#implied murder tw

[awesomecoolfandomart]

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

pieta

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 / 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 : 𝚁𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚕𝚝𝚞𝚜 𝙱𝚊𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎         ━ Triggering Content Ahead: Please Proceed with Caution ━

As the firstborn son to Bran and Palila Baudelaire, Robin was born on the fateful day of June 28th, 1788, amidst torrents that drenched Suffolk ( it was, after all, the wettest day ever recorded in the city). However he was not to stay here within the bustling world of man but in the quietude of a small, unnamed town in the open fields of Northumberland. The world was the same as it always was, and men like Bran rarely found the comforts of family; the Baudelaire household was an oddity to say the least. It was even more infrequent for men of Bran's occupation to ever settle and marry; Sin Eaters were the dredges of society after all — vilified but needed — a necessary evil in the eyes of many within the Northern English countryside. Most would not want to marry a monster. Yet the boy's days were painted with the colors of nature and the woodland — gardening beneath the watchful eye of his mother, hunting in the trees along his father's side, and nurturing a bond with his siblings, Wren and Linette. He did not understand, in his young age, why the world gazed upon them with such scorn.

A sin-eater is a person who consumes a ritual meal in order to spiritually take on the sins of a deceased person. The food was believed to absorb the sins of a recently dead person, thus absolving the soul of the person. Many funerals were attended by a professed "sin-eater," hired to take upon him the sins of the deceased. By swallowing bread and beer, with a suitable ceremony before the corpse, he was supposed to free it from every penalty for past offences, appropriating the punishment to himself. Sin Eaters were not often the study of academia due to their shrouded and often reviled existence; Abhorred by the superstitious villagers as a thing unclean, the sin-eater cut himself off from all social intercourse with his fellow creatures by reason of the life he had chosen; he lived as a rule in a remote place by himself, and those who chanced to meet him avoided him as they would a leper. This unfortunate was held to be the associate of evil spirits, and given to witchcraft, incantations and unholy practices; only when a death took place did they seek him out, and when his purpose was accomplished they burned the wooden bowl and platter from which he had eaten the food handed across, or placed on the corpse for his consumption. ( Funeral Customs by Bertram S. Puckle ; 1926 )

As was tradition, Robin Altus Baudelaire learned his destined profession at the tender age of innocence, when his eyes were still round with light and his cheeks like apples. Bran was a man of unwavering faith and often spoke of the virtues of piety and mercy, imparting the belief that to sacrifice oneself for the sake of others mirrored the divine compassion of Christ. Martyrdom became a beautiful thing to the boy, and while the townsfolk remained blind to their struggles, Robin's heart held firm to the conviction that when the world crumbled beneath time's weight, they would understand the grace that had granted them passage into Heaven’s hold. Perhaps then they would be able to look upon the family without such reckless hate. A lofty dream. Still, despite the leers and glowers, nestled on the fringes of a quaint village, their small home stood as a refuge against the wild forests just beyond the horizon of the ebbing grass sea, of their neighbors' contempt.

Life was peaceful, despite its hardships, and Robin's heart never emptied, even if some days his stomach would. However, a brutal winter in 1800 swept through, and with it came an unseen terror — almost certainly the greatest calamity of his time — riding upon the winter winds was Father Death cloaked in white. One night, Linette, Robin's beloved sister, coughed blood across her pillow. It was the beginning of the end. She would be the first to fall, and as the silver moon waxed and waned, the Baudelaire family succumbed one by one to the relentless grip of the disease, decaying from the inside out. All except their eldest son, who was now tasked with the perilous journey into the town they served — a place buzzing with life and commerce, and worst of all, man. He was instructed by his father to venture forth to the apothecary to fetch cod liver oil and turpentine, remedies with the potential to stave off consumption. For as long as it could, anyway.

But aged only twelve and without the ability to read the delicate labels of the vials lining the shelves, Robin found himself at a loss when crossing through the apothecary's aisles — and in a moment of desperation, he asked the owner for help. But the moment he spoke, the atmosphere shifted and icy fingers crawled their way up Robin's spine. The Baudelaires were a family marked by grief, their hair shimmering like moonlight-woven thread, and as such horrible rumors clung to their presence and haunted their steps. Chatter coursed through the two other clerks quickly, suspicion twisting their gazes as they recognized the boy’s lineage. Unease simmered; for now the question was why the Robin had truly traveled into town. His kin oft came in the wake of death; so what foul omen was he? Fear was always eager to fester within men when confronted with the unknown, and upon hearing the medicines he requested, it ignited within the shop and spread like flame to dry grass. The apothecary provided the boy with the necessary ailments, as he'd very politely asked, but not without paying a heavy toll. For now the men within the village knew that Father Death loomed over the Baudelaire home, ready to ride their gasping moans further into the town and poised to claim what was rightfully His … and such things could not be ignored.

Ultimately, their home was a mere transient stop on the Grim's remorseless journey — a stepping stone marked by the stench of a lingering malevolence; they were diseased rats who had come to chew festering wounds along the shire's wintry and pale pastures.

