#killer circus story

[reds-skull]

Revenant Side Stories

Story VI: Farah

[Konchar] [Graves] [Gaz] [Price] [Novikov] [AO3]

This was originally going to be a retelling of the entirety of Farah's story in MW 2019, but I underestimated how long that would be, so these are more of snapshots of her life, up until 2019.

Farah is going to be a central character in part two because it will revolve around Urzikstan, so I was very excited to get into her character in depth. This was probably the hardest side story to write because I think the original story was already good (it's easier to write for something that had a lot of flaws in it rather than something good... maybe that's why I like cod after all these months lmao)

Anyway, I also decided I'm actually not done with the side stories, and the last actual one will be of... Roba, of all people. I know I made the comic for Ghost's origin story, but I never got to show what he did to Roba.

Alright That's enough rambling let's get to Farah's story

She doesn’t remember the first time she has heard of revenants. Humans who are saved from death, only to come back with abilities from worlds beyond their own. Of how they are revered, looked up to. And yet, misunderstood.

They don’t look up to revenants in Urzikstan.

The once-dead are not heroes among her people. They’re something to be pitied; people who chose to stay on earth and suffer, instead of move on to a better, calmer existence in the place after death. Take on the burden of the Reapers, dust off the dirt of their graves, and continue the endless fight for freedom.

In Urzikstan, revenants are called “those who sacrifice”.

Her baba taught her and her brother the different names of Reapers, told them tales of those who sacrifice as bedtime stories. She always found them fascinating, as opposed to her brother. They were often grim, their ending tragic and unsatisfying, but they felt more real like that. Felt more like her day-to-day life than any other fairy tale could.

She wouldn’t know how much her story would be like those, before it was too late.

The day she died is muddy, in her memory. Yet another thing she sacrificed, in order to stay in this world. A deafening whistle, followed by walls collapsing around her. Streaks of ash on the bloodless face of her mama. Pain, unlike anything she could imagine. The voices of her baba and brother and uncle, searching. The sickening shifting of concrete above her, whispers praying for mercy, the walls closing in on her-

And she dies.

At seven, before she knew how to write the alphabet, buried beneath the earth with only the pale face of her mother as comfort, Farah Ahmed Karim died. Yet, she did not move on.

The memory of the first time she saw her Reaper was clear. She may have forgotten her mother’s lullabies, or her father’s laughter. She has not been given the privilege to forget her Reaping.

The first thing she noticed was the clean air, an odd odor to it but blessedly lacking the dust she has been inhaling for what felt like hours. The lack of pain was the second - her legs no longer crushed under thick concrete walls.

The monster, was the third. A being made of sharp shapes, glistening metal melting and hardening, flowing through cracks in the stone face of the Reaper.

As the stone face moved, grinding against itself, Farah got up to her feet. Her legs screamed at her to run, but the memory of her baba’s stories calmed her. 

“The ones who take do not mean harm to the ones who sacrifice, Farah.” he told her, whispering as to not wake her brother, “they need each other. They need our sacrifice.”

“What for, baba? Why would the ones who take need to give humans their powers?”

Baba sighs, a small smile on his lips as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear, “we don’t know for sure, but we must have something they don’t. Some say we humans were chosen by chance.”

“What do you think?” she asks, her endless craving to know more yet satiated.

“I think we and the ones who take are connected, somehow. I think we are the only ones that can sacrifice.”

Instead of running, instead of listening to all of her senses, Farah stepped forward, and with a small voice asked, “w-who are you?”

The stone face turns to stare at her.

“I AM MIGHT. THE STONE, THE BLADE, THE BULLET.”

The Reaper tilts its head, metal rivers splashing into an endless void.

“DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?”

Farah blinks away the tears that have gathered in her eyes, tries to speak louder, “I’m… I’m Farah? I’m a human, I’m-”

“YOU ARE NOT HUMAN, FARAH. YOU ARE DEAD, BURIED, CRUSHED.”

Her lips turn downwards, and she can’t stop the tears any longer, “w-why are you asking if you know?”

The rocks grind in an almost rhythmic way, and somehow Farah knows it is laughing. It makes her avert her eyes.

“Can… can you save my mama?” she asks, and the sound stops.

“I CANNOT SAVE YOUR MOTHER, FARAH.”

“S-she… I think she also died, can you-”

“I CANNOT SAVE YOUR MOTHER, FARAH.”

She grasps at the torn edges of her dress, sniffing her runny nose, “it’s not… it’s not fair…” her face scrunches as she sobs.

The Reaper leans forward, the light surrounding it reflecting with dazzling colors off of its body. Farah closes her eyes, not because she is afraid of it, but because she is afraid for her mama.

“I CANNOT SAVE HER, BUT I CAN SAVE YOU.”

Farah opens her eyes. Baba said he thinks only humans can sacrifice, but maybe not all humans can. Maybe mama wasn’t able to sacrifice, but…

She lifts her hands to wipe roughly at her face, tears and snot smearing on her skin. Her eyes trail up the falling liquid metal, beating heart deafening her ears.

Her voice is steady when she says, “I want to see baba and Hadir. I don’t want to leave them!”

The stones grind once more, a sort of excitement shaking the very ground.

“YOU WANT TO LIVE, FARAH.”

She nods and repeats, “I-I want to live!”

The Reaper tilts closer, its face level with hers.

“I WILL GIVE YOU THE MIGHT, THE STRENGTH, THE POWER TO LIVE, FARAH. AND I WILL TAKE YOUR SOUL.”

The metal drips near her feet, heat emanating from them. It reminds her of home.

“I choose to sacrifice. For you, for baba, for Hadir. For… for mama.” Farah whispers.

The stones shift, circling her. Her breath picks up at the thoughts of crushing walls, but it is not dark here. No one is shouting. She doesn’t smell death.

 Metal singes her clothes, and she wants to jump back, but the stones stop her. It burns. It hurts.

It is not dark, but the bright colors blind her all the same.

“I ACCEPT YOUR SACRIFICE, FARAH.”

“MY MIGHT IS YOURS.”

When she wakes again, Farah doesn’t feel pain. She’s still under ruin, somewhere different from where she was before. All she sees of her mama is a hand, and she holds it. She notices the skin of her own hand glistening in the meager light filtering through dust and ash, like colorful metal. Like her Reaper.

It felt like hours pass before baba found her. She feels hunger and thirst, but the weight of the building doesn’t pain her anymore. Baba is crying when he finds her, pulls her out of the wreckage carefully, asking if she’s hurt.

She tells him nothing hurts. He pulls back from their embrace, his brows scrunched in confusion until he notices.

“I chose sacrifice, baba.”

Baba closes his eyes and hugs her harder, and she knows it would’ve hurt if she could feel it. He tells her everything will be alright. She wanted to believe it. She couldn’t.

They find mama. Hadir tries to wake her up, but Farah pulls his hands away. She tells him mama is in another place now, somewhere better than here. Hadir’s hands shake in hers, but he nods and pulls away.

Uncle and baba rush them home. Farah wants to cover her ears, the sirens don’t stop sounding, the noise pitching up and down along with her heart. Loud explosions make her flinch, so Hadir grabs her hand. It makes her feel safer, for a moment.

They run through the market. There’s a truck stopping in their way.

The Russians.

Baba lifts her in his arms, Uncle taking Hadir. They tell them to cover their mouth, when the Russians throw weird gas at them. It smells like the liquid mama used to clean their house, and it made her eyes itch and burn.

They enter their home, but baba doesn’t stop moving. He gives Hadir a gas mask. He will have to share his with Farah. Uncle leaves, telling baba he’ll meet them later.

“W-where are we going?” Hadir asks, clutching the mask.

Baba grabs a backpack, hidden behind the kitchen cabinets, “we’re going to the bridge, then to the mountains. There will be no sirens there.”

Farah hurries to follow him, wiping blood on her dress. Her skin isn’t bruised, but it feels weird.

“I don’t want to go…” Hadir says with a frown. Baba turns to look at him. He crouches and pets his shoulder.

“I know, dearest. I know. We will return, I promise.” his tone changed, stern like when he taught her not to touch the hot pan, “you need to be strong for your sister now, alright?”

Baba points to Hadir’s heart, “you keep mama here,” his hand moves to his head, “and you keep this clear. That’s how we survive, you understand?”

“Yes, baba.”

Baba shoulders the backpack, and begins walking towards the door, “when we get outside, you stay with me, okay?”

As he goes to open it, the handle moves, and the whole frame shakes. Someone is trying to get in.

“Stay behind me!”

The door slams open, a large man with a gas mask walking in. Farah takes a step back. The man meets her eyes and closes the door, and she stares at his gun.

Baba pleads with the man. He does not listen.

Baba throws his backpack at him, the man shooting a couple of bullets into the floor. They miss Farah’s feet by a few centimeters, and she freezes, breath held in her lungs. Hadir throws himself against the man, but gets shoved back.

The man pulls out a knife, baba manages to take it, stab the man. But it doesn’t change a thing.

It doesn’t save him, when the man pushes him to the floor, and shoots one, two, three, four bullets.

Only then do her feet unstick, and she mutters to herself, “hide!”

She runs back to her and Hadir’s room, crawling under the bed. The man shouts angrily and she hears something break.

Hadir. She needs to help Hadir!

As the man talks to someone on his phone, Farah crawls towards the kitchen, finding a knife. Mama always warned her not to play with them, but if the man catches Hadir…

In her heart, she asks for forgiveness from mama.

When she finds the man, he’s leaning against a wall, his hand clutching his side. Before she can think it over, Farah lowers and slashes at his legs. The man screams in pain, shooting a few bullets at the ground, and turns around to slap her.

It doesn’t hurt, but she drops the knife, so she runs away again.

One of baba’s tools is on the ground, must’ve fallen from his backpack. She grabs it and continues running, the man on her tail now.

