#again broken cam hopefully that change eventually.

[wander-clover]

Forced Normalcy

[hoaqins-funk-house]

Springtrap

Yandere

Male Reader

Part 1

Sitting in the black swivel chair, you spin once or twice before coming to a stop, grimacing at the feeling of sticky floors beneath your shoes. This place is brand new, how the hell are the floors sticky? 

Actually, on that note, how is everything so covered in dust?

Sighing, your mindless fidgeting comes to a stop as the phone, just as dinky as the walls around you, begins to ring. You pick it up but put it back on the table, eyes drifting to the laptop and swing-out tablet. When you flip the former open, you note the four buttons, each relating to something you would have to reset when it comes time to. The latter has cameras that are scattered around, including a separate tab for vents. There’s an option to block off vents, which sends a chill up your spine as you glance to the big ass one at your side.

You decide to block that one off for now.

Humming, you familiarize yourself with the layout of the place, deciding to ignore the shadows that crept through your vision.

Your unenthused eyes scan and take in everything. The replicas (you had seen the originals, and they were permanently stained with both the smell and color of pizza sauce and lawsuits) that were in and around the office, as well as the little bobbleheads that sat on your desk of the animatronics, which were, for some reason, human? You boop the one who you assume to be Freddy, hearing the familiar squeak. 

A small smile comes to your lips.

It was at this time that you realized you had completely ignored the man on the phone, but you couldn't really bring yourself to care. 

The little drawings that were put up were authentic; not just anyone could recreate what a child's mind spits out and decides to draw. 

That Freddy looks a bit fucked up.

The posters were cutely designed, and after getting the gist of what everything was and how everything works, you were on your phone the rest of the night.

When six strikes, you casually leave, giving the building a quick once over as you leave the doors, locking them behind you.

If every night is going to be like that, this is going to get boring.

-

He’s stuck.

This suit traps him like a rabid dog, eager to stay gripped onto his neck.

Still, things would be changing soon.

He can feel it.

He can feel it as a fresh breeze, the first in many years, hits his nostrils, sending a wave of euphoria through his system. The bloodied musk that hung in the dank room was not a pleasant one.

He can feel it as his body accepts this new host, more and more, until soon, quite soon, he will become one with his vessel. 

Just as the animatronics before him did.

He ponders. 

Why was he being freed from this prison of his own design?

Is he being taken somewhere?

…

Will there be a night guard to terrorize?

A grin takes to his broken lips as he ignores the pain and blood that comes from them. Oh, a night guard! Truly, that will be a sight!

He can't wait. 

For now, however, he must play dead.

My, that voice that shouts with excitement from behind him…

It sounds so familiar.

"Bring the truck around!" He calls. "I found one, a real one! It's got the rips, the weird colors, and what I am going to assume is pizza sauce! Ohohoh man, I hit the jackpot with this one! Fazbear's Fright needed something, and here it is!" 

His congratulatory tone made the man within the suit want to throw up. Finding him was nothing to be happy about; he is despicable, incapable of redemption, and an awful being. 

And you know what? 

That's just the way he likes it.

So to have someone happy to find him, especially for their own purposes?

He won't let it stand. 

Yeah, if this place has a nightguard, he'll kill them without mercy before burning the entire thing to the ground.

Might as well make it fun for himself.

As light peeks through, clearly originating from a flashlight, he feels his pupils shrink, resisting the urge to let out a groan as his weak eyes ache from their decades of being in the dark.

"Whoahoh! This one looks gnarly!" The same man as before speaks, probably referencing the organs and tendons that were showing. "C'mon, let's get it up!"

His grin only grows as two people lift him onto a dolly, beginning the move.

Goodbye, saferoom.

And hello, Fazbear's Fright.

-

Humming, you walk into the building, skimming over the decorations once more before noticing something.

The papers that had fallen onto the ground from before, they had dirt on them. Not surprising on its own, but when they were in the shape of tire tracks? 

You decide to follow them, using your memory of the cameras to guide you through the building, which was already rather linear anyway.

Entering the last area, you could see a rather dilapidated animatronic suit, with organs visible and its fur matted with blood. Real blood. The old Springbonnie suit was nearly green from how old and dirty it was.

Your eyebrows raise. "Is that guy just stupid or did he knowingly bring in a suit that has a dead body in it?"

Honestly, you didn't care. "Eh, whatever. It'll probably start moving when I start my shift… I've heard those rumors about the other locations." You turn, stretching, unaware of the eyes that followed you or the head that turned your way.

Damn, does he want to kill this one?

Well, he can think it over more soon. After the merge.

He grins again, feeling his uneven, gouged skin begin to flare with pain.

You exit the room fully, making your way back to the office with all the urgency of an ADHD-riddled person doing laundry.

Which is to say… not much.

You fall into the chair, cursing as the thin mesh cushion does nothing to protect your tailbone from the metal frame of the chair. The phone rings not a moment later, you picking it up and laying it on the table again, eager to ignore it just as you had done before. You stretch again, arms raising above your head as you begin to flip through cameras, finding the rabbit in the same spot it was in before. 

You yawn.

Hopefully it starts moving soon, or else the entire reason you took this job would be unfulfilled. 

You were bored, and you remembered this place from the times you had gone with your younger brother, who was now in his early twenties. You, however, were 28 years of age, with nothing better to do than 'investigate' the Fazbear's Fright that opened up. Still, if that rabbit has a corpse in it, it should make things more fun.