During one cold December night, the young Baudelaire bairn awoke with a start — but not due to the chill. No, no, something was wrong; he could tell that much, but the specifics were lost on him in the dark. However, a ghostly whisper tugged at his consciousness, urging him to listen closely and to keep quiet, and in his panic, he did.

Outside Robin could hear the hushed and hurried murmurs of men echoing through the thick veil of night, mingling with the soft rustling of hay. He couldn't make sense of it at the time, and being a polite young lad, he quietly went to greet these sudden strangers — but panic seized him when he realized the door was barred. Something, or rather someone, had jammed it shut, but once again … why? A tender chide of the same voice from earlier told him to flee, nevertheless cruel and ravenous flames began to snake around the doorframe, their flickering tongues illuminating the planes of Robin's young face as he recoiled in terror. Each crackling ember seemed as a thousand eyes to reflect the devil's wickedness, soon rolling together to transform the entrance into a gaping maw eager to consume everything within its reach.

Hastily he dashed to his family, trying to rouse them from their infected dreams, but they remained ensnared in a slumber far too deep to wake now. Only little Linny opened her eyes, and Robin practically threw himself at her to try and lift her out of her blankets. Yet, as he grasped her frail form, the weight nearly crushed him. He was not a strong boy — and he struggled, weak and trembling … what little strength he had waned as the choking smoke filled his lungs. With a final, desperate effort, he dragged her halfway from the bed, only to slip and fall to the floor, where the searing heat began to lap at his hands and ignite the fluttering edges of his nightshirt.

The bright orange beast roared to life, and Robin's will to live fought to bring him to his now calloused and bubbling feet; with one final glance towards his weeping sister, he left her screaming and reaching for him. Each step was walking on embers, and the sharp sting of her cries were glass shards in his ears, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and summoned every ounce of endurance he had to reach the rear of the house. His bloodied fingers clawed nothing short of a frenzy on the splintered window frame of the storage room, his nails breaking and his hands raw from the relentless struggle against the cruel timbers blocking freedom from this hell. Each jagged edge tore at him, but in his mindless adrenaline fueled high, he carved a path out, determined to escape the fiery grasp of doom lingering just behind. With each wooden creak Robin felt the delicate breath of winter kiss his scorching skin through the cracks, and with a final surge of will, he shattered the remaining glass and tumbled into a world blanketed in pearlescent shimmer. Each snowflake swirled like a thousand daggers against his burning skin, and the merciless cold gnawed at him and nearly stole his life away, but his body forced him to stand once more — to finally flee from this wretched place. The towering trees looming ahead offered a haven from the hunting dogs and their whistling owners; there were far too many trees and dense underbrush to bother … And so once everything fell silent, Robin went the only way he could: forward.

But for all of his determination, Robin had seen too few winters to withstand the savage bite of the icy chill and decided instead to quietly nestle within the dense thicket, content to surrender to the exhaustion that clawed at his aching limbs and burned in his weary eyes. As the frost crept insidiously into his flesh and bones, he felt a warmth beckoning him, a promise of rest that whispered sweet and soft. Teetering upon the brink of sleep, the familiar comfort of his mother’s arms enveloped him, lifting him up as she had done in his childhood and cradling him against the safety of her chest. The ground beneath him transformed into a soft bed of snow, each flake a delicate touch against his numbed skin, inviting him deeper into dreamless slumber. Yet, a gentle sound stirred the soupy lull of his brain, and the world blurred around him as Robin urged himself to peel open his heavy lids. When he finally managed to lift his gaze, he saw what he thought to be a cloaked man seated on a horse emerging from the swirling white. Fear and fatigue battled within him, but he could no longer run nor resist, and with nothing left, he closed his eyes.

Father Death had come … He should have known better than to run.

He reached neither Heaven nor Hell that day, and by the following evening the boy’s fatigued body, once frozen stiff, began to thaw like the first light of dawn breaking through dense clouds. He awoke to the soothing purr of a small cat snuggled against his chest, and Robin's eyes fluttered open and stared into the glow of a crackling hearth — relaxing as he saw its contained and crumbling state. For a fleeting moment, a fragile hope blossomed within him which momentarily banished the thoughts of despair threatening to stain his mind. Perhaps, he dared to dream; all of his trials were nothing more than a cruel fantasy — a nightmare he was glad to be free from. But as reality seeped back in, it bore the weight of bittersweet truth: his father’s familiar silhouette did not grace the threshold of the room in greeting, and as his vision cleared, he was soon to find that he was not in his home. Still, Robin could not bear to lift his body from its resting place, and with a reluctant heart, he gave in to the gentle lull of his surroundings and let the veil of sleep wash over him again.

It was here, amidst flickering candlelight and aged parchment, that Robin's life would change; whether for better or worse, one could not yet say. The lost child was nursed back to health by that same figure who had found him in the woods that day. His name was Abel. He was a compassionate young priest with a gentle heart who had just come to town to bring a new dawn to the church. Upon his trek through the forest, he had miraculously spotted the boy collapsing into the nearby brush, and once he had bundled the bairn up in his extra jackets, he took him home. Robin learned that he was tasked with filling the shoes of their beloved but long-retired clergyman, and he also learned that Abel's wisdom and kindness knew no bounds. Many people warned the priest of his ward, of the cursed blood in his veins, but it mattered little to Robin's new guardian. He saw the Sin Eaters not as devils but as souls burdened by suffering, deserving of understanding and redemption.