The man says mean words to her, in Arabic, but her ears are pounding, her own heavy breaths the only thing she can hear. Her grip on the tool tightens.

“I’m going to kill you!”

Farah watches the man stumble in the hallway, searching.

“You’re going to see father soon, you piece of shit child!”

He trips on the rug. She sneaks closer.

“You’re dead, you hear me?! YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!”

Farah runs forward, aiming for his other leg, but he turns around and grabs her hand before she can stab him.

“There you are!” he grabs her by the neck, slamming her to the floor, “got you!”

She can feel his hand wrap around her, crushing her windpipe, but it doesn’t hurt. The man grunts, before he freezes.

“You’re- you’re one of them?!”

Hadir jumps on the man’s shoulders, screaming, “get off her!!!”. He uses the knife she dropped to stab him in the neck, “get him, Farah, now!”

Farah grabs the tool, and uses all her strength to stab it into the man’s chest. He screams as flesh gives under the metal.

“It’s working! Again, sister!”

She pulls it out, and repeats.

“Good, Farah!”

And again.

Four times, until the man stops moving and making any sound. Farah takes his mask, the gun too heavy and tool buried in his gut.

Farah and Hadir return to baba. Hadir tries to help him up, but baba stops him.

“I can’t… I can’t go with you.”

Tears well in her eyes. Baba is leaving as well.

Hadir wraps his hands around baba’s, “what do we do?”

“You survive. Whatever it takes.” he turns to look at Farah, “even… even your sacrifice. Never give…up…”

Baba’s head drops. He’s gone.

Hadir stares at him for a moment longer. He gets up, “let’s go.”

They weave through the town, a murky green tinting the air. People are gasping and coughing around them, until a gunshot silences them. Hadir says it’s not fair. Farah knows.

It’s not fair, that they pass by people who get shot, and don’t get back up. It’s not fair, that she has to kill twice more, just for them to get a chance at freedom.

It’s not fair, when a man drags both of them away from it, a cruel smile on his lips as he inspects her.

It’s not fair, that she knows to recognize the malice in his eyes.

The soldiers take them to a prison. They find out she is one of those who sacrificed.

It’s not fair, she tells to the Reaper in her heart, that her sacrifice was not enough to save anyone.

She learns very quickly to hate Barkov. He learns, quicker, that his usual torture methods don’t work on her. He finds her weakness not in her own flesh, but in the flesh of the others. Hadir, in most cases. They keep the men and women separated, only allowing her to see him once every few weeks, and every time she gives them trouble, he takes the punishment. He tries to hide it, but he can’t hide his limp, or his bloodshot eyes, or the scars that keep multiplying upon his skin.

Contrasted with her flawless arms, glistening oddly in the light.

She gets into fights with her Reaper, in the earlier days. Demanding answers, for the simple question of “why?”.

Why her? Why this power, that only protects her? Why taunt her, tell her she’s under the Reaper of Might, yet show her every day how weak she is?

There are whispers among the guards, of a person by the name of “Karim”. A Commander, aiding the prisoners, attempting to contact foreign forces by transmitting messages from the inside. Barkov spends hours torturing her and the others, trying to find them. After a while, Farah notices a glint of playfulness in the wretched man’s eyes.

He knows who Karim is. He just wants to break them, annihilate the sense of fragile hope Karim gives the prisoners.

Barkov wants their spirit broken. Farah knows he will fail, because as long as any of them stand, they will not give up. For those who can't fight any longer, for those who are still with them in this hell, for Urzikstan.

They think one can uproot it from them. What they don’t know, will never understand, is that you can’t kill an idea. You can’t torture the memory of freedom out of them.

The soldiers seem on edge, mumbling in Russian about rumors of enemy forces invading Urzikstan. One of them slaps the back of her head when she stares too long.

The cycle continues - Barkov interrogates her, always keeping another prisoner in the room to torture in her place. Today it is Azadeh, younger than her by two years. Azadeh doesn’t flinch at the glint of a knife, but she screams as Barkov buries it in her thigh.

Farah’s guts burn at her wailing, at Barkov’s cocksure grin, his hand easily yanking the knife out of spasming muscles.

She breaks. Tells him she is Karim. It feels like an end.

Barkov freezes, before he pounces. Knocking her out of the chair, he covers her mouth, pinches her nose, deprives her of air.

Not many things can hurt her, but Farah still needs oxygen to live. Her wrists twitch roughly against the bindings tying her to the chair, Azadeh calls for her. Barkov snarls.

“I will not let terrorists like you ruin my country.”

My country… My country?

Urzikstan will never kneel to the likes of you.

As the edges of her vision darken, a soldier bursts into the room, his movements rushed as he informs Barkov the prison is under attack.

Barkov, always needing to have the last laugh, tells her she hasn’t saved anyone, that Karim’s role was only to doom her people, and orders his soldiers to the warehouse, to kill everyone.

Air fills her lungs as she inhales for the first time in over a minute. Barkov tells the man to take Azadeh to the warehouse, and her to solitary confinement. She gives Azadeh an encouraging nod, before they’re separated.

Karim hasn’t failed yet. As long as they’re still alive, she hasn’t failed.

Solitary is part of the older section of the building. Farah has been here enough times to know the rebar in the far corner of the cell is loose, and she herself have made sure, should the need arise, it will be easy to extract from the cracked concrete floor.

The moment the soldiers leave, she gets to work, pulling the metal with a grunt. With a few well-placed hits, Farah breaks the lock, and opens the door.

It is silent outside, in the way a graveyard is. Something sick spreads on her tongue, as she sneaks out of solitary. A few soldiers are making their way to the main cell block, to take the remaining prisoners to the warehouse, Farah assumes. The rebar feels lighter in her hands.

The first soldier she hits over the head screams as he goes down. The rest instinctively start shooting her. It doesn’t do much to stop her from caving their skulls in, besides ripping a few new holes into her clothes.

Searching the bodies yields her a key and an extra mag for one of the rifles. All of them were either empty or jammed, the frantic soldiers not recognizing her.

For them, all Urzik are the same.

Her sisters are relieved to see her approach. The gunshots scared them, fearing it was anyone but her. She opens the cell, freeing them. She uses the key to open a gun locker, and orders them to take up arms. No hesitation is visible on their faces. They all know this is an end.

Of the soldiers or theirs, it is yet to be seen.

“Our brothers have been taken to the warehouse to be executed. We are not going to let that happen.” Farah snarls, fingers aching as she grips the rifle, “are we?”

“No, Commander!” her sisters yell in unison.

Farah feels pride bubble up within her. They haven’t broken their spirit.

A series of far away explosions makes their little group flinch. Ayah asks, “who is attacking us, Commander? Are they on our side?”

“I don’t know. And as long as they distract Barkov and his dogs, it doesn’t matter. We need to move before it’s too late.”

They slam open the doors, Russian soldiers already ready at the other side. Her sisters’ aim is wobbly, the recoil more than they’ve experienced, but they have one thing the Russians don’t.

They don’t fear death anymore.

Nadia was injured in the firefight against a sniper. Ghalia has been limping since an explosion knocked her down. Darine and Azadeh are tired, they’ve been in solitary for days with little to no food or water.

They manage to hole up in the warehouse, but there’s no one there. Farah shouts for Hadir, her echo the only answer.

“Commander!” Azadeh calls, “there’s a way through here, this is must be where they are!”

Farah kicks the door open, turning right to clear the hallway, when a body slams into her from the left. She falls to the ground heavily, teeth bared as a barrel lines with her forehead. The other two soldiers aim at her sisters, Azadeh screaming in horror, “please don’t shoot!”

For a moment, Farah loses hope. Her mind supplies her with Barkov’s words.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

In the next, the skylights shatter. Precise bullets take out the three soldiers, not a single wasted shot. Ropes are thrown through the broken windows, and men wearing gas masks repel down. One of them looks at her, “Whose Commander Karim?”

Farah huffs as she pushes a dead body off of her, “I’m Karim.”

The soldier swings his weapon to the side, “we got your message” he lifts the mask up, revealing a pale face, “Lieutenant John Price. Where are the others?”

The Lieutenant offers her a hand, and Farah grunts as he lifts her, “in there. Straight ahead.”

Price looks at the dark hallway, before turning back and lowering his mask, “stay close!”

Azadeh’s expression is uncertain when Farah stops her from following them. Wordlessly, she nods and returns to her wounded sisters’ side. They both know the path ahead is meant only for trained soldiers.

Trained soldiers, and those who cannot die to a bullet.

Farah keeps her rifle up as the soldiers and her scan the hall. Tanks with warning signs plastered on their exterior line the narrow passage way, and she doesn’t need to know Russian to know what’s inside.

“Got two!” Price warns, and takes out one of the guards. The other doesn’t waste time watching his partner go down, and before one of Price’s soldiers puts a bullet in his head, he aims and shoots Farah.

Straight shot to her heart. These guards are more skilled than the ones she fought through to get here.

Two hands clamp onto her shoulders, and Price’s wide eyes stare at her through the gas mask, “you’re not wearing armor- Karim, sit the fuck down, I saw the bullet hit you-!”

Farah frowns, following his line of sight to the hole in her shirt.

“Lieutenant-”

He holds her as if she’s about to collapse, muttering, “why are you not bleeding…”

Farah grabs his hands, and the Lieutenant’s brows shoot up.

“You’re a revenant.” his hands loosen, and drop to his side.

Farah nods, “no bullet or blade can hurt me.”

Something odd passes by Price’s eyes, but he doesn’t say anything to indicate what.

“Lieutenant, the prisoners are here! We need the breacher for the door!”

They run towards the back, and Farah slides to a stop at the scene.

In a room with large bullet-proof windows, where fire wars with the Russian’s sickly green gas, her brothers pound on the glass, their screams muffled.

They were going to watch them suffocate and burn.

