, and you can rest when you’re fixed. This both indicates Sammy is indeed possessing something, and creates a parallel between him and Ennard.

However, FFPS contains our biggest hint with Candy Cadet.

Candy. Candy. Candy.

I know, stay with me. Each of Candy Cadet’s stories relates to a different aspect of the lore. The story about the burglar probably refers to the original five kids and how their remnant is in Molten Freddy, or maybe just refers to Ennard. The second story about the woman and the keys likely refers to the Puppet - she gave life to the original five, but in the process let William find out about the remnant, which caused him to kill another five kids.

But then we get to the last story.

Now I will tell you a story about a little boy. He had a red snake that he kept in a metal cage, whose hunger could not be satisfied.

One day, the boy found five baby kittens outside his house. He brought them inside and kept them in a shoebox. He knew that the snake might kill them, but could not bring himself to get rid of the snake. He knew that if he chose one kitten to feed to the snake, it might be satisfied, but he could not choose. So, he went to bed, leaving the cage open. The snake went to the shoebox, chose a kitten at random, and ate it.

After five nights had gone by, the boy was full of regret, and cut the snake open. He pieced the remains together, and put the kitten back into the shoebox.

A young boy had five “kittens”, one of which was “eaten”. Filled with guilt, he took the pieces of the “kitten”, stitched them together into one, and put it into a box.

If you haven’t figured it out yet, the story is an analogy to FNAF 4. After Sammy was killed by the Brother’s negligence, he was wracked with guilt. He took the items that Sammy was possessing and stitched them together into one in an attempt to “fix” him. He then locked the final amalgamate into the box and tried to forget about the whole incident, which explains the “some things are best left forgotten” text that appears above it.

This means that Sammy is possessing multiple objects. These objects have to be something that a teenager could put together easily, and they must be small enough to fit into a box.

And if we go back to Sammy’s death, you might notice that as he’s dying, the plushies fade out around him, one by one.

It’s the plushies. Sammy is possessing his own plushies - IE his “friends”. The Brother realized this and stitched the plushies together into one, then locked it away and tried to forget about the entire incident.

But is that it? After all, this would mean he’s just possessing the plushies and has no further lore relevance. Well, we’re not quite done, which leads me to our next topic:

[The Nightmares]

So if you look at the SL Breaker Room map, there’s a dot for every Nightmare animatronic, which seems to confirm they’re real. However, there are two dots missing: Nightmare Fredbear and Nightmare are not listed.

One thing that’s been pointed out by many people regarding the Nightmares being real is that there are quite a few inexplicable things that occur during the games, such as Nightmare Fredbear’s head showing up on the bed and the hospital items that appear. A lot of theories have been tossed around regarding this, ranging from the Nightmares being dreams or even the disks from TTO.

However, I have a different theory. If you pay attention to the 6 AM screen, the numbers screw up before fixing themselves. People blame this on it being a dream… but if your alarm clock is going off, and you’re looking at your alarm clock, doesn’t that mean you’re awake? This indicates that the Brother is not asleep, and something is causing the protagonist to hallucinate.

There’s one other odd thing about FNAF 4 that you might have noticed. The gameplay has a weird obsession with plushies - Nightmare Foxy turns into one, and there’s one sitting on the bed where the Freddles spawn from. Why is there this weird connection between the plushies and the Nightmares?

Additionally, you’ll notice that the animatronics appear in a pattern that matches that of the minigame nights. Nights 1-4 are just the core four, representing the bullies. Night 5 is Fredbear, for the Bite. Night 6 is all four followed by Fredbear, showing the order in which the Bitten Child’s plushies fade away… and Night 7, with Nightmare, is after the Bitten Child has died.

Finally, the box appears at the end of Night 7, with the “some things are best left forgotten” text, and according to the code it was meant to be opened after an unprogrammed Night 8, thus meaning opening the box was supposed to somehow end FNAF 4′s story.

Putting all of that together, I believe that Nightmare Fredbear and his alternate form, Nightmare, are the Sammy’s ghost. He’s locked inside of the box, so he appears as a representation of the Bite and his own death as he attempts to kill his Brother. Ghosts have been shown to cause hallucinations in this series before - thus, it is safe to assume that he’s the one making you hallucinate all of the strange visuals in the game. This is why the Nightmares are connected to the plushies, and why the box was supposed to end the game - once you open the box, Sammy will stop haunting you.