To give oneself for another was Christly.

Under Abel's dark and watchful eyes, Robin found refuge and purpose over the long span of ten years, and he blossomed into a learned young man. He stood proudly beside Abel, acting as an acolyte and loyal aide, delivering assistance to the townsfolk who came seeking guidance from them. To hear their sins and forgive them, but he never once heard anyone over those ten years confess of that night. Regardless, those fickle villagers were touched by his dedication and began to see him not just as a cursed boy raised in the church’s shadow; he was even invited to birthday celebrations!

For once in his life, he truly felt human. For one decade Robin dwelled in peace; he thrived under the azure skies and reveled in the patterns that led his daily duties. The laughter of children oft bounced through the town like a chirping bird, bountiful harvests painted the fields in hues of amber and crimson, and the caress of breezes stirred the vibrant blooms adorning every garden. It was perfect. It should have been perfect, but the Baudelaires were a family marked by grief, and one evening, when the setting sun drenched the sky in a shade of lavender, Robin had to wonder if his nightmares had crawled to life. Winter had come again and brought with it the worst thing to ever meet his ear. It was a soft interruption, something that would not usually stir such dread, but for the Baudelaire boy, it brought him back to being small and scared.

A cough.

With one simple sound, Robin's vibrant world began to fade into a haunting echo of its past glory. As the weeks dragged on, Abel's illness deepened, and the villagers were quick to recall that strange family that had vanished into the woods long ago. Gossip fluttered like moths around the village hearths, spreading tales that spoke of an insatiable White Death. Consumption had come again, and it seemed that even with Abel's blessings, Robin would never be able to escape the horrors festering in his own blood. This was his fault … and he knew he would never reconcile what he had done; he had betrayed Abel to his death, and all those who had given him kindness were, surely, deceived. As that darkness seeped into him, Robin grappled with the agonizing truth: hope was a distant shore, and forever he would wade alone on an empty sea of sullen waters.

On the night of Abel's passing, Robin felt a piece of him die too — and he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse.

Mercifully, the church granted him one week to pack his things and go — for another priest had come, and this one was eager to reignite the strict mortal ethics of the time. Abel's leniency had caught the eye of the papal, and now it was time to return to proper teachings. The heavy mahogany doors that once swung open to greet him now stood resolutely locked, leaving him in a world of shuttered windows and drawn curtains. Through the streets Robin went, and he spoke to no one; he ventured from the village's edge into the depths of the forest alone. No one even asked where he was going. The only willing company the tears in his eyes and the weight of Abel's rosary that hung around the pale column of his throat. His feet moved instinctively along a well-trodden path, winding through the underbrush until the ground under his soles felt familiar and his body carried him to its desired mark. The very place his mind had begged to not be forced into for the rest of his days; yet here he stood.

A soot-covered monstrosity whose wooden edges jutted out like the waiting claws of a great beast; its looming presence instantly lifted a warning in Robin's heart as he gawked in its great shadow. For ten long years he had avoided this forsaken place in both the realms of his dreams and God's blessed green earth. Nevertheless, he beheld its unwavering grim loyalty as if it were waiting for him to return all this time. It welcomed the Baudelaire heir inside peeling, rotting walls. Within this loneliness he stayed, allowing misery to fester and act as a poison to slow his heart; light drained from the world, and in the hues of each lonely dusk he could see the reflections of his old life. But hunger, in its stark apathy, stirred him from his sorrowful reverie to remind him of his mortality, and he knew there was only one path left to tread if he wanted to continue living. And so, Robin damned himself to don the mantle left behind by his late father, a heavy cloak of duty he was sure to suffocate under.

This was to be his fate: ever to dwell underneath the fading trees bound to his mourning, ever to rot.

But fate seemed uneager to arrive. Despite how swiftly his world had turned to sorrow and despair, Robin clung tenaciously to his duty — his silent vow to survive, to continue on. And soon enough the heavy grief that had shrouded his existence so heavily began to lift, and shortly thereafter he found an unexpected vibrancy in the new world around him. Just as in the days of his childhood, Nature's indifference welcomed him; finally there was a place to rest from judgment.

Cool water greeted him in the sweltering grasp of summer, gentle breezes carried the sweet fragrance of wildflowers in spring, autumn draped itself in golden magnificence, and even dark and cold winter seemed to offer him a reluctant mercy. Status mattered not there, where the rabbits looked upon him no differently than they did the petunias in his garden. He was not without burden, however, for when the Death Knells summoned him to town, Robin shuddered and shook. It was a difficult thing to travel into that place and be amongst those people … The world of men had become somewhat lost to him in his seclusion, and their murmurings in his presence brought little in the way of comfort. Robin ignored them, or tried to, in order to remain steadfast in his mission to the deceased. While not undimmed by bitterness or resentment that would otherwise cloud his purpose ( yet ), he did find a strange fear of those he served. Nonetheless, he knew that judgment was not his to wield; it belonged solely to their heavenly Father; and once his duty was fulfilled, he would retreat back into the forest — now quite content with the lack of visitors.