As you lazily flip through your cameras, you set it down and look to the side, seeing a rather dirty looking man with an eyepatch and fox ears. To his confusion, before he could lunge at you, you reach out and swipe a hand through his chest. You continue to swipe forwards and backwards, the incorporeal man stuck standing there until you leaned back.

"So, you're a ghost."

His mouth opens as if to retort, but he just gives up and leaps at you, you not even looking at him anymore. He closes his mouth halfway through the jump, and with an unsatisfied sigh, he disappears.

You continue flipping through the cameras, checking in on the rabbit a couple of times before shoving the tablet out of the way, opening the laptop to have it ready and sitting back in your chair.

You glance towards a shifting figure in front of the window, the hat and bear ears telling of who it is. He limps along, eventually falling beneath your view before seemingly phasing through the wall and leaping at you. You stare passively as he does so, him not completing the jump to instead stand in front of you, confused. 

For shits and giggles, you wave your hand through his chest once or twice.

"Why… aren't you… scared?" He croaks, voice ruined from years of no use.

"Oh, was I supposed to be scared?" You genuinely ask. "Uh, sorry. If you do it again I promise I'll hyperventilate."

"Don't try to… lessen your survival chances…"

"Okay. My bad." 

He sighs, and after annoyedly rubbing his face, he disappears.

You flip out your cameras once more, finding the screen obscured by static and a small error in the center. Lazily, you reset cams.

When your screen clears, you check the rabbit. He looks… strange. Like his body is evolving in front of your eyes. 

To be honest, you don't give enough of a shit to watch a potentially world-changing discovery if it looks that gross. You aren't paid enough to, anyway.

At this pay grade, you even coming into the damn building is volunteer work.

You check your phone for the time, seeing a cool time of one in the morning. 

"Aside from that science experiment gone wrong happening in the back room, it's still really damn boring."

However, it's still not boring enough to watch that transformation or whatever. That corpse (well, at this point, you kinda doubt it's dead) can do whatever the hell he wants with that suit. It's his body, not your business.

After another fifteen minutes of staring at a wall, you check the cameras to the sound of loud clicks and pops, now seeing a heavily scarred man with 1.5 rabbit ears in place of the suit. He takes one step out from his original spot, body heaving forward before he lifts himself up, looking up at the camera with a grin.

"Huh. That's new." You say, watching him jolt forward, continuing to take steps before relearning how to walk smoothly.

It only takes him a moment to rocket off.

"I doubt that's good." You mumble, beginning to flip through the cameras to follow him before playing a sound in the room behind him, making him pause. He turns, walking back with a confused expression.

Continuing to flip through cameras, you watch as the man, who you'll dub Rabbit Guy, wanders, seemingly having lost his focus. Hearing a sound to your left, you pay no heed to whoever it is, instead waggling your hand in what you would assume to be their torso.

"You're strange…" They say.

"Uh-huh. If you'd excuse me, I am currently working on keeping Rabbit Guy the hell away from me." Your voice is monotonous but sincere; you aren't trying to be sarcastic or mean, just trying to tell them the facts.

Glancing to the side, you see that it was a child, so you were waving your hand in his collar. "Oh, my bad. Does that… make you guys uncomfortable?" You ask, retracting your hand.

"No, we can't feel it." 

"Huh." You blandly respond, playing the sounds to lead Rabbit Guy back to where he started, before resetting sounds as you weren't able to play them anymore.

It seems like Rabbit Guy is getting progressively more and more annoyed at being led back, if his attempts to move fast enough to avoid the sounds or block out his ears meant anything. 

His body was responding to the sounds, not him.

It was then that he disappeared, so you check vents, finding him in one that led directly to the room beside your office.

You block it off, much to his annoyance, before yawning and sitting back as any thumps you hear from inside the vents come to a stop. 

You find him standing in the room where he had entered the vent, irritated as he glares at the camera. Preemptively, you reset all, thankfully right as cams and sound go out. 

Sighing, you lazily check through cameras, brows slightly furrowing as you look for him. He was completely gone, not in vents or in rooms. It really is unfortunate how many blind spots and shadowed areas there are.

When you hear the thumping of the vents, you search through them, only finding a stupid knick-knack laying on its side halfway in your sight.

Looking to your side, you peek into the vent, leaning down to see if anything was there. Your gaze meets Rabbit Guy's. 

"Shit." You say, quickly switching cams over to this one and holding down the seal button. 

Your eyes shift back to him, finding him way too close for comfort. As you lift your finger to let the gate close on the vent, the man (who was crouch walking) catches it, forcing it back up. You hear something grind that definitely shouldn't be grinding, and you have a feeling that that vent cover just might be broken.

Getting out of the vent, he stands over you, waiting for some sort of plea or… literally any response at all.

"So, you, uh… come here often?" You ask, leaving him genuinely at a loss. 

"Wh- was that a pickup line?" His rough, baritone voice catches you slightly off-guard. 

You weren't expecting something that was pretty much a zombie to have such a good voice, or a slight british accent for that matter. "Was it? Shit, more people've flirted with me than I thought."

"Really? That's all you can come up with before your death? I'd hate for those to be your final words." He lightly teases, leaning against the wall with a mean grin. 

You look up at the ceiling with a vague smile, his eyes widening momentarily. "To be honest, of any place to die, I'd much rather have it be in a place where I know I'll reach the front pages than in some random alley."

