#dark stuff

i came up with some new headcanons about movie!michael afton, but i confess laziness won out over the desire to create a fully worked-out aesthetic. so, pls accept this slightly chaotic venting!

Important Warning: This text deals with sensitive topics like depression, fetishes (nothing involving body fluids, i promise – but i respect if that's your thing 🤷🏻‍♀️), and subjects considered edgy. PLEASE TAKE CARE WHILE READING MY THINGS!!!

Michael was undoubtedly an edgy kid. His childhood was steeped in viscerally violent horror films—I imagine something like Evil Dead could have been his favorite. He was a connoisseur of extreme cinema and, with the help of piracy, amassed a veritable dark archive on his computer: snuff films, gore compilations, and other genre nastiness, which he probably shared on some obscure blog (hes name on the blog was probably inspired on foxy, his favorite animatronic);

This relentless search for increasingly heavy content was, in fact, an addiction. It all started with aggressive music, moved on to films that staged violence, and before he knew it, he was already immersed in deep web forums, consuming videos of real accidents and crimes. He grew up as a teenager with total freedom on the internet, without a father or mother figure to set limits. Over time, as happens with many addicts in this universe, his sensitivity to horror atrophied;

Now, stepping away from that macabre sphere, I imagine Michael as the kind of man who has a particular taste for biting. And not gentle, playful nips just meant to leave a red mark—these are bites that seek to draw blood. Intimate relations with him tend toward violence: squeezes here, bites there, ending with both partners completely marked up and red. He's not someone with frequent sexual impulses, but when it happens, he makes sure to leave traces that last a very, very long time;

Like every troubled teenager, Michael also went through a phase of challenging his parents. One time, at seventeen—skinny, pale, with long hair—when he got tickets to a rock concert he desperately wanted to see. That day, he painted his face, lined his eyes, creating makeup inspired by the singer. It was an artistic expression. Returning home, with the makeup smudged from the concert's energy, he was intercepted by William. The fight was ugly: his father called him a "fag," found the whole expression pathetic. And from then on, Michael never dared to be artistic with his own body again;

In childhood, Michael wasn't beaten frequently. William Afton, far from being an exemplary father, simply didn't see him as important enough to even dedicate physical aggression to him. Sometimes, Michael even wished to be punished that way, because he saw William grabbing Vanessa by the arm during reprimands—something he never did with him. With Michael, the violence was purely verbal. Perhaps that's why, as an adult, he so enjoys being hit by his partner during intimacy, just as he enjoys hitting. It's as if, in his mind, that is the language that confirms he is truly being seen—the same one his father used with his sister, whom he always declared was his favorite;

Michael hates pizza. The mere smell makes him nauseous. After his mother's death, William rarely bothered to cook, and pizza became the family's default meal until Vanessa took over the kitchen. This partly explains his scrawny physique as a teenager and his not very robust build in adulthood: often, he preferred to fast rather than face another slice;

I also don't believe he's a fan of sweets. Maybe he just doesn't see the appeal in overly sugary flavors;

you go missing one day. agatha is assigned as lead detective of your case. she spends tireless hours rallying search parties and spreading missing posters around. everyone admires how hard she’s working, telling her to not blame herself if you can’t be found because she’s really done everything she could.

and then she comes home at the end of the day, hangs up her coat, and heads to her basement. she enters in codes and keys to the numerous locks, and she comes downstairs with a cheery, “honey, I’m home.”

finds you sitting on the bed, in the room that she perfectly curated for you while she was stalking you. it’s beautiful, each item picked with care, something similar to what you owned before or something she knew you’d like. you clutch onto the stuffed bunny that she gifted you. you cling to her when she comes to give you a hug, having come to crave her affection because it’s all you have now.

I am very scared