She shakes out of her stupor when she notices Hadir. Slumped in the corner by a door, unmoving.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

Farah runs to the other side of the door, where Price and his men are attempting to pry open it. They don’t have time for this.

“Stand back!” she grunts, and Price barely pulls the other soldier away before she shoots 4 bullets into the lock.

She barely manages to catch Hadir when the door slams open, her brothers running out towards fresh air. She should feel happiness, that they were fast enough to save them.

But in her arms is the still body of her brother, the one who has been through this hell with her from the beginning. The one with their mama’s eyes, and their baba’s kindness. Farah feels tears run down her face as she presses two fingers to his pulse. Nothing.

There are voices around her, speaking to her. She doesn’t hear a thing. No sound is worth hearing when her brother’s heart does not beat.

Price crouches in front of her, his mask off despite the gas filtering in from the room. His voice is gentle when he speaks, “Karim… we need to move.”

She shakes her head. It reminds her of how Hadir didn’t want to leave their house, when baba knew they had no choice. She has no choice but to leave him.

Oh, how could she leave him like this?

As the Lieutenant urges her again, as her brothers and sisters start to realize what happened, as Farah’s fingers stay on a paling wrist, she feels it.

A heartbeat.

Hadir gasps, his hands shoot up to claw at his neck frantically, and he jumps away from Farah. Everyone is watching him carefully as he catches his breath, silent and knowing.

Farah clenches her fists, failing to quell the shaking, “...why…?”

Why did you choose this over seeing mama and baba again?

Hadir turns to face her, but his eyes don’t meet hers. They’re not the blue-gray they were before, she notices. Green, like the gas that killed him.

“You survive, whatever it takes. Never give up.” Hadir repeats their baba’s last words. “Not even death will come between us, sister. Not anymore.”

“May your soul find rest.” she says, and her brothers and sisters murmur it with her. Hadir then lifts his gaze, and he gives her a sad smile.

Price and his soldiers stand back, looking properly shaken by seeing a dead man return. For them it is an anomaly.

In Urzikstan, they all know what a sacrifice looks like.

Farah gives herself a moment more to mourn Hadir, mourn the peace he refused to receive in death.

She gets up, grips her rifle, and orders her people, “collect survivors and supplies. We’re leaving.”

“Sister.”

She stops cleaning her knife for a moment, acknowledging Hadir’s presence with a nod, before continuing, “any sign of Barkov?”

Hadir drags a chair to sit in front of her, “no, we’re secure here. The Lieutenant cleared the area well.” he watches her hands work on the sharpening metal, “I… I wanted to tell you about my powers.”

Her hand freezes. “Immunity to the gas. I know.”

“No.”

Farah opens her mouth to question him, but when she looks up at Hadir…

Mist flows from his eyes and nose, pouring down his features. Green, toxic, smells of chemicals and death.

When he speaks, more gas flows from his mouth, “I’m not only immune, sister. I can create it.” fear paints his words.

“Enough.” she orders, though to her ears it sounds more like begging. Hadir stops using his power all the same, and it is with shame that he looks at the thin level of gas coating the floor of the run-down room.

Farah puts the knife and whetstone away, and hugs Hadir. He presses closer, and she feels his body tremble with silent sobs.

“You will not use this power. We do not need weapons of the enemy to win this war.” Her brother may be doomed, cursed forever to bear the gas within him, but it does not mean he needs to continue Barkov’s legacy.

Hadir doesn’t respond for a while, but when he pulls back, he nods. “Yes, Commander Karim.” he says, pride in the title. “What are your orders to our brothers and sisters?”

Farah sheaths the knife, her voice strong and clear, “Barkov must’ve had more prisons. It’s time we find more hands to help our cause.”

Alex Keller is… odd.

He had a surface level knowledge of the situation in Urzikstan when he arrived. Not from a tactical standpoint - CIA doesn’t let details like those escape them, of course. But from a human’s, and perhaps a revenant’s, it was clear Alex was not used to seeing such disgusting levels of violence unhidden for all to see. Barkov doesn’t need to hide it. America already knows.

The world already knows.

Keller’s abilities as a revenant proved advantageous from the very first mission they had. Infiltrating has never been easier, with a man able to become invisible to the naked eye. Later on he has told her of his weaknesses, that his form is still corporal even when see-through, and that electronic optics are able to catch traces of him. His honesty doesn’t go unnoticed, and Farah appreciates the trust he puts in her.

Hadir didn’t trust him at first. Despite his relation to Captain Price, he was wary of the American. It didn’t matter much to Farah, as long as they were amicable enough to work together, but seeing Hadir slowly let his guard down over the weeks was a moment of happiness in her days.

It helps most in days when Hadir seems distant, when a fog she can only call a thirst for revenge clouds his eyes. It feels like the times she has to fight against his violent suggestions double every new mission.

Something is brewing in his mind, she can tell. Hadir doesn’t want to share it with her.

At least Alex doesn’t push back against her orders with no good reason…

They’re on ground now, Alex using Hadir’s Sniper to scope the Highway of Death, and Farah spotting for him. They’re waiting for forces of Al-Mudahiyn, The Sacrificers, to pass through.

Al-Mudahiyn and the ULF used to be one and the same, until they weren’t. They share the goal of liberation, but where the ULF chooses to prioritize the safety of the people of Urzikstan, The Sacrificers choose the retribution on the Russians to be theirs.

Liberation will not be achieved peacefully, Farah knows that. But revenge won’t bring it either, and as much as she would hate it if it were to happen, if she had the choice to free her country but let her oppressors walk away unharmed, she would. She is sick of seeing her brothers and sisters die, and sacrifice, and bow their heads to men who see them as lesser.

In that, Al-Mudahiyn and her disagree. The militia focuses its powers on creating chaos among the Russian’s ranks, within Russia itself, and anywhere where its sympathizers live. And while they both deal in violence, Farah cannot agree to it being the objective.

It is a tool. One she will wield only as long as her enemy does. 

The SAS and CIA have begun to retaliate against Al-Mudahiyn, as has Barkov, their actions too flashy to ignore. Stealing several containers of Russian experimental gas was the last nail in the coffin.

The ULF along with Captain Price’s team decided to work together to stop them.

“One vehicle approaching from the east!”

On her mark, Alex takes down the two snipers that attempted to set up on the roof. Killing them is a calculated risk; it could alert their target and cause them to change course, but leaving them alive could’ve risked Hadir and his team, who are nearer to the road.

Two fighters from Hadir’s team take the truck and park it in the middle of the highway as a makeshift blockade. She watches as they rig it up with explosives, and orders them to wait for her signal.

Their target, as do many in The Sacrificers’ ranks, is a revenant. According to Alex’s sources in the CIA, they’re just a Revenant of Flesh. Their healing powers could save them from some injuries, but an explosion should kill them.

And if the explosion doesn’t do them in, bullets will.

They were ready for an ambush. Armored trucks, snipers, mortar teams.

“We need help! Where is Captain Price?!” Farah shouts as she fires on a few fighters making their way through the ruined house they’ve taken cover in. Alex pops up to shoot as well, but she pushes him behind her when a few bullets hit too close for comfort.

Her clothes are riddled with holes.

Hadir shouts from the rooftop beside theirs, “we cannot wait! I’ve got more firepower in the truck!” an explosion shakes the foundations of the house, “Alex! Follow me!”

Alex looks back at her, and she nods. Hadir’s intuition never failed them, his habit of preparing for the worst saved operations more than once. He’s not her second-in-command just because of their blood relation, she trusts him more than anyone else.

That is why, when green, toxic gas started covering the abandoned village rapidly, Farah didn’t dare think it was him. Hadir wouldn’t do that, he promised her.

She hears him shout to Alex that there are gas masks in the bunker. It should’ve tipped her off. It didn’t.

Coughing horribly, she ran towards the bunker, her steps unsteady as the gas coats her lungs. She has never forgotten the way it claws down her throat, burning, seizing her muscles.

Alex comes into view just as Farah’s vision begins to fade, and the last words she hears singe worse than any chemical could.

“H-Hadir… You’re… a revenant?”

When she comes to, it’s to the smell of dust. Her throat still burns, but as she coughs, she feels clean air filter through her nose. Farah blinks her eyes open, to see Hadir equip a gas mask on Alex’s face. He notices her eyes following his movements.

“Sister…” Hadir leaves Alex to approach her, his arms open. Before, she would’ve taken comfort to see he is not injured.

Now, all she sees is anger. Green, sickly, violent anger.

Farah pushes him away, but she is weakened, so his arms don’t leave hers, “how could you do this?!”

He tries to placate her. It makes her shake with exertion to get away. “I had no choice, Farah! I-”

“No. Not like this.” her eyes roll back, and before she loses consciousness again, she mumbles, “you promised…”

“-Farah!… Alex!”

She grunts. Her arms feel weighted when she pushes the dusty gas mask up and off her face. Alex does the same, trying to get up on his feet and failing.

Price’s voice invades her mind, and she winces. It is an unfamiliar feeling, still. “You’re alright, Farah. You’re alright.”

Still unused to the powers, she chooses to speak, “where is he…? Where is he?!”

Price finally reaches them, helping Farah get up, only for her to push off to rush out the crooked door, “he’s gone, Farah…”

She snarls. How dare he run, how could he leave- “no… Hadir… HADIR!!!”

“Farah!�� Price follows her, catching her when she stumbles on the steps outdoors, “Farah, stop! Stop, he’s gone!”

Her fists clench on dry earth and she screams. Coward, liar, monster. No curse is bad enough to describe that fucking dog.

She feels Price wrap an arm around her, not to support, but to comfort. It reminds her why they’re here in the first place.

“There is no thief.” she tilts her head up, staring at Price’s blue-gray eyes. His brows knit in confusion, and she continues, “he created the gas. I’m sorry, Captain, I didn’t know, I didn’t know…”

She feels Price pull images from her memories. She lets him.