His grin falls into a frown as he watches you turn to him, the smile still on your face. It feels strange.

He feels strange. 

Why does a random night guard make him feel so…

So… comfortable?

You were calm, collected, not making any sudden moves or even attempting to exit the chair. Theoretically, the perfect prey, but not a satisfying kill. 

If he even wants to kill you, that is.

“What’s your name?” He asks, watching as you spin to face him in your chair. You would be taller if you stood, but he would still have a few inches on you.

“Y/N. You?” 

“I’m… William. Or, rather, I was, when I was well and truly human.”

“And now?” You ask.

“I don’t exactly have a name.”

“Can I still call you William, then? Well, if I live long enough to do so?” You ask, eyes moving up to meet his. Looking up at him like that… He wishes the hot feeling in the pit of his stomach would go away.

“...Fine.”

“I mean… are you going to kill me?” You ask, face not shifting as he glares down at you. 

“I won’t kill you on the first night, you need to give me more entertainment.” At least, that’s what he told himself.

“Oh, so we’re both here for the same reason.” You blankly say, his face contorting from a glare to confusion once more.

“You’re here… for entertainment?” He slowly asks, answered by your nod.

“I’m certainly not here for the pay. This place gives like half of minimum wage but I can’t complain about it because the other part is supposed to come from tips. Somehow.”

“How do you even live?” 

“Well, right now I’m on an paid leave due to some unfortunate deaths in my family. To be honest, I never really cared for any of them, but hey. I’ll take any chance for a break I can. Then I got bored.”

He huffs out a laugh. “So you went to another job on your break?”

“Listen, getting a month off leaves a man with little to do when capitalism has left me with no hobbies. Besides, this gives me a great excuse to continue avoiding people.”

His lips curl into an amused grin as he leans forward, lowering his head to be eye level with yours. "Well, you won't be avoiding me." He practically purrs, you averting your eyes at the tone he uses. 

Why would he say it like that?! 

His golden eyes follow you as you close the laptop's screen, enjoying your reaction. You…

He'll keep you around. 

You're entertaining and friendly. Open, and… warm.

He wonders. 

You're human, and fully alive. He's a revived corpse who merged with his vessel. You probably are very warm compared to him.

When he comes back to his senses, he notices you slowly raising out of your seat, hand outstretched towards him. 

Well, might as well take the chance.

He grabs your wrist, looking down at you unimpressed. You quietly huff, falling back into your chair and forcing him to move away from the wall in order to not dislocate your wrist.

Well, his hypothesis is correct. You are very warm. 

He feels the tightening in his gut, not wanting to let go but knowing that he will have to.

You, however, don't actually care either way. You begin your attempt again, this time with your left hand. Slowly raising out of your seat, you actually manage to stand fully up before he notices again, grabbing your other wrist. 

"What are you even trying to do?" He asks, a light sneer on his lips.

"Well... uh, I was trying to… boop your nose? If you're bonded with one of the original suits, then I figured either you or Fredbear would have the sound effect."

He lets out a few short laughs, his sneer replaced with the same amused grin as before.

"I'm afraid neither of us have the sound effect. That only came about with the second and third generations of animatronics."

You hum, interested.

His eyes quickly scan over you, taking in your form. This position, practically holding you hostage… Needless to say, he didn't dislike it.

Still, he releases you as he catches you glancing at what he assumes to be a phone. Things have advanced quite far since he was trapped. 

You turn it on quickly, checking the time. “Well, we have around an hour and a half before my shift ends, so…” Pausing, you check the time again. An hour and a half?

He steps closer, you glancing back up at him before leaning back as he leans forward, looming over you. “Tomorrow, you best make this more fun for me. I’ll greet you, but then I’ll head to the back. Try and stop me from getting in.”

“Uh, sure. Are you still planning on making the punishment for loss, uh, death?”

His eyes narrow in coordination with a widening grin. “That’s for me to know. You either figure it out, or you don’t. It all depends how well you play.” His gruff voice slightly echoes in the mostly empty building, you nodding in response. 

“Oh, cool. Can I tell my brother about you?” You ask suddenly, him quirking a brow as he stares down at you, easily at least half a foot taller than you. He was always tall, but now that he’s in this new form, he grew to be somewhere from 6’6 to 6’8. You sit down once more, exacerbating the height difference.

“Feel free to. Just know that if he ever comes around here, he won’t be alive for very long.”

“I doubt he will. He’s always preferred Foxy the most because he has taste, but-”

“Taste? For liking that liability-strewn fox? You like him as well?”

“To be honest, I never really liked any of them more than the other. I was in my emo phase when I went to see them, so it was practically illegal for me to like anything. But Foxy had sharp teeth and a wicked lookin’ hook, so… I guess I did.”

He hums, clearly slightly annoyed.

“Are you jealous that I liked the fox more than the rabbit that isn’t even the same generation as you?”

“I really should kill you.” His irritated expression shows the truth to your statement.

“It’s okay, I’m willing to call Springbonnie my favorite.”

Now, William was confused. Your tone… you weren’t joking. You were being genuine about something as stupid as this? What is with you?

“You’re very confusing. I think you joke, and then I listen to your tone and you’re genuine. But still, I wouldn’t mind if you did so.”

“It’s not nearly as confusing as how time passes in this place. It’s been like ten minutes since I met you but the clock says like three or four hours have passed.”