So one could imagine Robin's jolt of shock when, without warning or letter, a stuttering knock hit his door. If it had been only once he would have assumed it to be a trick of the wind, but twice, thrice! Each one more insistent than the last! Curiosity piqued and caution tossed aside, Robin rose swiftly with a racing heart to open the door — perhaps a foolish decision, but the earlier mead with his dinner evinced itself to be very talented in lowering his inhibitions. Now to deal with the fallout of such an action: for standing on his doorstep was a ragtag group of young men from the village. Maybe four or five in number, with movements unsteady and huffing breath like taxed horses. Anxiety skyrocketed, and without thinking, he began to take a step back. One of the boys, his words slurred and tangled, began to explain how they had lost their way, but Robin’s senses were overwhelmed by the cloud of whiskey-laden breath that had wafted toward him. It curled into his nostrils, sending a thousand shivers racing up his spine; he'd never liked the smell and now was not proving to be an exception. He had no idea what to say to remedy how awkward everything had become; and frankly, he was afraid he would gag if he tried to speak.

However the drunken lisps dwindled into a whisper before fading entirely, leaving behind a suffocating silence that summoned the Sin Eater’s attention back. Surely they had not intended to trespass upon his land, nor had they come to him with benevolent hearts; those were reserved for their intended host, which he was most certainly not. As Robin's gaze swept over the group, he became acutely aware of the transformation that had overtaken them. Their eyes, once sparkling in their delirium, now widened in disbelief, reflecting a dawning horror as if they had gazed upon some grotesque abomination from the depths of a sickly nightmare. Mouths hung agape and faces drained of color, each man now a canvas painted with shades of ashen pallor. In that instant, Robin found himself no longer being looked at as a fellow human being, but a manifestation of their most profound fears — a creature born from the dark recesses of Lilith's mind, a descendent of snakes and demons! Robin wished to reach out, he had once known each of them by name, to bridge the yawning chasm of misunderstanding that lay between them but ...

In their eyes, he caught the unmistakable reflection of their revulsion; a mirror to his own self-loathing, for in their horror at him he, too, found reason to recoil.

In the crisp dark night, he stood within the doorway of his weathered home, half bathed in the warm glow of flickering candlelight behind him that danced across his hair and skin. The golden firelight crackled a warning, transforming his moonlit-touched locks into a halo wreathed in a shriek of hellfire. But, o' his eyes, it was his eyes that truly unsettled. They glowed like sickly green lanterns, piercing through the darkness with an unnatural sheen that belied their hollow depths. It was now of little wonder to him why the townsfolk spoke of him in hushed murmurs and chided their children to stay close and avoid the woodland.

Everything was quiet between the accidental gathering, and Robin's soul yearned to escape this suffocating atmosphere; he wanted to leave, to break free from their unrelenting stares, but he found his feet rooted to the spot. He didn't know what to do; he didn't even feel as though he could breathe! With a heavy heart and trembling fingers he silently reached for the door, the brass handle suddenly felt so cold and foreign in his grip. Robin turned the handle, the creaking of the door echoed like the mournful wail of a lost soul, and shut out the uninvited throng that had rendered him a husk. He did not sleep that night, nor would he likely ever rest comfortably again. The weight of the gazes that had followed him pressed down atop his weary shoulders, but he supposed he could not cast too much blame upon them. He now saw that he was too far removed from humanity to seek refuge in companionship.

The next few days offered him no solace from his maddening delusions. Each rustle of a branch, each flutter of a bird, felt like a portent of doom, little reminders of the unseen eyes lurking just beyond the tree line, ever watchful, ever patient. With every reluctant step away from the welcoming hearth of his abode, a frigid tendril of dread tightened about Robin's heart, constricting with a merciless grip that threatened to squeeze the very life from his lungs. Unable to ignore his heart's thrumming admonitions that cautioned him not venture too far; for to do so would invite the abyss, and he would never come home again. Every sun-drenched afternoon melded into endless loops of fevered paranoia. Visions of the men from the night prior loomed large in his mind, their faces twisted into malicious grins as he replayed the encounter in his head over and over again. Were they still out there, ensconced in the shadows, biding their time? Robin found himself checking the handle frequently; once at night and once in the morn, grateful for each time the door was not barricaded. His fingers held too many scars already.

Still, with winter fast approaching, it was becoming more and more difficult to maintain his isolation while the persistent rumble of hunger echoed in the cavern of his stomach; it was the only companion in his solitude. The passing weeks had turned into a monotonous cycle of silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of distant frost, but the sinking dread never left. All the same, that fateful morning had to arrive; an inexplicable urge stirred within him, something far beyond mere hunger, igniting a glint of determination that had long lain dormant. It was a call that resonated deep within, reverberating through the very marrow of his bones — he could not hope to resist it. So, with that single stride, he left his home behind and stepped into the murky depths of a thousand towering trees.

And Robin Altus Baudelaire never returned.