The Captain looks through her interactions with Hadir for the past few weeks. At first, Farah thinks he doesn’t believe her word, but Price relays to her that he’s not doing it for himself.

He’s proving her she’s not at fault.

“There’s no way you could’ve known, Farah.” he says out loud.

Alex joins him behind them, leaning on another soldier, “it’s okay, Farah. We’ll get him.”

She wants to bristle at those almost meaningless comforting gestures, but the look in Alex’s eyes is pleading her to let it go, for now.

Price helps her up again, shouting to Alex, “we need to un-ass this target- NOW!”

As they board the helicopter, Farah looks down.

Corpses line the desolate streets, no bird dares to sing at the sight. Both Al-Mudahiyn and ULF fighters lay still, eyes bulging and throat scratched raw. She grits her teeth, but her eyes don’t stray from the sight, even as the aircraft rises to the air.

Alex places a hand on her shoulder after a while, a questioning hum following.

She shakes her head, and with it his hand.

A voice that has haunted her for the last two decades drifts closer to her, whispering into her ears a sentence she hates to acknowledge has never been wrong.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

At twenty-seven, Farah Ahmed Karim has lost the last remaining blood relative she had. There was no one left to mourn, except her.

In a dusty helicopter, with the smell of noxious gas still in her every breath, Farah promised to find him, the walking corpse of her brother, and stop him before he drags more of them down.

And unlike the man who once was her brother, Farah keeps her promises.

[gaystonerdragon]

sometimes i feel like the people reading black butler forget that the whole premise of the narrative is a boy who saw his entire family and household massacred on his birthday is tricked into forming a revenge pact with a demon that was summoned by the cult that killed his brother after abusing the two preteen boys for weeks on end, to bring equal humiliation, pain, and suffering to everyone responsible for the aforementioned horrors committed against him. “its so dark” like yeah… what gave it away? “the subject matter is so heavy” again… what part of the narrative set up made you think it wouldn’t be? like you know how this is ending, right?

[magictacofairy]

23.Toy

Now you know why Caine would rather do the boring paperwork than hunt ghosts

btw that was before pomni's arrival

Caine was generally far too afraid of ghosts and still has a lot more of these "killer monkeys" as he calls them than before

[berrythefish]

this is a bit long

Silly AU that was based of a doodle, called killer circus AU. I thought it was something and decided to invest a bit on it for fun!

It started with a quick sun doodle that I later kinda "refined". (Warning: blood)

I had a bit trouble trying to see what I can do for moon so it's a bit of a WIP? But anyways here some doodles for that AU

So the whole point was that both sun and moon are a part of an all animatronic circus (yes the gang is there too) and enjoy what they do. Except their ringmaster (idk who specifically be it vanny or good old afton) controls them without their knowledge in order to abduct and murder children. That's all I got so far...

Sun has this hammer as a weapon and moon...has...claws...lol

Not sure if I want to make a y/n for this tbh but I guess it can be fun since you can have some not-intentionally-murderous clowns after your throat when you stumbled across the circus' secret. :)

Aight I'm done rambling

[vbused]

10 years ago American Horror Story: Freak Show premiered

One of my favourite seasons.

Follow to be spooky mutuals!

[luxrayz64]

jill tuck

[atzloverr]

My favorite fics/blogs!!!

(multifandom)

The answer by @berryunho

this might me by favorite ateez fic y’all… It’s literally so GOOOODDDDD I’m obsessed… (atz x reader, cult au)

@freyaphoria

this entire blog is everything !! (never stop posting girl your stories are amazing) lovely yandere atz x reader stories

@yankpop

A blog with lots of yan bts x reader and I’m here for it!

Abundance by @angelicyoongie

ot7 hybrid bts x reader, I’m literally obsessed with this story and I still hope that the author picks it up again 😭

Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea

(ao3) LOVE this ot8 ateez x reader fic!! The story is so good I’ve literally cried reading it…

Polarity

(ao3) yandere Jungkook x reader. I don’t need to say more. Read it.

The obsidian pearl by @angelicyoongie

yandere mermaid!Seokjin x reader, only a few chapters, but still amazing!!!

Complete

(wattpad) I don’t know how many times I’ve reread this story… It’s my comfort fic i think😭 a bts x reader soulmate au fic.

The four kingdoms

(wattpad) another AMAZING bts x reader story. This fic is the first part of the “blue eyes” series, and I’ve read all four parts like a million times… The following parts:

pyramids, dynasty, mist (mist isn’t finished)

Seven sins

(wattpad) seven deadly sins!bts x reader.

Blood ink

(wattpad) tattoo artist!Jungkook x reader, gang au

Circus by @lani-heart

A sweet (and angsty) fic about ot8 hybrid!ateez x reader!!! I highly recommend it! (ongoing)

@cheollipop

suuuuuch a good blog, has atz x reader and some svt x reader

@angelicyoongie

Amazing bts x reader stories!!! (two of them are mentioned in this post lol)

@xosannie

lovely nsfw ateez x reader, I’m so happy I found this blog likeeee, obsessed with their work dirty little secret (mingi x reader)

Guerilla by @sorryimananti-romantic

serial killer!Yunho x reader, literally obsessed with this and their entire blog!!!! And I’m Yunho biased so this hit the spot

@bro-atz

One of if not THE best atz nsfw x reader fics… Literal art, go follow right now!!!

Heavy and sticky by @k-hotchoisan

some filthy Seonghwa x reader smut!!!

When flowers bloom in the dark by @makeitmingi

Already so invested in this mafia au Hongjoong x reader story. It’s sooo good

Atz as boyfriends (nsfw ver) by @sorryimananti-romantic and @eightmakesonebraincell

explicit ateez ot8 headcannons (I’m obsessed)

The feral drabbles by @mint-yooxgi

Ateez (and skz but I haven’t read) x reader one-shots/drabbles!!! Includes darker themes (yandere), and omg this writing is so good!!!

@last-words-ofashootingstar

such good ateez x reader fics and drabbles!!! this blog has yandere content as well! Love their work allure

@gyupinkys

amazing svt x reader and atz x reader!!! I love their work like crazy (yandere Seonghwa x reader)

Our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom by @eightmakesonebraincell

poly ot8 atz x reader and ice hockey au, I literally died when reading this the writing is insanely good

Mist of celeste

(ao3) craziest read in my life. Space pirates atz x reader and this is a literary masterpiece. Read. It.

@holybibly

THE ONE AND ONLY QUEEN (atz x reader)

Sentinent by @trivia-yandere

(Oneshot) Yandere android namjoon x reader, omg I am obsessed with this and the author’s other works!!

Bloodline

(ao3) INSANE READ. I literally pray to god that this ot8 atz x reader story continues!!!

I’ll update this post if I find new works that I enjoy!

my masterlist

[captain-joongz]

fanfiction recommendations/my favourite reads in 2023

♤ in pursuit of wedded bliss by @fantasyescapes17

regency au, each members has his own story, but they're interconnected

choi seungcheol

◇ push it down (sooner or later it all comes out) by @dontflailmenow

camboy!seungcheol, ex's best friend!seungcheol, enemies to lovers

♧ down bad (so so bad) by @lovelyhan

idol!seungcheol x pet sitter!reader

☆ always only you by @honeyhotteoks

brother's best friend!seungcheol, friends to lovers

♤ caught in a trap by @cheolism

brother's best friend to lovers au

kim mingyu

☆ a sheep in wolf's clothing by @rubyreduji

virgin!mingyu x experienced reader

♤ creep by @smileysuh

serial killer!ghost!mingyu, touch starved!mingyu, halloween fic

ot8

◇ skz drabble by @leviackermanscleaningbuddy

a/b/o, cnc, primal play

♧ sharing = caring by @cbini

bf!chan sharing you

☆ camcorder by @tasteracha

bf!minho x reader x chan, a little pervy chan

♤ five for five by @bh-archive

chan x hyunjin x hongjoong x san x juyeon x reader

◇ some things are better left unknown by @roseykat

chan x felix x reader, threesome

lee minho

♧ dilf!minho by @cinhomi

dilf!minho x baby sitter!reader, breeding kink, pregnancy talk

bang chan

☆ bad idea by @hyunsvngs

step dad!chan, getting together, infidelity

hwang hyunjin

♤ dressing down by @jl-micasea-fics

best friends to lovers, mutual pining

lee felix

◇ best friend felix by @ddyskz

best friends to lovers, fluffy smut

♧ felix + thigh riding by @straykeedz

☆ cockwarming by @dreaming-medium

coworkers au, secretary!felix, office sex

ot7

♤ shadows we trust by @remedyx

supernatural au, mystical creatures!bts, dark circus au

◇ masked miracles by @remedyx

hybrid!bts, detective!reader

♧ stay alive by @staytinyville

mythical creatures!bts, supernatural au

☆ trouvaille by @spookyserenades

hybrid!bts, witch!reader, supernatural au, some horror themes

♤ eternally theirs by @imnotlauriane

dragon!bts, soulmates au, knights au

◇ the lucky seven by @riphobisbraces

hybrid!bts, princess!human!reader

♤ emerald gem by @sweetlyskz

hybrid!bts, reader has a farm, strangers to lovers

♧ oh, little red by @jincherie

wolf!yoongi x reader x wolf!jimin, red riding hood au

min yoongi

☆ celestial ruin by @remedyx

fallen angel!yoongi x angel!reader, corruption arc

♤ fxck a fxckboy by @yoongifis

fuckboy!yoongi x smartass!reader

kim taehyung

◇ isn't that what brothers do? by @aris-ink

step brother!taehyung, forbidden romance, dub con

♧ black swan by @aris-ink

step dad!taehyung, manipulation, corruption, cheating

☆new flame by @gimmethatagustd

alpha!taehyung x omega!reader, heat sex

jeon jungkook

♤ family secrets by @aris-ink

step brother!jungkook, dry humping

◇ icarus by @aris-ink

step brother!jungkook, risky/sneaky sex

♧ close by @aft3rhrs

step brother!jungkook, forbidden romance

choi soobin

☆ let's play a game by @anyamaris

soobin x reader x yeosang (ateez), friends to lovers, primal play

♤ closed doors by @last-words-ofashootingstar

soobin x reader x hongjoong, idol au, obsessed!soobin

◇ super shy! by @fairyofshampgyu

shy virgin baker!soobin x experienced reader

♧ i <3 nerds by @enha-cafe

nerdy!soobin secretly a sex god au

multiple members

☆ drippin' by @ncteez

'00 line x reader, friends to lovers, birthday orgy

♤ cookie jar by @neopuppy

step brothers!jeno and jaemin x reader, stuck in a dryer au

♧ sos by @neopuppy

a/b/o, sex pollen au, pollen induced heat/rut

lee jeno

☆ shameless by @neopuppy

step son!jeno x step mom!reader, infidelity, very dub con

♤ hand kink by @jaylaxies

roommates au, hand kink

lee mark

◇ i can help by @recklessmark

step dad!mark, corruption, manipulation, infidelity

ATEEZ rec list pt. 1 | pt. 2

[ghost-bxrd]