“What? Really?” His brows furrow as he steps closer, finding another excuse to close the distance between you both as he leans over the chair, seeing you pointing to the screen. “How strange…”

“Yeah. It doesn’t seem like tomorrow’s hunt will last for six hours, then. Thankfully.” You sigh.

“What, do you not want to feel like my prey for six hours straight?” He grins, leaning over further until his arm rests on your shoulder.

You shiver. “Why do you have to say it like that?”

“Because it makes you react, obviously. It’s entertaining to watch you squirm from something as simple as... the tone of my voice.” Of course, in order to prove his point, he does exactly what he did before, lowering his voice a few pitches and upping the growliness of it.

In covering your eyes, you also cover your cheeks, which have gained a slight flush. “William, I am begging you. Please, please, please, stop talking like that.”

And, naturally progressing, he was left somewhat stunned by the sound of your pleading tone. There’s just something about it, especially as you say his name, that makes him want to…

...makes him want to chase, and capture, and possess forever.

You as his prized prey, and him as the hunter.

“I’ll use it when necessary.” He vaguely answers, watching your head droop.

“I’ll take what I can get.” You concede breathily. 

He chuckles, hearing the chime of a bell, signifying 6 in the morning. "Well, I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then. Don't keep me waiting."

"Asshole. I won't." You turn your head away from him, hiding the flush on your face, and stand up, stretching. "See ya, William."

He hums, eyes tracing your form as you stretch. It was a nice view, watching the button up shirt crease around your back as you stretch, clearly hinting at the muscle beneath. His eyes did drift lower once or twice, and that's how he figures out that damn, you have a really nice ass!

You begin to walk out, and he follows you with his eyes, watching you turn past the replica Freddy husk and unlock the door, exiting into the fresh morning. His eyelids droop, gaze slipping up as his lips curl into a wide grin.

“Y/N… I won’t kill you. Especially not when I’m presented with such an ample opportunity to make this into something so entertaining.” 

Well…

Is that the only reason?

Of course, he knows it isn’t.

His grin falls, leaving him coldly leering at the aged panels above him before his sight shifts back to the room around him. As he exits the office, he glances at the stained and shaded glass of the door, not allowing much, if any, light in. He turns away, heading back to where he was originally.

As he walks, he lets his form shift, feeling his body grow to his previous monster rabbit self, the creaks of his metal joints loud in the silent building. 

He ignores any shadows that creep in the edges of his vision, the specters traversing without sound. 

“This is going to be… boring.” His voice, far rougher than before, comes out unfeeling and croaky. As he returns to his previous position, slouching over once more, he decides to use his old tactic to pass time; inflicting enough pain on himself to fall unconscious. It doesn’t matter if his dreams are infested with darkness, nor how much he suffers in them. 

It was better than the boredom of sitting in one position with an unchanging environment.

He begins forcing his muscles to flex and strain within the suit and pull against the beams they have welded to, making him grit his teeth before the searing pain fades away, along with his vision.

Goodnight, Y/N.

-

“Yo.” You greet your brother, the man tiredly yawning as he ruffles his hair.

“Heya, Y/N. What’re you up so early for?” 

“Well, I got bored and got a night shift job at this dinky little horror attraction opening up next week. I decided to tell you about what happened there before I head off to sleep.”

“You got bored during a break from your job so you… got another job?”

“Y’know, William said the same thing.” You say, your brother narrowing his eyes at you.

“A coworker?” He asks. 

“Eh, not quite… he is the reason I stayed up to talk to you, though.”

He hums, walking around the couch you were splayed on with your shirt half unbuttoned. 

“So, to begin my tale, you remember Freddy’s? The pizzeria with the animatronics?” You question.

“Yeah?”

“Well the horror place I went to is based off of that; it’s filled with replicas and a few actual things from the pizzerias of the past, but something came in tonight that was… different.”

“Which was?”

“An animatronic. One of the originals, Springbonnie. Granted, the suit was ripped to shit and covered in enough dirt to be green, but it was authentic. It even has the dead body! Well - not so dead body, but still visible.”

“Did you call the cops?” He asks, worried.

“Hell no! I’m not paid enough to give a shit about what could-or-could-not-be a dead body. Either way, he transformed into a human, which was rather odd, but-”

“Just to be clear, this rabbit had a dead body inside and transformed into a human, and you don’t question it?”

“No. Continuing on, he got into my office and then we talked for a bit, I learned that his name is William, time passed really weirdly, and then we struck a deal where I have to keep him out of my office or I'll maybe die.”

“You’re still going back there?! And ‘maybe die?!’”

“Yeah, he said the knowledge about whether or not I die from losing the hunt was ‘for him to know.’ I didn’t question it further.” 

“You know, Y/N, sometimes it feels like I’m the older sibling. You’re fucking stupid.”

“I’m well aware.”

He leans over the couch, glaring down at you. “Then wisen up and quit that damn job.”

“I’m good. William is good company.”

“He threatened to kill you!”

“And? He hasn’t. Yet.”

“You infuriate me, gayboy.” He says, stepping away from the couch.

“Cool. I’ll sleep here for now, when you get back from work I’ll definitely be up.”

“Whatever.” He waves his hand at you, ignoring the middle finger pointing his direction from behind the couch’s back.

