#fazfright

...spring, the last time i passed you the weed you got lodged in the ventilation system, hotboxed the office, and burned down the entire fright after you dropped the doobie. but yeah i'll pass you the weed.

★   @fazfright​   ⊱   ❛  you  don’t  understand .  ❜

❝    so  i’ve  heard.    ❞

how  cruel  it  must  be   /   a  fate  like  this.   battered   &   broken   /   your  good  bowling  arm  is  missing   (   most  of  your  paint  faded   &   scratched  off   /   holes  where  there  shouldn’t  be   ).   it  was  like  looking  in  a  mirror   /   the  bunny  in  front  of  you  looks  like  they  walked  through  hell  too   (   it’s  a  wonder  the  both  of  you  found  yourself  here  together   ).   was  it  fate  then   ?   /    you  wonder.   it’s  all  you  could  do   /   allow  your  brain  to  form  thoughts   &   catalogue  them  in  files  inside  your  head.   no  one  seems  willing  to  tell  answers   /   you’re  just  a  cog  in  their  machine   (   deemed  incapable  of  performing  it’s  job   /   disrupting  the  flow   /   trashed   &   fully  replaced  with  a  more  willing  cog   ).

rest   /   it  feels  foreign  to  you   ,   but  you  sit  down  for  a  moment  with  the  golden  bunny.   you  almost  want  to  laugh   /   of  course   ,   you  should  of  seen  it  coming.   the  future  dares  to  be  different   ,   but  it  isn’t   /   the  past  always  digs  it’s  claws  into  the  present   (   &   history  damns  us  all  to  repeat  it’s  mistakes   /   over   &   over  again   ).   you  are  living  proof  of  that   /   they  are  living  proof  of  that.

loki holds her breath, as silent as she can be and as brave as she dares, ducking under the plywood that attempts to bar the way into freddy fazbear's pizzeria—ignoring the stabbing little bit of pain that comes with the head of a bent nail catching on her shoulder, and hoping she's had a tetanus shot recently enough for it to not be a problem.

she knows she shouldn't be here. no one should be here, no one has been here in years. every now and then there's a little news story about kids breaking in, always in broad daylight when it's probably safest. some people say they hear movement or music inside, but it's become legend, the stuff of teenage dares and ghost stories. it always startled her, how easily the town had moved past the tragedy, as if she was not there, as if the other parents were not there, childless and wracked by grief that can't be mythologized and painted away into unreality.

years. she doesn't drive out this way anymore, avoids it like the plague and organizes around it, but her latest change of therapist had left her no choice and only last week she had gone cold at the wheel of her car passing by, stepped on the gas and arrived at the office shaking and sobbing, my boy, my little boy.

and when she had driven home, too exhausted to think after a three hour session and catching sight of it once more, feeling something like a fist closing around her heart and trying to yank her towards the fucking thing.

between the cover-up and the paper trails and the press releases, there were never going to be answers anywhere else.

inside, it looks like a dilapidated pizzeria ought to, she supposes, shining her small flashlight around. the black and white tiling of the floor has dirtied and faded into grey; the metal siding of the old arcade cabinets is all being eaten away by rust, and there's a smell of wet rot and earth. the sound of a restless building creaking, and rats, and dripping water from busted pipes or caved-in ceiling because this place has gone to hell.

it's not clean or whole enough for her steps to echo, and gods, she's thankful for that, not having a clue what she's looking for or why she'd started planning to come, dressed warm for the cold night, carrying a taser and mace with her, small tools tucked away into her pockets just in case (of what?) and 911 on speed dial.

@fazfright

  The tumultuous way in which they’d lugged him to the stage had elicited a new prompt from his CPU. None of the maintenance and testing from before had come anywhere close to triggering this new - what was it called, again? Feeling? Or emotion? Fredbear heard both of these words, at some point... It was strange, but he’d ultimately had to conclude that the two words meant the same thing. Nevertheless, the animatronic - yellow bear - eventually came to conclude that he was annoyed.

  Honestly, he could have walked himself to the stage...! But no, the gaggle of humans scurrying around him refused to allow such dignity. Well, jokes on them, they were the foolish looking ones! Straining their joints and servos when Fredbear could’ve saved them the trouble!

  ...Oh but he hoped the little humans weren’t too worn down after moving him...

  And where did they move him, anyways? The ‘bot - the - the - bear, was frozen in place, snout parted in a toothy, stiff grin. Head cocked to the side, microphone raised up to his maw as if he had frozen mid-speech, which was exactly what happened!! There was a lot of annoying things happening today...

  ...But the annoyance fled quickly once Fredbear realized the humans were leaving. He was in place, for the first time since being powered on. Back in the workrooms - where he’d been built - the bo- the bear wanted for nothing. He was content! Creator would submit requests for lines of dialogue, or movement, and Fredbear would comply. Sometimes he enjoyed it; particularly when he got to tell jokes. Fun! But while he’d been content in the workrooms, now the bear came to realize that he was finally where he belonged... This was his stage!

  Fredbear didn’t question the preprogrammed knowledge of a location that he’d literally never been in. Simply pleased to recognize it all, and hoping to be left alone - Oh. The humans were coming back.

  ...What were - What were they dragging over to his stage? Who was -

  Preprogrammed knowledge kicked in; a name, an image, and a designated role. Fredbear would have beamed if he had been granted the freedom to move.

  Of course; the stage wasn’t just his. What a terrible curse it would be, to have the stage completely to yourself. The bear shared this spot, and the humans were bringing the other owner right now!

“ Some-e-etimes I do m-miss the kids. ” It was so uncharacteristic to hear the bear talking in a manner that is not so loud and boisterous, or that missed the manic edge his tones carried. It was probably influence from Ballora’s AI who was fundamentally the opposite of Funtime Freddy, but whether that was the case or not, hardly mattered.

Even though he was taken into an establishment again, he was merely for scrap parts in case the pristine, newer models needed, the ones who actually were at the front to earn the love of children. Though he didn’t resent them, he acknowledges he was far too “scary” to entertain kids; These days were long gone. Besides, he wouldn’t really mind lending a part or two, especially to Funtime Chica.

But still they can’t help but feel nostalgic at times.

The rusty rabbit he was currently sharing a backroom with? Probably also just for parts-- even though from a superficial look over they looked a lot more salvageable.

He all but threw himself into the chair, letting it spin halfway around before catching his foot on the desk leg and shoving himself back into place. There was a tear in his knee that he hadn’t bothered fixing -- his hands had been shaking too hard last night to handle any of his supplies properly. He’d put one staple through his thigh before giving up and crawling into bed ( for all the good it did him; he didn’t sleep anymore ). As he’d laid there, covers pulled up over his head, flimsy knuckles crammed into his jaw, he’d contemplated the rabbit. For hours and hours, he’d chased it in circles. Shock had lapsed into fear; fear had boiled over into anger; then, with time, it cooled, and became a vague anxiety, strung halfway out into anticipation. He had to see for himself, had to get a closer look. 

       ( Because his father didn’t move like that, no, not even in the suit. Because the way it hesitated when it approached his door spoke volumes in place of its creaking and groaning. William would have charged right in, and he did not for a moment believe that a guilty conscience had stalled that man’s steps. Something else had made him pause, but what? )