Hear me out

Wayne Family court of owls

Going FERAL

Can you imagine!? Martha and Thomas Wayne were part of the Court, and obviously Bruce is as well! He’s basically known as the Prince of Gotham anyway. What they don’t know is that he’s always been in line for the position as Voice of the Court.

When the Waynes die, the Talon is sent out to dispose of their killer. Bruce gets closure when the Talon brings him Joe Chill’s head.

Bruce is raised with the near constant protection of the Court (they cannot allow the Wayne name to die out) and when Dick’s parents fall in the circus… Bruce still takes him in. Defying the Court’s excited whispers of the Gray Son joining the ranks as a future talon, letting them know in no uncertain terms that he is now Bruce’s ward and thus untouchable.

Bruce presents Dick with proof of Zuccos… “disappearance” as a welcome home gift and introduces him to the world of the Court. How to manipulate high society and pull string behind the scenes to make the Court stronger, and Gotham a better, safer place.

Bruce never becomes the Batman. But his code name, before and after becoming the Voice of the Court, is still Batman. And Dick’s code name is Robin, now likewise under the Talon’s (Cobb) protection, and a menace to the criminal underworld because he has a penchant for going out into the streets in person instead of acting from the shadows like Bruce. (Poor Talon‘s got his hands full keeping both those idiots alive now).

And then comes Jason, who’s a street kid, and everything the Court would turn their noses up at— but their Voice takes interest in this one, too. And oh do they know by now how this story goes. (Cobb does not despair. He’s TALON. He’s above such silly things as despair. But BOY does he wish he could file for a vacation right now.)

While Dick is the charming circus boy turned court darling turned Robin turned Gray Son of Gotham, Jason is the gutter trash turned son of a billionaire turned youngest acolyte turned Heart of the Court. (Cobb refuses to acknowledge that he might actually like this firecracker of a kid. Wayne can shove his smug little grin where the sun don’t shine-)

I should probably stop now 😭

[celaenaeiln]

Was Dick ever mean to Jason when they first met? Because I’ve seen a lot of fanon where it’s implied/shown that he was, but I haven’t seen anything to prove that it’s canon (and I’m happy you’re back even though you weren’t gone long I love your blog)

Aww thank you!!

Ugh I don't know where fanon keeps getting the idea but Dick was never mean to Jason as Robin.

Let's start with the erased version, otherwise known as pre-crisis.

Jason Todd was born to acrobatic parents and also performed in the circus. Here's the interesting bit: it wasn't Bruce who found out about them, it was Dick who was at the circus and cheered them.

Batman (1940) Issue #357

Where was Bruce? He was busy becoming squid food in Gotham.

Anyway Bruce escapes and meets up with Dick who is still Robin and helps him solve part of the crime. As he's discussing the case with Dick, Dick mentions that there may be a connection to Bruce's case and something Trina Todd said.

Yup! Dick becomes friends with Jason's mom <3

Batman (1940) Issue #358

Bruce doesn't trust her but Dick does and Bruce trusts Dick so he accepts.

So Dick goes to meet Trina and her husband but they've already left to sneak into the villain's lair and get caught by Killer Croc. So he chases after them. Barbara joins in as Batgirl but Batgirl and Robin are too late because Killer Croc has already fed Joe and Trina to crocodiles.

Batman's still fighting his own case while all this is happening.

Waldo the Clown takes Jason to the manor and while Jason's in the kitchen looking for food, he finds the door behind the grandfather clock open, goes inside, and finds the batcave.

He finds a trunk of Dick's old suits as Robin and that's where the iconic pre-crisis Jason Robin scene comes -

Detective Comics (1937) Issue #526

Which first of all Jason why are you wearing other people's clothes without their permission? But anyway Jason hears people coming and finds Batman's busy grabbing information with Selina and so he hides in the trunk of the Batmobile. Robin Dick and Batgirl solve the case on their end and find out there's a trap for Batman so they come in and save Batman and his allies. Jason sneaks out of the car and finds his parents are dead so he tries to kill Killer Croc but Dick and Barbara stop him.

Detective Comics (1937) Issue #526

Dick's just like "oh, you sweetheart."

Dick wants to adopt him but Bruce is like mine because they're both like "It's my fault his parents died, I should take responsibility."

Detective Comics (1937) Issue #526

Dick was really nice to Jason.

Batman (1940) Issue #529

Dick is Jason's idol. He and Dick have a great relationship, so much so that Dick actually passes on the Robin name and suit to Jason.

Batman (1940) Issue #529

I could make a meme out of the handshake scene with Bruce being one hand and Jason being the other and in the middle the hands meet is "idolizing Dick Grayson".

So Dick and Jason had a fantastic relationship.

And then some things happen where this Jason wasn't well-recieved by the audience because of the way writers handled the transition from Dick's robin to Jason's so DC realized that they need to make Jason into his own person with his own personality, looks, and story.

So they magic marker erased the previous timeline and now we have the actual Jason Todd that's actually relevant to every comic that comes after.

Yet in this current timeline too, Dick treated Jason sweetly.

Here Dick's first meeting with Jason, he actually saves Jason from the hands of drug dealers.

Batman (1940) Issue #416

He let go of his hiding spot to get the new Robin out of trouble.

Jason is not at all happy about this.

Batman (1940) Issue #416

And Dick's pissed off because he found out there's a new Robin through a newspaper and he just lost a drug deal he's been waiting on to bailout the new Robin.

So Dick storms off and Jason asks Bruce about Nightwing

Batman (1940) Issue #416

And I'm going to reiterate parts of this post for this part (people please please read this post because tumblr has an image limit and I've explained it in detail there but I can't here)

Dick had no idea Bruce passed on the Robin costume. He finds out through the newspaper because Bruce is pissed at Dick. Like he's so mad that when he told Dick to leave, Dick actually left.

You know how there's a saying about not being able to take back words of anger? Bruce is feeling that heavily. He already had suspicions that Dick wanted to leave but before Dick could tell him, he fired him so he wouldn't have to hear those words. But Bruce is super mad that Dick left anyway. So what does he do? He makes the first boy he sees Robin.

And Jason finds out Dick was Robin when he confronts Bruce why Nightwing knows Bruce's identity. And that gets Bruce more mad because he's now feeling guilty which is when Dick comes to confront Bruce.

After meeting Bruce, Dick talks about what he's been up to since he left and put Bruce in a good mood before he starts tearing into him.

Batman (1940) Issue #416

Bruce looks so wrecked. The guilt and sorrow is tantamount to his pain.

Then Dick asks Bruce why he choose someone new.

Batman (1940) Issue #416

So Bruce tells him. But Dick and Bruce's relationship go way deeper than just friends or family. They know each other. They revolve around each other so Dick calls him out, and out comes the truth

Batman (1940) Issue #416

But here's what it means in terms of Dick and Jason's relationship:

Instead of letting Jason become some sort of spite move, Dick becomes the bigger man and decides to turn Robin into a legacy.

Batman (1940) Issue #416

He passes it down like it was meant to be passed down. Because let's be honest here. The Robin name and costume is Dick's. If he wanted to, he could've taken it back, Bruce be damned. And that was one of Jason's fears.

It's Dick's approval of Jason and them catching the drug dealers together at the end that cements Jason as Robin. It's his acceptance and good will toward Jason that Bruce is grateful for.

Batman (1940) Issue #416

Dick also validates and praises Jason in the comics whenever they meet.

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #31

He's basically, "Don't worry about Bruce, if you get in trouble, I'll take care of it."

The only problem is they didn't meet a lot but when they did it was good times all around.

The third version of Dick and Jason's meeting.

In this version holy honking heck. First of all it's a flashback when Bruce fires Dick because he feels like he's too busy with other duties to be with Batman and then after a series of events in present time, it shows that Bruce literally kidnapped Jason and gagged and tied him to a chair. And Alfred's like WTH BRUCE?!

Even more things happen on both sides (curse you 30-image per post tumblr limit) and Bruce essentially makes Jason watch all the videos of Dick and sets Jason's gauntlet test to be a game of tag with Dick.

Dick is completely unaware of all this happening because he's just having fun busting up thugs and playing with Barbara, having no clue that Bruce and Jason are literally watching him livestream through his bike dash cam.

Nightwing (1996) Issue #105

Jason literally shows up while Dick's pondering on a rooftop and is like who're you? Oh wait you're him lol. Move over there's a new robin in town! And Dick's just like WHAT?! He such a little shit about it.

