#axe boy idv

[udawo]

forest's heart.

[jetbluebishop]

Together we are Identity V

[sealkieche]

robbies in the scrapbook

[pillbugpaints]

recent bobbles

[legitidvleaks]

Robbie Whyte (Axe Boy) Character Day Letter [Part A]

Beneath the Juniper Tree The candy jar beneath the juniper tree holds sweet memories with his family and promises from his hometown—now lost and unfulfilled. (Obtainable from Axe Boy's Character Day event)

Robbie Whyte: Investigation Field Notes I

As I was cataloging the records of patients treated at White Sand Street Asylum, I stumbled upon a curious entry involving a brother and sister, both of whom had endured extraordinary experiences. When I inquired with the asylum staff, their responses focused entirely on the tragic and sensational image of the sister—frantic and deranged—swinging an axe. Yet, none of them seemed to recall the tragic death of her younger brother, the boy who was laid to rest beneath the old juniper tree.

Robbie Whyte There is little to no written or photographic evidence of Robbie Whyte in the archives of White Sand Street Asylum—or in those of its predecessors. It seems his presence has been deliberately erased from the records. Even the volunteers working in the asylum avoid mentioning his name. The only trace of him is a lone entry in a caregiver's journal, which recounts a mischievous incident where the boy climbed the asylum's balcony late at night and caused an accident. Some others spoke of a deranged patient wielding an axe: "He had returned from the dead—just as he had beneath the juniper tree—pruning the branches." I could only record these disjointed, subjective remarks and set them aside for the time being. My investigation led me to leave White Sand Street Asylum, hopeful that the surrounding community might offer further clues. There are few buildings surrounding the asylum, save for a solitary news kiosk in the distance. The vendor, noticing my rare appearance, approached me with practiced ease, handing me a fresh newspaper. He asked what had brought me to the asylum, and when I mentioned the name of the deceased boy I was investigating, the man, who introduced himself as Ernest, hesitated. After confirming that I had no intention of publishing any sensitive information, he began to recount what he knew about the White Sand Street Asylum and its troubling past. Ernest's narrative often seemed to align with the headlines of the newspapers. On that particular day, he had been doing his rounds as a newsboy, calling out the day's headlines. The tragic tale of "The Whytes' Accidental Deaths" was the topic that dominated the streets. Some claimed they had perished in a botched underground trade accident; others insisted they had been victims of a collapse at an entertainment venue. Regardless of the various rumors, the Whyte children were sent to an orphanage, abandoned and neglected. Ernest recalled seeing the boy, "shoved into the orphanage, crying inconsolably," while a caregiver callously referred to him as a "crybaby." The girl, though visibly disturbed, never let go of her brother's hand. "In the days that followed," Ernest continued, "I would often see groups of children leaving the orphanage. Some were missing limbs, leaning on one another as they begged for charity. At first, I thought their injuries were the result of accidents until I saw that sister again. When she first entered the orphanage, she looked weary and frightened, but unlike now, she was whole, healthy even!" Ernest's voice cracked slightly as he recounted these memories, revealing a child's inability to fully grasp the tragic events unfolding around him. During his newspaper rounds, Ernest frequently noticed a young boy—Robbie—pruning branches along the orphanage's iron fence. Occasionally, their eyes would meet across the barrier, a silent understanding passing between them. The ice was broken when the "crybaby" offered Ernest a small figure made of juniper twigs. "It was crooked, and even a little ugly," Ernest smiled wistfully, "but it meant a great deal to me as a child." From that moment on, the two boys exchanged gifts: Ernest, using his meager newspaper earnings, would buy candies and milk to pass through the gaps in the fence, while Robbie reciprocated with various items made from juniper twigs. Over time, their conversations grew more familiar, and Ernest learned the names of the siblings. The discussions were light-hearted, covering a range of topics. Ernest recalled how Robbie would speak fondly of his home in Somerset, of the warm milk his parents had given him before they left, and the bitter herbal tea he had been forced to take when ill.