[poswiecenia]

@altarfates \ where are the men in black & red ? aren't they supposed to protect us ?

( 🪶 )   EVERYTHING HURTS. HER knee feels like it's been stabbed by a hot poker --- yet in her pain she felt relief that it was her dealing with this agony rather than her brother. that the explosion that she'd already shielded him from kept him from harm .. she promised their mother that she'd protect him. she could do little in the way of prayer to HER that he survive this massacre unfolding once again. she hoped he would continue without her --- that he would keep pace away from her and not turn around but .. as SHE wept for HER children .. the mother goddess didn't answer katzizi's prayers.

THE BOY TURNED around. the distance parted between them closing once more and it took everything in her not to sob in despair. surrounded by bodies of people she couldn't even fathom as being whole once with how little they resembled whole human beings. she'd seen the weapons the katican's possessed : weapons she had never seen before in their hands ( were they not held by the men in black and red ? how .. were they not meant to be used to protect them instead of harm and destroy ? ).

KATZIZI DRAGS HERSELF and kakavasha out of the way , not daring to look down to see just how bad her knee looked. she didn't think she could go any farther but she had to feign for him that .. that they would simply rest for a quick moment. her heart burned seeing him so terrified , reminding her that they had to continue fleeing from the encroaching horror that was circling back around them.

HE SHOULDN'T HAVE turned around. he should've kept going without her. he'd survive by doing so -- she's dead weight that will get them both killed if the torrent of rain and blood didn't drown them first. why was this happening to them ? mother goddess she's terrified.

IT TAKES EVERYTHING she has to not sob as he tries to convince her and himself that he isn't afraid , her hands cupping his tiny cheeks despite the blood on them already. the act is two fold , to comfort yet also hide him from whomever may find them in this spot.

 ❝ I KNOW .. YOU'RE s - so brave .. I -- .. you need to promise me that no matter what happens you must stay quiet and still until there's no more n - noise. you understand , 'vasha ?  ❞  

[grislyintentions]

|| Heads I win; Tails you lose (Excerpt) ||

Frankly, people should be glad they are crossing paths with the current version of herself instead of a few years back.

As the bodies of fallen soldiers decorate the halls around her, Kafka reminisces on memories from a not so distant past. She could still taste the rust in the air. Hear the screams pulled from unseen strings; echoing in the dark. It doesn't take her too much effort to recollect: they all end up sounding the same after a while anyways.

Back then, she was such a curious young thing.

A child with a shiny silver toy in her hands welcoming others as her playmates. It was quite fascinating really to see how differently people react when they're frightened. And she's grateful then.

Metal parts from flesh under pressure; sticky meat reluctant to part with it's treasure until they are torn from them. What remains of the coin is a thin ring of silver, a clean hole bored through it's center from where she'd shot it.

She's still grateful now for all that she has learned from them. Sadly, Kafka isn't as interested in playing as she was back then.

But it is satisfying to remember, once in a while, that she's yet to fall off her mark.

Oh how it'd spun- ping ping ping - trajectory upended the moment she changed it's course.

Maybe next time, she'll try and see if she could wedge one right through her target's forehead. Perhaps she could convince the other hunters to give it a little try? Who knows.

[ladyseidr]

@florietiae asked: ❝ ❛ we always loved this place, didn’t we? ❜ / charlie/puppet @ GF / cassidy! ❞

Oh, at a time it had been the only place Cassidy felt safe. It had made her and her brother the perfect potential victims, hiding away in a pizzeria that felt more like home than their own house. One, one time coaxed into trusting an adult, only to have that trust betrayed in the most brutal way.

"YES. BUT THAT LOVE IS WHAT GOT US KILLED." Wasn't it? Would they be here, any of them, bound to machines ( or ghostly figments of them ) had they not loved this place? Well, all save her companion. It seemed even a healthy fear of the place could not save an AFTON. The apparition of child, shadowed by something larger, familiar, looked to the Marionette. "WAS IT EVER REAL? OR DID HE BUILD THIS PLACE ONLY TO BE A TOMB?"

[spring-lxcked]

I mentioned in a joke post generally believing that Spring Bonnie's programming is inactive post-springlock incident, so of course that means an entire headcanon post.

Spring Bonnie was not an intelligent animatronic. He was only ever created to speak pre-recorded lines and sing and dance on-stage, alongside being worn. (Of course, there was an earlier prototype, pre-springlock suits, but he's not a part of this specific headcanon). However, William committed atrocities both while wearing and while nearby the suit, many of which involved intentionally harvesting remnant. Between unintentional exposure to remnant and pure, unbridled agony, Spring Bonnie does become, to some degree, sentient. In springlock mode, he is entirely unable to do anything, his programming overridden. Outside of that, he is initially not dangerous. The springlock incident had nothing to do with Spring Bonnie himself. It was purely William's own mistakes. In the years trapped in the backroom, the suit rots and Bonnie loses all power. Still, part of William's disorientation comes from the remains of that remnant and agony. What had made Spring Bonnie sentient is still present, still angry, and that anger intermixes with William's own. Theoretically, if you could repair the suit enough and power it, Spring Bonnie would come back on. In reality, though, this alone couldn't stop William and, if anything, would only make Springtrap more erratic and unpredictable. On a similar note, I recognize that fanon often suggests that Spring Bonnie's programming is what causes Springtrap to follow audio lures. While I actually like this theory, this is not the case for my Springtrap. Rage (both from William and the agony) + the disorientation of 30 years trapped in darkness, fading in and out of reality, makes him prone to following nearly anything he hears. And let's be honest, hearing the sound of his previously usual targets is distracting to say the least. While he gradually becomes less and less disoriented with time, he's never fully immune from a desperate need to kill.