Dick's immediately like okay I'm upset at Bruce but I have to help this new kid out. There's no hesitation, no regret, no anger towards Jason at all. Just pure desire to see him succeed.

Not gonna lie, Jason's just awful towards Dick because he thinks that Dick is his test or something Dick's just like, "can you cool it for a sec?" They soon find out about a huge crime drug activity going on and Dick sorta mentors Jason through it while on the case. I'm not gonna include the panels but it's just Dick and Jason working together. It's fun to read and cute because Dick's protective of him and Jason's like a little bird following a bigger scarier one.

At the end the crime is solved, Jason and Alfred go home, and Dick calls Bruce to tell him this -

Nightwing (1996) Issue #106

Nightwing (1996) Issue #106

He was so, so nice to Jason. Actually it's impossible for anyone to treat Jason better than Dick treated him, not even Bruce was this nice to Jason.

In Nightwing (2016) Annual, there's another story of Dick and Jason's meeting. In this case Dick comes over after Alfred calls him and Jason's sulking in his room because Bruce grounded him. He pulls Jason away and they go on a Nightwing and Robin adventure where Dick talks to him, teaches him, and lifts his spirits.

Nightwing (2016) 2021 Annual

Dick being mean to Jason is pure fanon, it's so fanon that there isn't even a single comic panel that can be used in support of that horrible idea. He never ignored Jason. Dick makes it very, very clear that his problems are with Bruce won't interfere with his relationship with Jason. He treats Jason as an independent person with his own personality and genuinely looks after and cares for him in every retelling. The only thing is they didn't meet very often but when they did, Dick was such a good brother.

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 10)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds 📍 Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 10 Good Deeds

Alastor takes you out as promised, but work/hobbies call him away. Not that you mind, you have your own hobbies to pick up.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, references to racial violence, reference to a word that’s now very much a slur, Hate for Aubrey, inaccurate portrayal of how easy it was to drink, oh yeah murder, mentions of a dismembered body, bloody shoes, physics hijinks with a corpse, these idiots in love, gators aaaaaye baby, domestic fluff?? Kind of?? Did I do it?!」

I think about Emmett Till often. Though his heinous murder came after the time this story is set, what happened to him wasn’t an isolated incident. So it is referenced here in a sense, because I can’t stop thinking about him when I think about racial violence in the south both what it looked like before and what it looks like now. I don’t say anything explicit and change the act, but it is still important to warn you. If you don’t know about the tragic death of Emmett, here’s a site with links to articles and essays. Be careful, it is awful and his deceased and battered face will come up on some links, as his mother wanted the world to see what they did to her baby. It’s an image I cannot forget and I rightfully shouldn’t. I know it’s off to have such a heavy topic before this love story but this case is the kind that would motivate such a killer as Alastor, and I don’t want to miss an opportunity to remind us of Emmett’s short life even if it’s done in a silly fanfic surrounded by nonsense. So forgive me for perhaps an odd real life addition, I’d be disappointed in myself for not addressing it when Emmett has been on my mind every time I think about the era someone like Alastor could have lived in. An era that did exist and people did live and suffer in.  An era not far removed from us, my father was alive when this happened.

Part 10 - Good Deeds

minors if you interact I will interpret that as a deep hate for me as a person so MDNI 👌🏼

“I’ve got to speak with the valet, go on ahead and find a table you like.” 

You didn’t want to do that at all, but knew Alastor wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want it. Well, he didn’t really ask, did he? He was certainly in his element, the shining and towering hotel every bit as pristine as his own public image.

It was as if every head in the room spun around to look at you. Everyone’s hair freshly styled, jewelry shiny and heavy, clothes immaculate. Your dress was lovely, no doubt, but no one looks at the elephant in her tutu at the circus and proclaims, “A ballerina!” This was, rather obviously, not your scene.

Alastor had presented the dress to you so sweetly, though. You woke up to find it hanging on the closet door hook, the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He had either waited for you to fall asleep to hang it or woken up before you for just the reason. It was red, his favorite color for you. The latest fashion, loose and straight. No corset. The neckline showcased a large, flat bow. 

“Partly a gift for me,” he had said as his hands slid down your sides when you had gotten dressed, “Such softness shouldn’t be hidden behind rigid boning.”

You settled into a large seashell shaped booth, the back coming up and over like you were the speck of sand yet to form into a pearl. The table was small, a glittering pattern under its shiny veneer. Everything was…glistening. Even the darkness past the windows seemed to be sparkling back at you. A few people turned to look you up and down, smiling and beginning to speak to their group before even turning back to them. 

You could wither, or bloom. So you learned back as if you were bored, legs crossed and feet gently shaking with anxiety or boredom, you hoped no one could sus out which. 

It was so odd. In your usual haunts, newcomers were greeted with curious smiles and maybe the tiniest suspicions. You were being picked apart to the bone by sharp stares and even sharper tongues, no matter how silent their jabs were to you. 

“They’re probably jealous.” Your head snapped up, when had Alastor made it in? “They look at you and know, ‘oh, that’s the kind of woman my husband would rather have a conversation with.’” You laughed, you absolutely could have stolen the attention and more from at least one of these women’s husbands.

“Perhaps they recognize these earrings, gone missing from their jewelry box earlier this year.”  You weren’t above accepting a woman’s stolen jewelry. It was her husband's fault anyway, might as well enjoy it. 

Alastor’s finger came to your chin, lifting your face further into the light, “Give em a good look, darling. I want them to eat their hearts out.” The blush that swept across your features was so fierce, the difference in temperature between your cheeks and your arms caused a chill to run down to your shins. He took a seat beside you, scooting up close and flashing that smile. A smile that had you chasing him into dark alleys and grabbing dead men by the ankles. 

A waiter came by, placing a drink in front of Alastor and asking what you’d like. You were so used to being in such spaces with the kind of men who answered for you that you didn’t reply immediately. When Alastor brought his drink to his lips, you realized it was you who was expected to speak. 

“Oh! A corpse reviver please.”

The man smiled and left with a nod. Alastor choked, hitting his chest with the fleshy part of his palm, “That was intentional, wasn’t it?”

You danced in your seat, “I’ve never been somewhere that has the stock for it that I was…allowed to order what I want.”

Alastor set his drink down and leaned back, shoulder pressing into yours teasingly, “I can’t imagine anyone disallowing you a thing.” With a sigh, you reminded him of the things you did to get your marks drunk and off their guard. You were surprised when he nodded like he remembered. “I saw that! You would sit so quietly on their laps. I remember thinking you were much more boring than you had initially made me believe.” You recoiled, and he shot you a look, “Who stalked who first, hm?” 

With a huff, you let it go. You weren’t actually sure the answer to that anyway. Focus let free from Alastor, you began to notice the looks were back. But no longer cutting into you, but wide and devouring. A few smiled at Alastor, some tipped their heads to him and offered a look of recognition. “Aren’t you popular.”

“I haven’t been out in awhile. They’re probably curious.” He took another sip, “Should be, atleast.”

A prideful smile slid up your face. You uselessly tried to mask it by licking your teeth. 

Something that happened when in public with Alastor that was unlike you was the tendency to become small. Not shrinking to provide him space; it was a turning in of your shoulders and touching of your knees in a subconscious effort to curl into a little ball of joy. Actively fighting the tug, you leaned back and opened your chest. An exercise in mental focus. 

“It’s weird. How you can be friends with my kind of people and….well, whatever is happening here.” Your hand waved at the room before you both. 

“My friendship with these people compared to our friends at the dives is…. A light bulb compared to a fire. One was manufactured to fit a need, one exists somewhat naturally.”

Tall and slim, body flat from collar bones to knees, a slip of a woman entered the room and you felt a shift in the atmosphere. Her hair was short and pitch black, fashionable to say the least. A few heads turned, a few upturned lips shifted into sneers. Side glances, hushed words, intentionally heard huffs. You turned to Alastor to find his face was as confused as your own. 

“Who is that?” You said it low, not knowing if she was friend or foe. 

“That would be Mrs. Aubrey Debreaux. Popular socialite and frequent hostess.” A sip of his drink, speaking about her like a character in a novel. “This icy reception is news to me though. She’s usually the life of the party.”

“She’s a real wet blanket now…Your circles seem really fickle. Always a bit of gossip.” You realized as soon as you said it that, well, that was the point. Alastor needed the gossip, and, well, he clearly enjoyed it.

“That’s what the wealthy do. Gossip and pretend the drama is as stressful as someone looking for their next meal.” Swirling his drink absentmindedly, his eyes followed Aubrey through the hotel bar. When you asked if he knew everyone there, he said it was his job to know people.

“Your job is in radio. You host a show, Alastor.” You laughed through your nose.

“Well, my other job.”

“I’d call that a passionate hobby.” Your hand came to rest half on his and half on the booth bench low and hidden, not wanting to monopolize, but he quickly took it and held it on the table. Another struggle to keep your shoulders from drawing inward.

The room moved on, forgetting you both were there and eventually about Aubrey too. Or so you had thought. When you drink was starting to mellow you, you turned to Alastor to admire the view. You’d come to enjoy that silence, the kind that only existed between people comfortable enough to know they didn’t need to entertain each other to enjoy each other’s company.

He was scanning the bar still, elbow on the table as he rested his chin there. From a distance of space or familiarity it could be seen as boredom. But up close and personal, you could see the wheels spinning behind his eyes.

“Golly, when in Rome!” Alastor hooted and grabbed you by the hand with one of his and carried his drink in the other, “Let’s go gossip. Bring your drink.”

He pulled you into a group of four people in a circle talking. They opened and let you both in, smiles warm. A clamor of excited ‘how long has it been’s, ‘how are you’s, and ‘you look well’s.

You’d expected him to ask for gossip like he’d said, but realized that’d be pretty conspicuous. Instead he waited, and when Aubrey passed by one of them rolled their eyes and he had his opportunity.