---

Part 2

also a lot of the stuff i write from now on may be male reader inserts lol

heres my springtrap design

here's the updated design lol

[theidlethinkingsofafrogblog]

What happened after the Doctor in the photo

[...]

"Do you want me to, uh, call someone to be with you or...? Booth asked, risking a glance to the passenger side.

-No, I'm fine...alone." Quiet sobs raked through her body and tears kept coming. She had known that this could not end well; them, together. It could never work, she had told him that much last year but here she was, crying in his car after foolishly acting on impulse...and yet, it had not felt foolish -it had felt right.

The car had come to a halt and Booth cleared his throat not knowing what to do. He was always the one making things easy between them but after her declaration he found himself at his wits' end. He could only hope that just like him she would find a way to keep going in a world where her love was unrequited and that eventually she, too, would find someone to share her life with. Just not him. He could not bring himself to look her in the eyes so he got out of the car and rounded it to open her door. Looking anywhere but at Booth, Temperance slowly slid out of her seat. And here they were; standing face to face on the curb in front of Brennan's house, neither one of them daring to look the other in the eyes. She was the first to interrupt the laden silence.

"I guess I should go. Thank you Booth -for believing me...about Lauren's death.

-Bones..." he muttered although he had no idea what he was going to say next. She had started making her way to her building but at the sound of her nickname she turned around and finally their eyes met. They both stared, lost in thought. Booth could still see the sheen of unhushed tears in her eyes, he could tell she was fighting a new onslaught of tears and he felt strangely untethered. It was not right, it was not fair. A year ago he would have been the man she needed, he had begged her to let him be that man! They would have been good together, more than good.

For years he had believed that them meeting had to be fate, the miracle that put love on his path -now he saw that this was fate, two souls never getting to each other at the right time, bound to miss each other. He loved Hannah, he could see himself having a future with her, here in D.C -her with her work at the White House and him at the FBI working with Bones and the squints... That's the life he wanted.

"I'm sorry, I really am, he trailed off.

-Goodbye Booth..."

She turned her back to him and willed her feet to keep moving. The rain had not let up and she was now soaked to the bone. She did not turn around and he did not stop her. This was really it. She had tried, it would appear she had read the signals all wrong.

Once she crossed the threshold of her house the enormity of it all finally hit her. She expected more tears because surely this meant that their partnership was compromised but nothing came and she was surrounded by the silence of her home. Her gaze trailed over the many artifacts littered all over her apartment, the hundreds and hundreds of books. This was her house; the museum of an impersonal life. She had always been alone so why did it feel different now? It was absurd to think that one could be alone in different ways, either you are alone or you are not and Temperance Brennan was definitely alone, that much had been true before this case, before Booth. She wished she could just go back in time to the days of oblivious loneliness, when she had no real inkling as to what she was missing out on. Damn Booth! Damn him for making her world so messy, so irrational!

Suddenly sadness made way for anger. She had been a fool and now she was paying the price, no doubt she would do so for a long time. What had she expected? For him to leave Hannah and take a chance on a relationship with a woman who had to be faced with the image of an empty life which led to a silent death to finally come to grips with feelings she had harbored for years? He was too fluent in the elusive language of emotions to belong with her in any way.

Even in the sadness induced haziness she could feel that there was something wrong with that statement but she simply did not have the heart to think about it.

She sluggishly got ready for what was undoubtedly about to be a restless night and somewhere between the moment she had removed her shoes and the process of drying of her hair the tears had started back. She did no try to stop them. She would let it all out tonight and then... Well, there was no way for her to infer what Booth would do after the debacle of this night but as far as she was concerned nothing really had to change. She would adapt, she believed there was such a thing as evolution so she would give herself time to evolve, to become a version of herself that did not yearn for the love of her partner, a woman who lived for her job and did not let herself get sidetracked by fragile ties to others. Or maybe she could go back to the Maluku Islands... Angela would be upset, Cam as well no doubt and Booth...evidently she could not trust her intuitions when it came to him so perhaps he would be relieved to see her go; that way they had no reason to face this head on day after day, case after case. And so the hours passed and she kept oscillating between those two options. By the time the sun had risen she was no closer to a decision, her eyes felt swollen from all the crying and her chest felt raw although she knew that it could not possibly from a broken heart, simply a mental state making itself known physically and tiredness getting to her body.

She could not stay in place anymore so she got ready and took off for the lab where she would work, hopefully dulling the ache of Booth's rejection.

The simple act of being in the lab, a place where she knew she belonged seemed to alleviate some of the anguish she felt. This had been an excellent idea. Before she reached the platform Micah appeared out of nowhere -as was his habit.

"How'd it work out? he asked, his trademark benevolent smile fixed on his face.

- I listened to the universe... I felt something. she chuckled, I feel sad.

- That's so much better than dead, or even dead inside."

This made her smile slightly; he was right, at least she had not been run over by that car last night, that had to count for something.

"You heard that in a lecture? she asked somehow soothed by their conversation.

- I got my own story Dr. Brennan. Just like you, just like everybody else... I got my own sad story."

She pondered over this for a while and when she came back to her senses Micah was gone, no doubt she would see him again later in the day. She made a beeline for her office intending to put the Lauren Eams case to rest and find some other task to throw herself into head first. The file was strewn open on her desk, she took a deep breath, bracing herself. Temperance picked up the photograph that had knocked her world off its axis and saw things clearly for the first time since the beginning of this whole ordeal.