While this explains everything nicely, we do have one potential issue: Scott’s post about the Box suggested that the answer was going to piss everyone off, and this explanation certainly wouldn’t.

Now, keep in mind that I’m less confident about this part of the theory than the first part. I do want to talk about it however, because it does have quite a bit of evidence going for it.

[Sammy, FNAF 1, and how they’re connected]

There’s actually one more hint about the Box that i kind of glossed over in the first part of this video. We do have another hint, and weirdly enough it comes from…

[FNAF World intro]

You see, at the beginning of the game, you’re told to leave breadcrumbs for someone, to help them find their way. After completing a series of minigames, you get a cutscene of the Fredbear Plush, which uses the same dialogue it says to Sammy with the addition of saying the pieces are in place. When you go back to the main screen, you’re rewarded with a statue of a not-crying child.

However, what’s weird about this is that the “pieces” you’re putting into place… are the hints leading to the hidden minigames in FNAF 3.

And what’s even weirder is that every minigame in FNAF 3 ties back into Sammy. We already went over Charlie’s toy Mangle in the last video. Stage 01 shows off Charlie’s kidnapping and involves Fredbear giving cake to the Foxy-mask kid, a reference to the Bite. BB’s Air Adventure shows 3 silhouettes under a tree, which seem to be a nod to the girl outside with her three toys.

Chica’s Party, meanwhile, shows us four cupcakes, one of which follows her around. Judging by the golden cupcake Easter egg, the one moving is gold - thus these represent Sammy’s plushies, as four remain static while the Fredbear plush follows him.

The glitch minigame shows RWQ giving cake to one of the kids. In FNAF 4, Sammy was terrified of the shadows of the animatronics. Scott later gave us this hint about “things in the shadows being misunderstood in the mind of a child”. And indeed, here we see RWQ helping the child rather than hurting them.

And finally, Happiest Day ties back into what the Fredbear Plush said in 4 - that the Puppet would put Sammy back together, IE help him pass on, which fits with her giving the final cake. The cake, meanwhile, could be the birthday cake Sammy never got to have because of the Bite.

But that’s… weird, isn’t it? We see the five kids pass on in this game, along with the now not-possessed FNAF 1 animatronics. Why are there so many connections to the Bitten Child in a game that seemingly has nothing to do with him?

Well, here’s the thing. There’s one thing that I see a lot of people get wrong with the FNAF timeline, and that’s the placement of William’s death. Most people place it after FNAF 1, due to it taking place in the FNAF 1 pizzeria.

However, this is not the case. William walks in and out of the saferoom freely in this minigame before dying there. Then, we hear this in Phone Guy’s message:

Uh, this is just to inform all employees that due to budget restrictions the previously mentioned safe rooms are being sealed at most locations. Including this one. Work crews will be here most of the day today constructing a false wall over the old door face. Nothing is being taken out beforehand, so if you left anything inside, then it’s your own fault. Management also requests that this room not be mentioned to family, friends, or insurance representatives.

Phone Guy says nothing is being taken out and not to mention it to insurance companies because William’s corpse is already in there. Note that he says they’re constructing a fake wall to hide the saferoom, and where does Phone Dude find Springtrap?

Uh, but you know, like I said, we’re trying to track down a good lead right now. Uh, some guy who helped design one of the buildings says there was like an extra room that got boarded up, or, uh, something like that.

William died in the saferoom, so management constructed the false wall over it to hide his body. He stayed there until Fazbear’s Fright found him behind said wall and removed him.

But that’s the issue - it’s Phone Guy who tells you about the sealing of the saferoom. Phone Guy was dead after FNAF 1, so this means William must have died before it.

While you might be wondering why the place looks like the FNAF 1 location, note this phone call from FNAF 2:

Uh, now, I want you to forget anything you may have heard about the old location. You know, uh, some people still have a somewhat negative impression of the company. Uh, that old restaurant was kind of left to rot for quite a while, but, I want to reassure you, Fazbear Entertainment is committed to family fun and above all, safety.

This sure looks like a location that was left to rot to me! It’s likely that after the FNAF 2 location shut down, Freddy’s was forced to move back into their earlier location where the murders took place due to budget reasons. William was the night guard before you in FNAF 2, so this was likely between 2 and 1 - they had already fixed up the Withereds at this point, but hadn’t finished cleaning up the pizzeria before Will died.