“What’s that look for?” He asked. 

Everyone got quiet and passed a glance between them. Finally a woman in a beaded dress and finger wave bob piped up.

“She reported a young boy touched her on the street.” Alastor watched Aubrey cycle through the groups as the friend spoke. “Grazed her hip with his hands, made a comment about white women as he did it.”

Alastor’s head whipped back around. “He got taken away that night.”

You gasped, hand coming to your mouth in sincere horror, “Just for touching her? Is he still in jail?” 

The woman’s lips pursed together, no one looking at you.

“Bless your heart. He didn’t touch her and he didn’t make it to the jailhouse, sugar.”

Suddenly the way everyone was looking everywhere but at each other sunk in. 

Panicked, you looked to Alastor. His expression was still, like the calm waters of a deep and foreboding bay. What horrors lie underneath? His tongue wiped across his teeth, and you reached out to take his drink from his hand. The action snapped him out of his daze for a second, expression softening a tad as he nodded a thank you.

If he shattered that glass now, people would remember. And when Aubrey went missing they may recall Alastor’s dramatic reaction. You knew his smiles intimately, the ones that were true and the ones that were illusions. The expressions of joy and the mask for his rage. The smile painted on his face now was nothing short of shallow.

You spent so many days in a bubble with Alastor, shielded by his grace or by the accepting and illegal circles you ran in that you sometimes forgot the reality of life. A dark privilege you hadn’t seen until you were the one looking naive for once. 

That’s right. The world was a bad place, of cruelty and injustice. Not just for you, or for parts of you, or for sides of you. Not just for women with smart mouths or a love of dance. No matter how safe the comfort of your friends and the dark halls you all commiserate in, no matter the like minds and mixed complexions of your peers, you were all just one cruel voice from being dragged into the night. Just a single accusation from being a whispered story in a glittering hotel bar. A headline no one would write. 

And some of you would be mourned more than others. 

You took a second, blinking rapidly to dry your eyes. 

“Apparently, she did it to get Hubert to leave his mistress’s apartment and come home.” A short man whose name you never got took a drag of his cigarette, “Worked. He’s been yapping all week about the state of New Orleans society and the importance of protecting the fairer among us.”

Alastor was quiet still, lips tight. You’d seen the photos in his home. You’d never discussed it, no need. Things can’t become normal if you’re always pointing them out. Plus, that was his piece to share. 

“Glad to see most of us here aren’t too keen to welcome her. I’d hate to have to find another bar.” Someone said, glancing around the room. “George just started making my martinis right.”

“Care to dance?” Alastor abruptly turned his entire body to you with a slick swivel on his heels.

You nodded, offering small polite goodbyes and setting your drinks back on the table before turning to him.

His open palm was outstretched and offering you a dance. You spread your hand over his and felt him hold you firmly before pulling you into him. 

He held you so close, much closer than anyone else on the dance floor. A scandalous lack of distance between you two. Quiet, Alastor’s eyes were distant. You were in front of him but he wasn’t seeing you. You let the song carry on a little longer for appearances before sighing into a smile.

“Why are we dancing when you have work to do? You have your tools.” Looking up at a man was rarely a view you enjoyed but the way his eyes slid down his nose and landed so sharply on you made it worth it. A look that said he’d devour you if he didn’t adore you so much. Your hand snaked behind his back to touch the hidden outline of this trusty little knife. He briefly wondered if this could be considered foreplay, the way he felt your hand on his lower back and running over his weapon. Much more intimate than he’d ever let anyone else be.

As your bodies swayed, the lights slid across the curve of his eyes and lit that bright honey brown color like a diamond twirling in the sun. The facets of his irises mesmerizing you. 

How terribly did you love him? 

How far would you fall for him?

“This would be a long one. You’d be waiting… could be a couple of hours. I need to be out of sight before she leaves.” A chill. Oh, you’d forgotten for a second, Alastor was a killer. He didn’t do it for ‘justice’ alone, he enjoyed what he did. Immensely. His voice had a note of giddiness and anger that didn’t mix well, but was oddly arousing. 

“Correction, I’d be dancing for hours. Drinking. Letting handsome men waste their money on me.” 

“Oh? Can they buy me a drink, too?”

You brought up your pointer finger, “You remind her of her humanity, and I’ll get a man to buy you a drink.” 

He linked his finger with yours. “I’ll need to give her special attention. She’s earned it.”

You loosely understood this wasn’t attention like you’d be given. This was attention that ran opposite affection. 

“I’m not here to be in your way, Alastor.” A quick kiss to your hand, one you hoped no one else saw. While no one here would be bothered by Brady, you still wanted to keep some semblance of confusion on what you two were to onlookers. 

His laugh was louder than you expected, a few heads turning, “Impossible. I’m always going wherever you are, dear.”

Would you never get up again?

“I’ll stay at the bar. If they close, I’ll just go to Beth’s.” Your fingers lingered in his, “Be careful. The best good deeds are done in the dark.”

A kiss to your nose. So gentle despite the topic. You could imagine it, the violent death of a woman. You could hear the sounds. Hers, his, the knife’s. A pang of guilt set in before you could remind yourself why this woman was going to die. A tiny smile settled on your face, he offered you a gentle command in return, “Understood, honey. Be safe.” 

You let him kiss your hand again and bow out of  the dance. You were doing it, it dawned on you as you watched him walk away. Truly kissing him goodbye at the door as he went off to work. The closest you’d ever gotten, atleast. 

He stopped by a group and said some quick goodbyes, apologies for leaving early, and left the hotel bar. 

You knew he had killed women before, Alastor was all for equality, but a part of you worried. Women tend to scream louder, and be heard more often, than men. A man screams and people just…keep walking. What would he do? Where would he do it?

With a sniffle, you let the jealousy of just what he would need to do to get her alone flutter away. Taking a seat back at your table, you sipped your drink and watched the others dance and chat. How odd, they could sway in such large places with big windows and bright lights with no fear of cops. Your scenes were dark, dusty, never seeing the sky. 

“He left ya?” One of the earlier women came by, someone you vaguely remember him nodding a ‘hello’ to at some point in the evening. 

Thankfully you were still quick on your feet. “Well, we came separately, of course we’d leave separately.”

A laughed, “Of course.” She leaned down, touching at your hair for a second, curiously, “Don’t hold your breath. But, it is nice he got you in here, huh? Must be a treat for you.” 

Your own laugh was just as abrupt as Alastor’s earlier, your hand coming to hide your smile. All you could muster was a nod. Yes, you stood out. Yes, you didn’t fit in with these people for many reasons. But, it wasn’t your first time in nice spaces. First time not pressed into a man who’d been made to believe he was more important the whole time, but still. 

It took two more drinks for Aubrey to leave. But there was a problem. As she was trying to bow out of the room, a man kept hooking his fingers under the loose belt of her boxy drop waist dress.

With practiced skill, you took note of where her eyes lingered on him, how her hand came to his arm but didn’t actually press him away. Not earnestly.

The pushy man saw it too, every little soft ‘no’ was a half ‘yes’. And Aubrey seemed to like that. It was almost ironic, given what she had done, how she egged on the younger man before her now by pretending she didn’t want him. His hand landed on her hip forcefully, her hand on his chest gingerly. He leaned in close, she pulled away barely.

The next act was the most classic to women of your era. The false exit.

Aubrey whispered something, he nodded eagerly and his many hands returned to himself.

She smiled at the back of everyone’s heads, as nearly no one would look her way, and she slipped out the doors.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shimmying as you slid from your booth. Barely a step away, you leaned back and grabbed the last sip in your glass. You swished it around your mouth like listerine, and swallowed it. Before you got too close, you pinched your cheeks until your eyes began to water.

You’d just found a way to make yourself useful.

“Whoopsie Daisy!” You giggled, shoulder colliding with the man’s chest as you stumbled past.

“Watch - ooh, hey,” the free hand that had come to keep you from getting closer quickly softened, curling around your waist. The same hand that’d just been on the socialite. You were sure to look up and sigh into him, your breath soaked in alcohol. “You okay, doll? Had a bit too much?”

With glassy eyes you nodded, closing them and letting your head nod lazily, “I lost my thing!” You laughed, hitting his chest.

“Your what? I happen to be a thing.” 

How quickly he forgot his target when easier to pick fruit appeared.

“No, silly!” A practiced hiccup, “my little…”

“Your little…?”

Your fingers wiggled in the direction of your hip.

“Purse!” A beaming grin. He asked if you needed help finding it. “Well, how else am I gonna get another drink!” The hand on your waist fell to your hip and slunk lower. 

“Oh well, I could help ya with that.” He leaned in, looking around first as if he had a secret, “I have a room upstairs.”

You tutted, “No no, I am a married woman!” He lifted your left hand, turning it over in a dramatic search for a ring. “Well, engaged…” you diverted your gaze. He lifted his hand to his brow then and scanned the room like a sailor to the horizon. “He’s working late.” You whined.

Why did his kind of man always want the taken woman? Did they think the chase was more meaningful then? Did they feel like they’d won some tug-of-war with an invisible, unaware opponent?

Maybe they were hardwired to hoard resources.

You let him seat you at the bar, and when he ordered you a drink you asked to know your savior’s name. William.

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Alastor was none the wiser, smoking a cigarette under the streetlamp just off to the side of the hotel awning. He didn’t smoke often before you, but he found the lure of sitting on the porch passing a pill between you both too hard to fight. And soon enough the habit grew from a drinking pastime to just… something to do with his hands.

As Aubrey appeared, waiting for her driver to retrieve the car, Alastor tossed the butt to the street and walked up on her.

“I’m quite cross with you, Aubrey.” His tone was smiling as his hand slid behind her neck and tugged her away from the safety and lights of the awning.