"Three days, she whispered to herself. Three days for the world to turn right side up again."

Everything was supposed to be back to normal now but she was still sad and painfully aware of how alone she was. So this was the new normal huh? She hated that just like she could now see Lauren's face for what it truly was she could not make herself forget about the feelings she had excavated from the depth of herself last night. Perhaps such was the price of a renewed life in the world right side up: clarity. Her life had not changed, not in its core but now her eyes saw more clearly what it had chosen to ignore up until then. She was not Dr. Lauren Eams, she was alive, she loved Booth,he loved Hannah. Those were the facts. She could live with those facts and soon she would get over it -he had gotten over her. She would give herself seven months and then...well, she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

In the safety of her office she finally understood what had bothered her last night. Booth and her did belong together! Not as lovers but as colleagues, as partners. This was not some sort of irrational belief in the notion of fate but a conclusion drawn from experience: their team was incredibly efficient and they all worked well together. If nothing she else she could hold on to that with all her might. Their work together was too important to throw it all away because her heart was crushed.

[camandwhitoutnumbered]

05/15/20

False start #1 (hopefully the one and only)

I decided to actually time the contractions this morning, something I hate doing because I kind of barely feel them and it takes all my focus and energy for a whole hour. Well I did it, and had contractions that were lasting for 1.5 minutes on average about 5 minutes apart for the hour, aka the 5-1-1 rule. (Plus I had bloody show this morning!) So we decided to finalize the bag-packing, cam took a shower, I bounced on the ball waiting to go, and we went! We stopped for a bit of food before going to kaiser riverside. Getting in wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be, but then I had to wait (sans cam) in the triage “waiting spot” for like 30 minutes before they walked me to a room. They’ve always been skeptical I’m actually in labor because of how weird my early labors have been. Anywho, it ended up being the same room I had Celia in (weird!)... I put on the gown, peed in the cup, and walked around the room waiting for the nurse. She came in eventually, hooked me up to a fetal heart rate monitor and contraction tracker, and then promptly left again. 3 different times during the hour I was monitored I got crazy nauseous, like full-body sweat, clammy af, mental status changes nauseous. One of the times the nurse came back in and tried to ask me questions while it was happening and I was like ughhhhhh. I figured out it must have been because I was laying almost all the way on my back! I got so sweaty I legit thought my water had broken and that I was leaking fluid between my sweaty frickin legs! Mortifying! Eventually a doctor came in to check me (still at 4cm, cervix still pretty posterior, baby’s head still pretty high) and assured me my water hadn’t broken (he used the old speculum/swab combo for that diagnosis! Ugh)... then he told me that since my contractions weren’t consistent enough and I didn’t have any cervical change from yesterday, I could go home. Alrighty then. I found cam waiting for me outside, we ate some sadness cookies, and headed home! I tried to just chill out the rest of the day. Pretty big bummer!

[itsworn]

Crazy World of Sideways Sidewinder Dragsters

90-Degree Dreams and Quarter Mile Sideshow

In the golden age of drag racing the variety of surrealistic machines was challenged only by one’s ability to process the cornucopia of crazy contraptions and beautiful blitzers unleashed on the quarter mile. It was a mind game for builders, but also for fans. Of all the crazy configurations and ideas flirted with and doubled down on across drag strips nationwide, the sidewinder dragster seemed like an incredible idea that could revolutionize quarter-mile racing.

With a mid-engine location, but placed sideways in the frame, the engine’s natural torque increased traction rather than pulling to one side. With both rear tires equally loaded there would conceivably be less control problems. It also eliminated driveshaft failures because there wasn’t one; and you could build a dragster more compact to lessen weight. It was also a solution for seeing around a blower and scoop, and the obvious catastrophic results of clutch explosions and blasts of burning oil and engine shrapnel, an all too familiar scenario.

But there were downsides. Disappointing results far outweighing any perceived advantage. Broken axles were common because the hit was instant. There was no clutch slip or driveshaft flex to cushion the rear end for its inevitable absorption of horsepower. Plus wheel hop could snap a keyway axle instantly. A broken chain, used to transfer power from the engine to rear axle in most cases, could kill a run before it started. And slinging a big fat chain had its own medieval consequences.

That said; the biggest issue stymying the sidewinder onslaught was not anything mechanical. Sidewinders handled otherworldly and unpredictably. Whether due to their short wheelbase, the driver’s inability to react quickly enough, or something like a curse, sidewinders were wickedly uncontrollable. Noble drivers and also owners in most cases gave up, failing to tame these unwieldy beasts.

That’s not to say there were no winners, because there were glorious moments. But in many instances a fast, clean run was followed by an unholy terror of whipsaw fury on the next pass, requiring even veterans like Jack Chrisman to take time for reflection on what they just survived.

We should mention one of the earliest sidewinders and an outlier was Creighton Hunter’s 1955 “Slice of Pie” which was the only front engine sidewinder we are aware of. In an overhead view it had the shape of a wedge, thus the name. But aside from Pie, we’ve assembled a solid representation of sidewinders starting from 1955 to the 1980s, including a Funny Car and even a motorcycle; hopefully piquing your brain to imagine the wondrous possibilities and unique solutions for conquering the quarter mile.