This creates an odd gap in the timeline, however. When incorrectly assumed the minigames take place after 1, the kids are put to rest after Will dies before passing on in FNAF 3. Easy. But in actually, the kids vanish before FNAF 1, which shouldn’t be the case as the animatronics are still possessed at that  point. Shadow Freddy even shows up in 3 with his FNAF 2 appearance, which would be weird if the ghosts had changed to match the FNAF 1 models. Likewise, the endoskeletons of the animatronics don’t look the same, which lends credence that these aren’t the Withereds. So what is going on here?

Well, in UCN we get a couple anime cutscenes. Freddy talks about it being his birthday and how Foxy has killed someone, so this is obviously a parallel to the older Brother and Sammy. What’s important here is that Freddy tries to defeat Foxy for five days before Foxy leaves, Freddy swearing to follow him. If Freddy represents Sammy, then that means that he followed the Brother to at least one other location than the FNAF 4 house.

Basically, what seems to be implied here is that Sammy is possessing all of the animatronics in 1. William dismantled the original 5 between 2 and 1. The kids stopped actively haunting the place at this point, though they don’t fully pass on until FFPS, hence why the gravestones pop up at the end. This left an opening for Sammy to possess the Classics in an attempt to kill his Brother, as he never opened the box he’s trapped in. This is why the Classics behave like the Nightmares, and in turn draw parallels to FNAF 4, such as Foxy not moving when you look at him.

This is why there are so many parallels to FNAF 4 in the FNAF 3 minigames - it’s not the original five you’re freeing, but rather, the pieces of Sammy. Not that TFC claims that broken children show up as multiple copies of each other, which we can assume applies to canon. All of the sprites look like greyscale versions of Sammy’s sprite - except for the Puppet, as she’s the only different character here.

Note also that the fifth child or piece here is probably not Golden Freddy, as is commonly assumed, but rather Fredbear - the one with the purple accents - matching Sammy’s last plushie and Nightmare Fredbear. The final minigame is greyscale and it’s too dark to fully see the head in the back of the ending screen, meaning that you can’t see the color of the top hat.

While the idea of Sammy being all the kids in this minigame sounds crazy, think about what Scott said during Dawko’s interview:

Dawko: This game, um, was when things went a little bit crazy with, like, the minigames, and stuff, and the good ending and the bad ending. Um, if you can answer this, which ending really happened?

Scott: I’ve given it a lot of thought as to whether or not I should answer this question. And I went back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth. And, the answer is very interesting, you know?

The answer is very interesting. The answer is complex. However, I’m not gonna answer it, because it’ll only cause strife. I mean, you see the kinda trouble that erupts, especially several years ago. The flame wars that would go on over Mangle’s gender, something as simple as that, you know? You know, I mean, you know, people with torches and pitchforks, you know? Now, yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna answer this one, I’m afraid.

This… seems weird, doesn’t it? The answer is either that the bad ending is canon or the good ending is, and yet Scott claims that the answer is “complex”. On top of that, the game itself implies the good ending is canon, as it’s just labeled as “the end” while the bad ending is specifically labeled as “bad”, making Scott’s hesitation all the odder.

However, this makes sense when combined with this theory. The good ending is canon, as Sammy is freed at the end of 3. But that’s the thing - it’s Sammy who’s freed. Everyone believes that these minigames show the original 5 kids, but the original 5 aren’t freed until FFPS. In that sense, both the good ending and bad ending are canon. That is indeed a complex answer, and one that would cause a ton of confusion and fighting. And it’s also an answer that would piss people off if they found out about it, leading back into Scott’s “would people accept it that way” pondering from the post about the Box.

Of course, Scott’s also said the contents of the Box have changed over time, so it’s possible that this was canon at one point but isn’t anymore, or maybe I’m just overthinking things and none of this is correct. Still, it’s a good thing to keep in mind as we move into discussing what the actual plot of FNAF is.

[Continued in Part 3]

[lighdesoti-blog]

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[adobe-outdesign]

"They Thought I Was You" + the Purple Guy Sprites Prove SL Comes Before FNAF 2/1987

The recent confirmation of Willtrap was important enough on it’s own, but it also comes with a major implication when it comes to the Purple Guy sprites.

As I’ve pointed out before, Vlad in the Immortal and the Restless represents Purple Guy throughout the games:

Episode 1/FNAF 1: Nothing, just talking about the baby. Purple Guy did not appear in FNAF 1.

Episode 2/FNAF 2: “You work the graveyard shift at the Fry Me Taco!“ = the Purple Guy being a night guard in FNAF 2′s “SAVE THEM“ minigame.

