#canon-typical horor

[shnowbilicat]

The Greatest Magician

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Ladies and Gentleman!

Children of all ages!

Please put your hands together for the owner of Freddy Fazbear Entertainment and the greatest magician in the world ...

Alexander Winters!

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Alex is a VERY old FNAF OC of mine and sadly one of the 'forgotten ones', because I started to get attached to Vincent and his crew way more.

BUT! After 8 years I can finally give him a proper welcome back! While his current design I created some years back, I actually kinda figured out his power predicament and I'm happy so show off my bootyful Freddy's boss boi in all his awesome glory uwu

Alex Winters is a friendly yet professional guy, especially when it comes to his work at Freddy's. What started out as a silly side project with his best friend Noah and their friends as support, creating the Freddy's Horor Attraction, grew into something so much bigger. Alex however ceased the oppertunity and grew immensily with the challenges and now is the proud owner of a new age of Freddy's; one that ISN'T owned by a psychopathic murderer pff.

While he can be a hot head sometimes, Alex really cares about the well being of his friends and Freddy's. He knows how much is laying on his shoulders and sometimes he overworks himself just to keep things flowing and great for others to enjoy. To top it all off, since Alex is not only one of the highest people in the franchise, next to Noah who is a co-owner, but also deals with really dangerous shit, like giving shelter to Vincent, his friends and the haunted animatronics, Jack on day decided to do something never seen before.

In what could be decribed like a medival fantasy ritual, where Jack and Alex connected and shared a bond, Alex was able to harness immense powers and became ... a magician.

While typical medival magician don't really match with the present day style of murder mystery at a children's entertainment place, STAGE MAGICIANs are a very different ball park! Instead of fireballs or teleportation magic, Alex uses these spells like stage acts; the disappearing act, confetti canons, pulling ANIMATRONIC bunnies out of his hat or even lighting birthday candles with a flick of his finger.

And even though he doesn't seem like much and his stage acts seem silly and to laigh at, do not be fooled, Alex is very capable with his new powers and will not hesitate to stuff your mouth with endles handkerchiefs.

Love my new bby boi Alex SO much qWq

[sickfics-for-days]

Knowledge is All We Have

Hello! This is my first fic for the TMAHC week! I went with the shaky hands prompt, as well as a dash of pretend. Enjoy! :)

The end of the world is here, and all Jon can do is hide here in this cabin with Martin. He knows they cannot hide here forever, but he is willing to try, even if for just a little while longer. He knows... well that’s the problem isn’t it? He Knows. He Knows everything that happening outside the illusion of safety the walls provide. He Knows the fear, the agony that he has brought to the entire world.

He Knows about the woman Martin spoke to at the shop in the village. She had smiled when she handed him his receipt, asking politely if he was in area on holiday. Martin had laughed, saying it was something like that. Now, she was trapped in what used to be her flat above the shop, consumed in an endless flame. He Knows about the farmer down the lane, whose cows Martin always enjoyed observing. He Knows that he is now running, always running, away from the Hunt. He is prey and there is nothing Jon could do to save him from his inevitable fate. Jon hates that as The Archivist all he can do is watch. He hates even more that somewhere deep down, he enjoys it.

Martin is doing his best. He is trying to give Jon the space he says he needs, give him time to come to terms with the fact that he just ended the world. But he will never Understand, and for this Jon is grateful. In this new world where rules do not apply and each moment is more terrifying, Jon is grateful that Martin is protected from the full force of it. However, he drowning under the weight of everyone’s stories. The woman in the shop and the farmer are not unique. He Knows the fates of everyone, who they were and what they are now reduced to. The best parts of humanity are gone, everyone is now just terror and fear. When Martin leaves, trying to offer the space he thinks Jon needs, Jon often finds himself on his knees, the heels of his shaking hands pressed into his eyes, trying and failing to stem the flow of knowledge that he cannot stop any more than he could have stopped the tide from coming in, back when things like that still happened.

Martin had returned during one of the first of these episodes, before Jon had acclimated and learned to hide what he Knew, and he had hurriedly set down the mug of tea in his hands and knelt beside him.

“Jon? Jon, what’s wrong?”

The best Jon could offer was a low moan, more of an instinctive response to the worried tone than a coherent answer. There was just so much information, he didn’t even have the brain space to comprehend what was being said, just the fact that Martin was scared. It triggered some last human instinct within him, the desire to respond, to say it was okay, anything to remove that fear from the one person he had privately resolved should not fall under the fear that had taken the rest of the world.

“O-okay, let’s, ah, let’s get you onto the sofa. Come on.” Gently, Martin lifted Jon to a semblance of a standing position, shuffling them backwards onto the cushions in a movement Jon barely registered.

He knows he isn’t helping, limbs moving stiffly, awkwardly, and relying too much on Martin for support. But before he can put together what to do, how to help, he is lost again in the tide, thoughts swallowed by pain and fear and suffering too great to imagine, and yet, he doesn’t have to. It plays out in his mind’s eye, and he can feel the pain, the fear. It’s not enough that he can see it, the Eye needs him to feel it too, to drink in the cocktail of terror as if it were the sustenance keeping him alive.

That’s the part that gets to him the most. All the horror, pain, gore, and terror, everything that should overwhelm him and shut him down with the absolute monstrosity of it all, and he is drinking it in. It feels right, natural, and in some ways he can’t get enough. After so long subsisting on dry, stale statements from the archives, this buffet of fresh terror feels like a feast.

As the tide recedes, he lets out a dry sob, and he is not sure if it is of relief or painful, aching loss. He finds he is on the couch, folded against Martin, and the fire is crackling in the fireplace. Martin has his arms around him, trying in vain to offer comfort and support, to ground him. Taking a deep breath, Jon sits up, pulling away ever so slightly to take his own weight.

“Is- is it over?” Martin asks hesitantly.

“Yes, I think- I believe so.” Jon lies, unable to fully describe how even now he still Knows and will never fully stop.

Delicately, as if the slightest touch could shatter him, Martin takes a blanket and wraps it around Jon’s shoulders. “It’s that bad?”

Jon inhales, a deep shuddering sigh, before replying. “It’s... it’s everything, all of it. I’m The Archivist, and the Beholding wants to... to reward me, I guess. I can see everything, every detail of every person and what’s happening to them.” He pulls the blanket tighter around himself, the shaking in his hands fading, but not gone yet.

“Some reward,” Martin snorts.

“I- I wish I could agree. But it just, it feels so right, and- and I hate it more than anything.” Jon crumples under the blanket, shame and guilt crushing him.

“None of that,” Martin rebukes gently, pulling him closer. “This was Elias’ fault. He tricked you. You never wanted this, never even dreamed of doing it. You were just a piece in a much larger game.” He picks up a still warm cup of tea from the coffee table and hands it to him. “Here, take this, it might help.”

Jon takes it, hands finally steady, savoring the warmth and comfort, even as he knows it cannot last.