1956: Bert Kessler and Dean Gammill of Mattoon, Ill, used a diminutive Crosley sedan body to house their gear-driven sidewinder. Most sidewinders favored chains to transfer power to the axle, so gear drive was somewhat novel. This was configured by removing the tail-shaft of a Borg-Warner transmission and in its place welding a gear onto the shaft. The shifting was handled by a hydraulic shifting mechanism. Power was from a 6-carb 324ci Olds appearing rather stock except for twin-coils. The Crosley competed at the NHRA Nationals in Kansas City in 1956.

1957: Paul Nicolini and Harry Duncan out of Orange County, California, originally built this car, set up with a small block Chevy engine. Bent axles and flinging chains became a common occurrence leading them to sell the evil machine to Joe Mailliard. The Long Beach machine shop owner teamed with house mover Wayne Reed and graphic artist Chuck Jones, who raced a Fuel coupe before taking the reins of the “Automotive Engineering” dragster. This became the first of three sidewinder dragsters the team would campaign. Gone was the Chevy, replaced with a 550hp blown Chrysler Hemi, driving a solid axle by a stout double-row chain. A double-row chain also drove the supercharger. 70-percent of the weight was said to be biased to the rear. On gas it ran a best of 9.05 at 151.51 with Jack Chrisman at the wheel. By 1959 it was reworked with a lengthened chassis and new bodywork incorporating a zoomy tail similar to their new “5 Cycle” car. 5 Cycle was a marketing term referring to a particular type of Isky cam.

Eventually rechristened “Me Too” it would have an afterlife at the hands of Jeep and Ronnie Hampshire in 1960. They purchased the freshened car for $450 and installed George Bolthoff’s 340ci blown, Algon-injected Chevy engine into the chassis, running in B/GD. In later years Ronnie Hampshire said finesse slipping the clutch was the best antidote for the spooky handling, netting a best 9.09 at 168mph, before retiring the car at the end of the year.

1957: Lowell Lister’s clean “Crossfire” dragster from Pennsylvania. Lister’s gas-powered sidewinder ran a best of 9.7 at 156mph. In the early 1960s it changed hands with Bill Miller, also from Pennsylvania, giving the short slingshot a try.

1958: Oscar Taylor’s small block Chevy-powered sideways dragster from Drumright, Oklahoma, seen here at the 1958 NHRA Nationals, ran in the A/Gas dragster class. Weight was stated as 1050-pounds.

1959: The second sidewinder product of Jones, Reed and Mailliard was the 100-inch “5 Cycle Special”, a more refined and sexier progression of the first sidewinder. Again powered by a blown Chrysler Hemi, this time with a Gilmer belt spinning the 6-71 blower, the short dragster was still chain-driven. This was a consistent 9-second car running over 160mph. With Jack Chrisman at the wheel both team’s sidewinders competed at the 1959 NHRA Nationals at Detroit Dragway, with this car going all of the way before losing in the final round.

1959: Though not technically a sidewinder, we couldn’t help including Fontana, California’s Ed Rannberg with his lightweight “No-Cam Special”. Powered by four-cylinder, opposed two-stroke, 100ci McCulloch drone engine, the gearbox was from an Ariel motorcycle. Running in the X class, it was driven by GR Hardin at the 1959 NHRA Nationals.

1960: Still chasing the perfect sidewinder, Chuck Jones ventured out to create the “Magwinder” with this Kent Fuller 113-inch magnesium chassis featuring a Wayne Ewing magnesium body. Total weight was 1443-pounds. Supposedly NHRA VP Jack Hart signed off on the lack of a steel rollcage.

One side note about this car is a pit mishap landed Chrisman in the hospital when the push bar broke, causing the push car’s bumper to catch the rear tires and catapult over the dragster landing on top of it. In the ensuing action the underside of the push car also caught the back of Jack’s head, scalping him from the rear forward. Finished in late-1960, the Magwinder competed in both 1961 and 1962. It is speculated that the extreme light weight combined with the rigidity of the mag chassis created launch and handling problems. Jones later owned a series of Formula 5000 racecars, and eventually raced in Formula 1. The Magwinder was later sold to Bill Mann who campaigned it with Iskenderian livery and without the rear cover.

1960: The original “Michigan Madman” was EJ Potter, known for his Harley sidewinder small block Chevy drag bike. He once famously said, “Ignorance is a powerful tool if applied at the right times, usually even surpassing knowledge.” With no clutch, Potter would engage the center stand, rev the engine, and at the green light an assistant pushed him off. Extreme vibration, unpredictable steering, and wheelies were some of the issues EJ sorted out on his terror trek. His per-diem for exhibition runs easily netted him over $400 for three runs a night. He was limited to three runs as that was how long the tires held up before blowing out. During the course of running the Harley at over 170mph he experienced major injuries from an exhibition run in England. Eventually he switched to a rocket-powered trike he called Widow Maker, which exceeded 200mph, also resulting in a serious injury in 1971 after he jumped from his bike when the chute failed to open. He quit motorcycle exhibition runs in 1973, switching to competitive tractor pulling. He died in 2012.

1962: Lee Titus, proprietor of Lee’s Speed Shop in Santa Monica, California, would have had the most exotic sidewinder ever had he completed it. The chassis was set up for TWO gear-driven sidewinders, one in front and one in the rear. Two gears were attached to machined axles with special bearings. The back of each small block Chevy engine had a gear and idler assembly tied to the main axle gears, driven by two B&M Torque Master converters. Ron Hier was slated to shoe the twin, when Titus unexpectedly pulled the plug. It hung in the rafters of his shop for years before slipping into the ether.