[civiclegends-moved]

anonymous asked:

⏳ -Marsha :3

[  📖  ]  ❝My  dad  always  had  a  short  temper.  When  he  wasn't  taking  his  frustrations  out  on  me  and  Sarah,  it  was  on  the  lesser  demons  who  were  our  servants.  Some  things…I  hid  in  my  secret  hiding  spot  as…as  I  heard  the  screaming…as  I  heard  the…the  sound  of  my  dad…❞  Marsha  fell  silent,  unable  to  finish  her  sentence.

backstory time // open & accepting

[moved-to-civic-hub]

"Back when Sarah and I were in the wreckage, we met this little human girl named Amy. She was sweet and she was alone so we took her with us. But one day, her father found us. He managed to get me and Amy alone. There...There was a scuffle...and then...her dad pushed her own some stairs and she...t-there..." Marsha fell silent as she saw flashes of that day. So much red. "So yeah...I lost it. I grabbed the nearest thing I could and I hit him. Again and again until all I could hear were squishy sounds. The...The fall didn't kill her...she was in so much pain as she died in my arms.""

[lovenpeace-pkmn]

I mean there are a bunch of us. And most of us can be summed up as "concerned passerby", probably? The blog you're posting on usually has different people doing the posting, and those people disappeared outta nowhere. It's understandable we'd be confused and concerned right?

A collective. Hm.

Well, we are good at making people disappear. Normally more on purpose, though.

Maybe the Shadows stole this phone? I don't know why they would have given it to ME, though. Unless they couldn't destroy it and were hoping I could.

[trustymikh]

there are many benefits to being a ground-type pokemon trainer

[manufactoredxbyxdesign]

What if the people who lived through your little cleansing decided that you were a monster and punished you for your crimes?

"To destroy me would be to unravel all existing knowledge of Uroboros. There would be no other who understands it the way that I would have - I am the first, the beginning and also the end. Did you believe that I would leap without looking down to where I shall land?

My such a careless notion that would have been.

Even if they could not absolve themselves of such anger, I would welcome the challenge. Though in a world with so few, is it wise to eliminate another from the ranks? The survivors of the outbreak would be among superior genetics and likely capable of thinking sensibly without the shackles of humanity to blind them."

[tomahachi12]

TW/ST: MISCARRAGE (implied)

[ladyseidr]

Headcanon dump time because I have Mrs. Em.ily brainrot!!!

born in fredonia, arizona, which is not only extremely close to the utah-arizona border, but also right near the grand canyon and many other parks and such

her parents spent a lot of time traveling after moving to america and settled on this town because they are very outdoorsy people and the area charmed them

yes, as a consequence, julianna and her sisters are very outdoorsy too. anna in particular loves to go camping and enjoys visiting natural monuments and national / state parks. she absolutely will insist on taking henry and charlie ( and the af.tons too! ) to see the sights near her hometown

while anna's parents did give their kids anglicized names ( her sister's names are kathleen and marilyn ), they all have chinese middle names and anna is quiet fond of hers ( chán juān ( 婵娟 ) )

yes, i heavily headcanon that henry calls her by her middle name often once she tells him this <3

julianna is pronounced joo-lee-ahn-a. anna is pronounced ah-na. yes, she will correct someone if they say either the other way lmao

she stays in contact with her extended family in china, although she doesn't get to visit until she's in her 30s

she is the middle sister, with kat being older and lyn being younger. they are each two years apart. she is super close to her sisters

honestly very close to her whole family. i have to let at least one fn.af muse have a happy childhood alright.

works as a manager in a bookstore and is a very, very avid reader. definitely meets henry there as a default ( but obviously i'm open to alternatives! )

loves hot drinks!! big tea and coffee drinker, but also always down for hot chocolate in the colder months

( going to use elise by default when talking abt mrs. af.ton so i don't have to censor it 30000 times but understand that this is all open to any mrs. af.ton lmao )

meets elise after elise in particular insists on a double date when she hears henry is dating someone. yes i think a double date with these four ppl is SO funny. it's incredibly awkward but elise and anna hit it off.

lbr she's so head-over-heels for henry and she's very much like. a believer in soulmates and similar. so, when she falls, she falls hard

honestly: her and henry as a perfect example of two people who are incredibly in love but just, like. . . not meant to be together long-term. i mean obv i'm open to there being Problems beyond that ( up to and including either charlie's death ending the marriage or just william's dumb ass ), but i do lean toward "they were never going to be satisfied long term"

literally charlie is the light of her life. yes, her death does absolutely destroy anna.

