#mr sacks

[mamaito]

[annarooma]

So, this was my first Christmas in the Neath, and now this Mr Sacks is coming by with their sack to ask for things. I didn't really know what to give them after they got disappointed with me just giving them my regards yesterday, so I gave them some wine today. They seemed... Happy with that at least?

[anomaly-beans-draws]

That night as you sleep, Mr Sacks crouches on your window-sill-

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

Is that truly the Crimson Beast of Winter? Or is it merely a Londoner who donned its Incarnadine Fur Robe?

@failbettergames this is my entry! and here is a bonus blooper

The Tabby Striped Cat, the Tabby-Striped Cat! Would climb into my cloak, but not the sack!

[waterlogged-detective]

Workshopping a Mr. Sacks design

[viric-dreams]

🎵 you better watch out

you better watch out

you better watch out

you better watch out 🎵

[the-masterless-press]

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate! I hope Mr Sacks is good this year.

Here is to more lesbians next year!

[c-schroed]

Today was the day when the rats that I sided with to get that poor fox out of Mr Sacks' custody had their great attack. Against the incarnation of Mr Irons, of all Sackses. And what shall I say.

Went not as plannend. Not at all. But. Mr Irons commenting a situation with a single "?" - Absolutely worth it. Absolutely. Worth it.

Oh, and we also got the fox, in the end. Poor thing. But this first bit of text? That's what I really wanted. Thanks a lot, @failbettergames!

(Interested in the whole result text? Feel free to find it after the cut.)

[fanonical]

mister sacks! take my gender dysphoria!

[shipofthesis]

The Benthic College fate options for Mr Sacks. Mostly did this to see what the Mr Eaten one was. I know someone on the wiki was curious too (idk if you’re allowed to link to journal entries, etc in the wiki comments so whoever you are I hope you find this). Genuinely feel bad ruining Mr Cup’s holiday fun.

Very funny to me the different responses the Masters have re: being asked about Mr Sacks’ identity.

An irritable response [Mr Spices] (Your voice sounds different...)

"Yes, it does. And your manners are lacking. I'll take this and be gone." With a twist of its gloved hand, it snares a stray nightmare, and leaves as abruptly as it came.

An easy response [Mr Wines] (Your voice is different...)

It rises. For one peculiar moment you think it proposes to leap into the chimney. But no: it simply dashes for the door.

[shrike-sorokoput]

Today's sacks is.... well

(spoilers below)

I mean at least shrike isn't going insane (yet)

got one of the names... one of them

[caperingcryptid]

... Pardon?

[maybesdaughter]

The carriage flies through the streets, heedless of comfort and pedestrians. With every sharp turn you are flung around inside. After the remorseless corner at Pennyweather Lane and Fondle Street, you have to remove yourself, apologising, from Mr Sacks' lap.

Moments of city life flick by the windows like a magic lantern show. Mr Sacks does not look. Instead, its cavernous hood is turned to you. Its gloved hands – a pen in each – scratch methodical letters onto scraps of paper. It hands you one.

A PAWN DREAMS OF THE FINAL RANK. A QUEEN DREAMS FURTHER. NEITHER MOVES ALONE.

It takes the note back, and hands you the other one. It reads: DISAPPOINTED. It's written on the back of a piece of official Bazaar correspondence.

The carriage slithers to an abrupt halt. Mr Sacks opens the door. Clearly, you are expected to leave. You step out, and into the caliginous weight of the Bazaar's shadow. The carriage has brought you to its very foot. Above, the script on its skin pulses and wriggles, languorous as leeches at supper. The carriage speeds away, leaving furrows in the lacre-snow.

[nebulousboops]

So. I may or may not have made an au where William dies in his first springlock accident and his spirit (or remnant or whatever) somehow ends up in the Fredbear plush instead of the suit

[thegreatyin]

i'm proud to say that the scoundrel has officially reached her final form.

tremble at her power.

[notevenhodgepodge]

telepathically sending my period cramps to Mr Burns