1962: The Sidewinder Plus 1 from the team of Hammel, Cullinan and Mulvey from Lancaster, California, ran between 1962 and 1964 off and on, seen here at the 1964 March Meet at Bakersfield. Best times were 8s at 170mph.

1964: Jim Sivenpiper, from Buffalo, NY, and money buddy brother Dan fashioned this slick sidewinder. The S&M Speed Shop product was Chrysler Hemi-powered, featuring very clean construction. At the 1964 Nationals, where these images were taken, it bogged at the starting line and failed to qualify. The chain-drive hauler ultimately ran low 9s at 170mph.

1970: Art Malone’s novel dragster graced our November 1970 cover. 426 Hemi-powered with a 6-71 blower, weighing in at 1380-pounds, weight bias was said to be 95-percent rear, and only 5-percent at the front, for the long 265-inch wheelbase dragster. The low relationship of the rear axle centerline to the chassis was from the live axle being placed above the crank centerline and running through the engine. A Morse-link chain tied the crank to the 3-inch axle by way of a large gear attached to the specially made multi-disc Crower clutch. On the other side of the Hemi was a blower drive using a Gilmer belt, but Malone also experimented with compressed air forced-induction. Roots-type blowers are parasitic, with Don Garlits positing they strip 2000hp from an engine, so having a source for spinning the blower without the parasitic downside would theoretically add 2000hp. Also, if the compressed air was regulated, engine boost could be staged so less was used at the beginning of a run, coming on strong at mid-track where it was needed. Interestingly in this pre-rear engine dragster period, Malone installed mirrors to see how the tires were reacting, which he missed from driving with a traditional front engine viewpoint. Another problem was his inability to sense the dragster getting out of shape until it’s too late. Though used for testing, Malone’s engineering marvel was unsuccessful in actual competition. It resides in Garlits’ museum today.

1972: The Jack Chrisman “Funnywinder” Mustang made a big splash including landing on our November 1972 cover. Experiencing a fair amount of success with earlier sidewinder efforts Chrisman drove, this new Funny Car must have seemed like a chance worth taking. Curiously, it ran Ford’s 427ci SOHC for power at a time when those engines had fallen out of favor in Top Fuel. Unfortunately it never ran well, and would have evaporated into history were it not for John Force. John and his brother Louie purchased the Funnywinder—their first Funny Car effort. It became the “Night Stalker” in Force’s hands. Evil handling prevented Force from achieving any success, and it was sold and then modified to a conventional front engine setup for an Econo small block Chevy/Powerglide combo, making a few runs at Irwindale Raceway before disappearing. The Night Stalker body surfaces for sale from time to time.

1964: There were a number of Pontiac Tempest 4-banger sidewinder dragsters built, including Norm Leonard’s 262ci example from the 1964 Bakersfield March Meet. The Tempest engine featured an Isky cam, Hilborn injection, and Scott fuel pump; and was chain-driven. Best time was 10.87.

1961: Ted Cyr and Emery Cook were staples of drag racing, winning the 1958 NHRA Nationals. For 1961 they concocted this strange-even-for-sidewinders dragster. Former NHRA Director of Competition Steve Gibbs has described it as an “evil handling experiment.” The nitro small block Chevy spun a direct-drive setup incorporating a driveshaft geared off of a V-drive into the odd side-slung quickchange, in an obvious attempt to experiment with gear ratios. Transferring torque from the quickchange to the right side slick must have created some twist, creating potential spooky runs.

1961: The Stu’s AE Transmission sidewinder from Long Beach, California. One of the only automatic trans sidewinders we are aware of, the small block Chevy runs a 4-speed Hydro sliced in the middle of its case, with a fab’d case aft of the slice for adapting the chain-driven output shaft. Interestingly it accepts a complete stock Hydro pan. A larger gear attached to the rear wheel completes the complicated drive system. As there are no other images of this rig we assume the old handling gremlins kept this effort from making any dent in the sidewinder attempts continuing to trickle into drag racing around this time.

1982: One of the last of the sidewinder dragster attempts came from one of drag racing’s greatest; Big Daddy Don Garlits. Neither discouraged by friend Art Malone’s 1970 attempt, nor the crash of JT Stewart’s “Arizona Sidewinder” dragster over ten years before, which driver Dennis Wiery survived; Big Daddy unleashed this Sage Brothers creation. Chuck and Mike Sage were into tractor pulling, creating gear sets at their company SCS Geardrives in Bellevue, Ohio. They built this stunner based on experiments with a Pro Comp dragster they owned. Convinced of its merits, they contacted Garlits, who liked the concept enough to agree to run a 240-inch dragster they were building for Top Fuel competition. Using one of Garlits’ 484ci nitro Hemis, power was transferred through a complex set of gears to the rear end. At Orange County Raceway in early 1982 for its maiden voyage, Garlits lost three match race rounds to Shirley Muldowney partially due to gear damage. By spring the brothers had refined the gearbox, but in numerous match race competitions the car did not perform to Garlits’ expectations. Calling upon an engineer-friend at South Florida University, he calculated that Garlits was losing over 20-percent of the Hemi’s available power due to the gears. With that, Garlits returned Swamp Rat 27 to the Sage brothers, who continued testing for another two years before donating it to Garlits’ museum where it rests today.

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