[ddenryu]

𓏼 ◟ ͜ ׁ Axeboy graphics ໒꒱ ︶ ͝ f2u , credit not needed , reblogs >> likes 𓈒 །🎻 made some icons to bcz I didn’t like the graphic that much 𓈒 𓈒 ⠀🍷 ( [:✟:] ᴗ͈)

(THIS GRAPHIC IS NOT APART OF MY EVENT)

[florasitas]

Pookiebear could i maybe ask for a stimboard with robbie……….i hope you’re having a nice christmas…….

haii and ofc, have a nice holidays!

[withered--s0uls]

4 year old art repost because I didnt have energy to make something new oops I still like this one tho :3

[dlskksdn]

gift.

[whimsyycal]

Mains :(

[hailaxyart]

I love him. Axe boy bby

[udawo]

bet when he cries the rats are mourning with him.

[kyodelika]

todays robbie 🧁

[virtualgalaxysuit]

Oh! So you are also too shy and scared to show your face, right?

...

Right? •-•

[pillbugpaints]

i got idvpilled. yay?

[legitidvleaks]

Robbie Whyte (Axe Boy) Character Day Letter [Part B]

"Whenever I pruned the juniper branches, I would think of the fuzzy feeling sitting on my father's shoulders." "Under the juniper tree buried the memories of my sister and me." "The milk was cold and a little sour, but with my sister, it was all happiness." "I wish my sister would come back soon." I was moved by Ernest's recollection, but I tempered my emotions to maintain objectivity and stay focused on the investigation. For a time, the two boys continued their exchanges, until, one day, Ernest learned that the White Sand Street Orphanage had changed ownership. After that, fewer and fewer children emerged from its grim walls, and Ernest saw less and less of Robbie. He often observed stretcher-bearers hauling covered bodies in and out of the orphanage, but at the time, he could not fathom the significance of those grim occurrences. Ernest's last memory of Robbie occurred one night after he had finished his deliveries and was heading home. He heard someone calling out to him. Turning, he saw Robbie standing pale and gaunt on the other side of the iron fence. Robbie, looking worn and distressed, explained that he had not seen his sister for days. Since the orphanage had changed ownership, she had been taken away and locked in a room upstairs. "My sister poured out my medicine," Robbie had told him. "She said if I took it, I wouldn't get any more candy." "I wanted to help him," Ernest confessed, his voice heavy with regret. "I told him, ‘Maybe when it gets dark, you can sneak past the guards and look at your sister through the window by the wall. Robbie, something's not right. You need to escape with her. We'll meet outside, and then we can deliver newspapers together. We'll make a life for ourselves.'" Ernest's face clouded over as he recalled the futile hope in his words. Not long after, a chilling report emerged of a patient with an axe in the asylum, and Robbie Whyte vanished from all known accounts. With the information I had gathered from Ernest and from subsequent reports, I was able to piece together the broader narrative. While the true culprit of these tragedies may have been identified, the series of unfortunate events, and the irreversible consequences they brought, had clearly weighed heavily on Ernest. It seemed that he was the only one in the neighborhood who still cared about Robbie. After assuring him that my investigation would remain private, Ernest appeared to relax. "Somerset," Robbie had often mentioned, "might hold more answers." So, after a brief journey, I arrived in Somerset and found the "Juniper Tree Park" that Robbie had spoken of. The elderly residents in the area still remembered the Whyte family with fondness. When I inquired about the siblings, they spoke highly of them, particularly Robbie, who, though small in stature, would often bounce around excitedly after Sunday services, offering cheerful greetings to his neighbors. The house they had once lived in had long since passed into other hands, and the juniper tree that had once stood proudly in their garden had been cut down. All that remained was a tangle of weeds and overgrown shrubs. Following Ernest's clues, I continued to search the area and soon discovered something hard buried in the soil—a glass bottle. The bottle's seal had been broken, and inside, ants had devoured the candy, leaving only faded wrappers behind. Tucked within the bottle was a yellowed, blurry photograph. Despite its condition, I could see Dolores Whyte, radiant and healthy, holding a smiling Robbie. On the back of the photo, a handwritten note read: "If Robbie takes his medicine, he'll get a candy as a reward." At that moment, it became clear that Robbie Whyte was not the crybaby spoken of in the asylum's grim records, but a happy child once full of life, basking in the love of his family beneath the shade of the juniper tree.