Episode 3/FNAF 3: “The joke’s on you, because I set the house on fire!“ and “You burned down my house?” “It was like a morgue in there“ = the burning of Fazbear’s Fright with Springtrap in it.

Episode 4/FNAF SL (Fake Ending): Vlad and Clara make up, reflecting Michael not getting killed by Ennard in this ending.

Willtrap confirms that Vlad represents William himself due his house burning in episode 3. (Note: While episode 4 reflects Michael’s actions, Ennard believes Michael is William, so the parallel is still correct).

So what does this mean? In short, it means that William is not only Springtrap, but also the night guard sprite in FNAF 2. Likewise, it presumably means the sold-called “Pink Guy“ sprites are him as well, seeing as we outright see that one killing kids.

But this brings us to the question: Why are the “Pink Guy” and Purple Guy sprites in FNAF 2 different, and why does the SAVE THEM sprite look almost exactly like Michael post-scooping?

Michael looks the way he does because he started to rot over time after his not-death, loosing weight (mostly due to lack of insides) and gaining the tell-tale white-on-black eyes that usually indicate possession. So logically, if William looks the same way by FNAF 2... then he also must have died at some point.

TSE, despite being an AU, contains a major plot point that lines up with this perfectly. It’s established that while William was alive, he was overweight. It’s also confirmed during the scene where Clay looks through his file that this was the time he killed the kids.

However, when Charlie and co. meet him, he’s completely different and going under the name “Dave Miller”. He’s lost weight, and discusses at length the fact that he can’t die, even calling himself one of [the ghosts]:

“They’ll kill you, too,” Jessica said.

“No, I am quite confident that I will survive.”

[…] “And what makes you think they won’t kill you?” John said again, and Dave’s face took on something shining, almost beatific.

“Because I am one of them,” he said.

It’s revealed that he has springlock wounds all over his body, something which he obviously couldn’t have survived. When he describes what springlocks due to a person, it’s obvious he’s already died once to them:

“You’ll try to scream, but you will be unable to: your vocal cords will be severed, and your lungs will fill with your own blood until you drown in it.” There was a faraway look in his eyes, and Carlton knew with chilling certainty that Dave wasn’t predicting. He was reminiscing.

Indeed, this is further implied in TTO, wherein it’s revealed that the blood from his springlocking was fake - thus implying he was never properly alive to begin with.

How does this link back to the games? The notion of William killing the kids before his not-death lines up perfectly with our “Pink Guy“ sprite - the one that is shown killing the kids that’s heavier in weight.

And Dave worked as a night guard, then got springlocked - just like our thinner, half-dead Purple Guy sprites in FNAF 2 and 3.

Now let’s get to the point: Why does this matter? Because during the SL Custom Night cutscene, Michael says this:

They didn’t recognize me at first, but then… they thought I was you.

Indeed, this lines up with what we see in SL - Baby doesn’t recognize Michael at first (”I don’t recognize you. You are new.”), but believes he’s William by the end of the game (”Isn’t this why you came here? To be with her again?”).

Here’s the thing, however: We know that William was immortal by the time of FNAF 2 thanks to SAVE THEM (arguably by FNAF 4, as the badge most likely indicates this Purple Guy’s the owner, but I digress). So how would Baby mistake the living Michael for a thin undead corpse?

Even if you wanted to argue that Dave in TSE wasn’t that noticeably undead (compared to Michael), there’s another line here that doesn’t line up if we try to put SL after FNAF 2/1987:

You won’t die, and it will only hurt for a moment.

If Baby believed Michael was William, and William was already immortal at the time, then why would she tell him something he already clearly knew?

The only way all this dialogue makes sense is if SL comes before FNAF 2: Baby mistakes Michael for William and tells him he won’t die because William hasn’t died yet.

Likewise, this also explains why the Custom Night minigames show Michael slowly decaying into something similar to the FNAF 2 sprite despite him not being any of the Purple Guys: Scott was using the events of SL to explain what happened to William.

TL;DR: The Immortal and the Restless tells us the FNAF 2 sprites and the FNAF 3 sprites are the same character, IE William. The SAVE THEM sprite matches Michael’s, indicating William had become immortal at some point - which lines up with Dave’s immortality in TSE. Baby wouldn’t mistake Michael for a corpse, nor would she inform an already undead person that they can’t die, so therefore SL must take place before FNAF2/William’s death.