charlie was very much planned. anna initially had a little difficulty getting pregnant, but it worked out. she'd always wanted 1-2 kids, though they either never get around to trying again or she simply doesn't get pregnant again prior to the divorce

post-divorce, anna and henry honestly have like. a healthy relationship. the love never goes away, but they do a good job sharing custody and she'd genuinely still consider him a friend

would she ever be willing to give their relationship a try again? after charlie, it's possible. . . but unlikely to work out

definitely an introvert but you can't tell. she's not shy or socially anxious at all, just enjoys her alone time

can and would kill william with her bare hands if she knew what he had done. like yeah okay henry's grieving, but so is anna and she'd kill the motherfucker

( would she join henry in his Crusade that leads to fn.af6 if he actually told her abt it? . . . debatable. possibly, but she's also very, very, very tired by that point. if she knew about charlie / the puppet however? absolutely )

she is fluent in mandarin chinese

loves to bake and is very good at it!

dreams of both opening her own business and writing novels

i just love her sm you guys—

[spring-lxcked]

@nineliabilityrisk asked: ❝ " ... i haven't been getting much sleep . " from henry [ i'm insane about them as per usual ] ❞ ( my wip fics starters, pt. ii )

"It sounds like you're no better than me," came an easy reply, a seemingly snide statement softened by his hands resting on Henry's shoulders. He was standing behind his business partner's chair, thumbs rolling down into muscles. One part easing tense muscles, one part finding an excuse to touch. ( Always. ) "I suppose it's my turn to do the scolding. Get some rest." A sharp smile accompanied the words, amusement seeping into his tone just enough. Usually it was Henry saying these things to him—despite not being aware of how many hours William truly spent working. His fingers shifted higher, thumbs working into the nape of Henry's neck. Even sight unseen, his expression warmed, smile taking on something gentler. "Come home with me." Word choice was intentional—not manipulative but perhaps presumptuous. Had built his perfect family to society's standards once, and now attempted it to his own liking. A house made less empty by Henry's presence—a very wanted presence, if a dangerous one. Adults do not overlook what rebellious teenagers do.

"Is it the dreams?" Speaking generally—not even William Afton was immune to being haunted by his losses. ( Regardless of who was at fault. ) "I'll make tea and we can rest." His fingers combed through Henry's hair, languid movements. "No 'nightmare' can haunt you while I'm there." Part joke, part comfort. Never mind who had caused the nightmares.

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt3 of the Danny is the 99th attempted clone Tim made of Kon. Kon learns about Danny.

Relevant info: Kon was dead closer to a year and a half in this au, and this happens a few months after his revival.

[Pt2: here] [Pt4: here]

So Tim has admittedly been putting off meeting up with the Titans. Everyone has settled back into the new normal. Too much has happened for it to look anything like before, but the other 3 Titans have been hanging out semi-regularly, and Tim turns down their invites 3 of 4 times. He knows it's starting to hurt their feelings, and he hates that.

But... he's scared to admit he's a father now. A father to a clone of one of them. He's not sure how to bring it up. Cassie never asked if he was successful, probably just assumed he failed because there isn't a third Superboy flying around. Jokes on her. Danny isn't going to be a Superboy. He's not allowed to even think about being a hero or vigilante until he's 14 at the earliest, and Tim is going to help him find his own name if he chooses that path. He won't be a Robin or Superboy. He won't live in the shadow of those legacies if Tim can help it.

None of that is relevant for the here and now, though. Tim got Jason to babysit Danny and finally agreed to a hang out with the Titans. He asked Danny for his opinion first before making his decision and got the go ahead. So, Tim is finally going to come clean.

Tim barely makes it into the tower when he's tackled by his friends.

"Tim! You're here!" Bart cheers.

"Yeah, it's good to see you guys too. Sorry I haven't been very present." Tim fidgets. "I've been busy... I also haven't been honest..."

"Tim?" Cassie sounds concerned. And Tim just can't. He extracts himself from the puppy pile. He can't make himself give eye contact. He's sure his guilt and shame are written all over his body language.

"Tim, you can tell us anything." Kon sounds super genuine. Tim takes a deep grounding breath.

"Okay, let's do this like a bandaid." Tim finally looks at them, focusing mostly on Kon. "I have a son. He's technically Kon's, too."

He gets the dubious pleasure of watching his three idiots look at his abdomen, as if he gave birth.

"Why-? Kon, we never fucked!? What the fuck guys??" He sputters, waving his hands in front of him.

"Then how-" Cassie realizes. "Oh!"

"Oh?? What do you mean??" Bart is looking between them and vibrating in confusion. Kon is just looking like a confused and concerned puppy.

"Okay, so, I may have had a breakdown with everyone dying or going missing." Tim grimaces. "And while I was fully aware that even if I succeeded, it wouldn't be Kon, I still tried to clone him. And, um, I did manage to succeed in the end."

"Fuck, Tim.." Kon starts.

"Look, I was in a really fucking dark place and needed even just a piece of good I lost." Tim hugs himself, self loathing burning him from the inside out. "Everyone was turning their back on me, I just needed something, anything, to keep going."

"Fuck, I should have helped..." Cassie bites her lip, chewing on her guilty conscious.

"It's fine. No one was listening. Don't beat yourself up over it. You were in a bad spot, too." Tim gives a humorless laugh. "Danny was my 99th attempt. And my last attempt, if I'm honest. I could feel myself breaking more with each failure. On a fucking whim, I decided to make the 99th attempt a baby instead of trying for a teenager, and it worked. I fucked up a bit, I forgot to adjust the knowledge download to that of a 1 year old, but he was alive. He's the best thing to ever happen to me. I was scared to tell you. I'm sorry-"

"Tim.." Kon cuts him off, and Tim snaps his mouth shut. "I.. I'm honestly not sure how to feel about you cloning me, but I'd like to meet him. What's his name?"

Tim rapidly blinks back tears. "Aedan Drake, he prefers being called Danny. I.. I didn't add Kent because I don't trust Clark with him or give him an El name, I wanted him to understand kryptonian language and culture first. I... I also wanted Danny to be old enough to make the decision over his name himself. I don't want him to be treated like you were. The house of El were so awful to you."

"I understand, Tim." Kon steps towards Tim, "Can.. Can I hug you?"

Tim nods and is swept into a tight hug. He feels something give emotionally, and he sobs into his shoulder. "I fucking love him so much."

"Tell me about him." Kon says softly. He can feel Bart and Cassie hoving, unsure what to do, but unwilling to leave.

"He's physically around 3 now. He loves ghosts and space and named the wolf plushy I bought him on his first day alive Wulf." There's some chuckles over that. "He's sassy and petty, but insanely sweet and tries to help out with any and all tasks. I see so much of both of us in him. Nature vs Nurture is a messy bitch. You remember what I said my start as Robin was like?"

"How you had to babysit a grown ass man and force him into better habits?" Cassie snarks.

"Karma's a funny bitch. Danny started doing the same shit to me as soon as he figured out how to walk." Tim giggles. "Anytime we weren't in danger, he'd force me to take care of injuries and to eat and sleep. And I'd do it because what kind of monster denies a baby trying to be helpful... plus he gets really stressed and depressed if he can't help."

Tim grips the back of Kon's shirt. "I don't understand how he developed my people pleaser tendencies so early on. We were stuck on LoA bases when he first started doing everything in his power to help me. I was purposely being a little shit to our "hosts" at the time. So it wasn't a surprise that he developed a Robin's need to troll, but he only saw me be nice to him."

"The LoA??" Kon asks in alarm.

"It was a rough year..." Tim scowls. "And if I see Ra's again, I'm gutting him. B's rules be damned."

"What happened?" Cassie asks, suddenly a lot closer.

"He's a creep, a pedo, and a child abuser." Kon rubs Tim's suddenly very stiff back and shoulders. "I could handle him being creepy towards me. While gross and awful to have a disgusting 300 or something year old man trying to wife me-"

"Excuse me???"

"He WHAT?"

"-I'm more pissed I couldn't protect Danny. I don't know what that piece of shit did when I couldn't take Danny with me, but Danny is linked to the pit now. He luckily doesn't have pit rage like Jason, but he can calm Jason's pit and apparently glows according to Duke." Tim sobs. "I should have killed the man when I had a chance. I don't know what he did to Danny!"

"It's not your fault, Tim." Kon hugs Tim tightly, it's almost painful. "You were in a tough spot and doing your best to keep you both alive."

"Just focus on healing and moving on." Bart says while running a hand through Tim's hair. Cassie rubs both Tim and Kon's backs as Tim gets himself under control.

"Can.. can I meet him?" Kon whispers.

"I'd love for you to meet him." Tim sniffles. "He was nervous you'd hate him for existing. I apparently passed on my stupid anxiety. I couldn't quite get him to believe me when I told him he wouldn't be who you'd be mad at if you got mad. He wants to meet you, but I accidentally made the most jaded baby in the world."

"A Super raised by a Bat is going to be terrifying." Bart giggles. "We'll have to make sure he doesn't become a supervillain."

"Meh. He's too cute. If he goes evil, all he has to do is pout and he'll instantly win." Tim jokes, wiggling out of the hug. "Want to see pictures?"

There's a very strong positive response. The next 3 hours finds Tim showing off pictures and explaining the stories behind them, his team melting at how cute his son is. Tim feels the lightest he's felt in a while. He does have to promise Bart and Cassie to bring Danny over once Kon and Danny meet one on one first.

What Tim doesn't know is Kon is absolutely obsessed with and slightly horny over this parental side of Tim. He's fully daydreaming of the 3 of them living together and being disgustingly domestic the whole time Tim is showing off Danny. Cassie can tell what Kon is thinking about and is amused.

Once Tim leaves, the Titans go to the training room and fuck up some bots because of the rage they feel on Tim and Danny's behalf. They all agree to be as petty as possible to any LoA members they come across and to murder Ra's the moment there's an opportunity to do so without the JL knowing. Tim isn't the only unhinged one on this team. That's why they work so well together.