“Oh! Alastor, I’m actually waiting for my car.” She struggled to keep up with his pace in her heels, weakly pointing back to where the valet had stood earlier. She resisted a little, the palm on the nape of her neck silently shutting her down.

“Nonsense. We have business together.” Alastor let his hand fall to her upper arm as he yanked her into the closest side street. “I hear you’ve been a very bad girl.”

Aubrey huffed, pulling back against him once, then twice, but ultimately acquiesced when she could see his car down the street.

“Fine, you can drive me home then.” A misplaced giggle, her survival skills dulled by ego.

He tossed her roughly against the car, hand gripping her face tightly. She tried to say his name, but his hold was so firm her jaw was locked.

“You’re going to get into my car now.” Alastor’s eyes had lost their pupil, an expanse of a seemingly endless dark brown in the heavy shadows left by the lamp’s light. When he let her face go, she rolled her eyes and pulled open the back seat door.

That wasn’t what he had meant, not there, but he closed the door behind her and got into the driver’s seat. He hadn’t brought the tarp tonight, not expecting to need it, so maybe the backseat was his best option regardless.

When he pulled away, she reminded him he didn’t know her address.

“I’m not taking you home. I told you. I have a bone to pick with you.” Alastor found himself incapable of putting on a ruse for her. His patience was entirely lost in his unraveling anger.

“Oooh? A bone, you say. Well, well.” Aubrey leaned forward onto the front seat, hands snaking down his shoulders and chest so she could nip at his ear, “Finally letting me have a ride.”

He had to set his right hand in the darkness of his lap to hide the tremble, a disgusted rage manifesting in uncommon ways. 

As her fingers found the buttons of his waist coat, Alastor struggled to see the road in front of him. His vision was going white, and then red. His blood pressure was so high he was nearly blind. 

And when two hot fingers broached the small space between buttons of his dress shirt and touched the bare skin of his chest, the car came to an abrupt halt. The force threw her into the backseat. 

Alastor slammed the front seat door shut before opening the back and caging her in. “I can’t stand another second of your existence.” She crawled backward, making room for him. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” 

Aubrey settled her back against the opposite door, “Oh, the petit mort.”

His head hung low in frustration, a growled  “No, the big one.” as he raked his fingers through his hair to keep from punching his own car seat.

“So I’ve heard.” She pulled up the hem of her dress slowly.

“For fucks sake Aubrey! I’m not using double entendre!” His hands wrapped around her neck. “Must I really remind you of what wrongs you’ve committed?!”

A brief panic finally came, “Wrongs?? Excuse you.”

He could have sworn the snap in his brain had been audible to her as he lost his last bit of patience.

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“Excuse me.” You settled back into the seat, having taken a bathroom break to down some water in secret. You weren’t trying to actually end up blacked out.

“Anyway,  that's how we secured the riverside house.” William leaned into you. You tried to sip your drink and found it empty, having managed to finish it absentmindedly while he rambled on about himself earlier. As you stared at him you let your eyes lose focus and drift into plans for the morning. You’d like biscuits. Alastor had some sausage he’d picked up the other day, maybe a little gravy and some eggs. It’d be like a Sunday meal nice families ate after church. You assumed. Out of the peripheral of your daydream you saw him tap the bar twice and hold up two fingers. “Charge to 1033.” He said. With the clarity of someone who wasn’t pretending to be drunk you quickly held up three.

William shot you a confused look.

“One for my darling.” He made a show of looking around, the bartender pausing. You gave him a confirmation nod, “Three, please.”

“And is he in the room with us now, Helen? I’m beginning to think he’s imaginary.”

It seemed a fine enough name to give him.

“No! But I made a promise. Or…,” you returned the lean, head resting on his shoulder, “are three drinks a little steep for you?“ With a huff, he pulled out a pair of C notes and set them on the bar. The bartender nodded, reaching for the top shelf. You whistled at the sight. Too much money for the total seven drinks he’d ordered, if you weren’t somewhere Alastor frequented you’d have slipped them under the lip of your stockings when the man wasn’t looking. He was charging the room anyway, the large bills were just for show…

“One reviver for the miss, one brandy for the sir, and a rye whiskey neat for the beau.” The bartender set the drinks down on red napkins. The whiskey sat between you both, and after a beat you realized you hadn’t actually told him what to make for Alastor. And come to think of it, your last drink hadn’t been a reviver at all but a brandy ordered by William.

“Ya know I stood up another woman to help you,” he said it into your cheek, stealing your attention by breaking your line of thought. His arm around your shoulder curled to hold you closer, “Don’t I get a reward for that?”

His breath reeked of sickeningly sweet brandy, the taste sticking to the back of your throat. Your head tilted back so you could look at him down your nose, right hand coming to rest on his thigh.

The heat of his body was radiating through the fabric of his pants and made your stomach turn. How many hot and sweaty bodies had you had the pleasure and displeasure of touching?

A smirk painted your face, remembering seeing sweat sticking to Alastor’s forehead the last time he fucked you. What had you done for that reward? Ah right, the somehow shocking act of not withholding praise for how well planned out his greenhouse was. How impressive he was to you in so many ways. You could have lingered on that recollection, on how Alastor set down his coffee and kissed you. And how he didn’t stop until you were both left undone and flustered. But movement stirred away the pleasant memory to bring you back to an unpleasant reality.

His hand roamed down your arm, uncomfortably warm palm on your exposed skin. 

“Oh, I know you did.” You said.

William chuckled, absolutely no idea what you were talking about and not particularly giving a shit. “Did I mention I have a room here?”

“Ten thirty three.” You repeated. 

He looked genuinely shocked, “How’d you know that?” The man was absolutely mystified.

“I— you just…,” your mask slipped in the face of such abject stupidity, “Lucky guess.” William drank his brandy slowly, mentioning you should bet on the ponies together. You nodded. 

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Alastor didn’t care for strangulation. It took so much time and wasn’t particularly satisfying. No pleading, no screaming, no blood and gore. Just…. someone flailing beneath you and turning purple. Boring. 

He brought up the accusations before he began to squeeze, and her panic transformed to relief. “Oh that?” She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down, “Are you really miffed at me about that?”

“Yes, Aubrey! You condemned an innocent child to a horrid death!” His hands loosened, all of his neurons firing off to feel pain in his own heart. 

She rolled her eyes, “I wouldn’t call them children. You seem so upset, hun. Did you have a mam-?”

The rest of the word was barely squeaked out of her, he couldn’t let her finish it. He wasn’t sure what face he made. But whatever it was, it scared her. The carefree way she’d been handling the interaction finally died, and he could register actual fear in her eyes then. 

But the rage just … withered. How many children had his mother loved and doted on before her last, much kinder position? How many Aubreys had she raised. It was nothing short of an overwhelmingly violent sadness that laced his finger together around her neck and tightened, the full weight of his body coming down to crush her airways. He wanted such sentiments to be smothered out of the world like the air in her lungs. If he killed enough, could he make a dent in their influence? He could try. For her. For his mother. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Ya know, I could take real good care of you. If that’s what’s stopping you from coming upstairs.” 

With a deep breath, you gulped the drink halfway down. “Your fella doesn’t need to know. I could even get you your own place, you could wait for me there when he’s late with work. Have dinner ready. Slip off my shoes like a good girl.”

“Trust me; you’ve got a better chance of her smacking you with your shoes than slipping them off like a maid.” Alastor was resting his elbow on the bar behind you, head leaning on his hand. “Hey doll. That one mine?” He pointed at the glass.

“Oh? Alastor is the fiancé?,” William gave off a snide laugh as he was interrupted, Alastor standing up and walking to come between you two, “This guy?! Everyone knows he’s a frigid bitch. You must be a dive alley-cat if you’re—,” Alastor’s fist connected with the man’s jaw, eliciting a sickening crack. He needed both hands to keep himself from falling down with William as he was knocked back out of his bar stool. Alastor’s feet slipped on the spilt brandy, causing him to seize the stool for momentary support.

Alastor took the glass of whiskey with his non-dominant hand and downed it. He cooed, “Top shelf, Georgie?” The bartender nodded. “Good choice. Picked a worthy sucker, sweetheart. Ready to peel?”

You watched William try to stand, glass stuck to his palm. He did manage to get on his knees, shouting at the staff who stood motionless and unphased behind the counter. They didn’t say anything at all, oddly, until Alastor extended his swelling hand to you.

“Have a good evening, sir.”

Alastor flashed his signature smile and guided you out of the hotel bar. You only got a few steps before quickly running back and snatching one of the 100$ bills from the counter. William would’ve taken it back from the bar anyway. What a waste!

When a waiter offered Alastor a warm and familiar look you had to wonder, did people really not know what he did in the darkness of the New Orlean’s alleys? Did a part of them not feel some kind of debt to him? Or was he just painfully friendly when socializing?

“Just to be clear,” Alastor let the doorman open the lobby door, “It’s not the accusation of sex work that compelled me to sock him. It’s the implication you’d be cheap.” He waved the valet from the car and opened the door for you, “If you chose to sell your companionship at true worth, his daddy’s money couldn’t even buy him a kiss.”

“Aww,” you smiled at him through the thin windowpane, “Would you really be so cavalier about such a job if I did?”

“Would I? Gosh that’d make retirement much quicker for me.” He slid into the driver's seat and the door shut with a sharp ting. As he took hold of the wheel he reclined to let his hand settle behind you on the backrest, and then you three were off. 

“Oh by the way, Aubrey’s in the backseat.”

You turned slowly, first coming into view were her tiny, shining silver shoes. Your eyes kept traveling; stocking covered calves and then the bottom of her dress just past her knees.

Alastor’s coat draped over her torso and shoulders caused you to flit to him, confirming his jacket was gone, and back to her. 

Her face looked like that of a sleeping passenger. 

No blood.

When the car was a few blocks from the hotel, you leaned back and lifted the jacket. Her abdomen was clean, the white of her dress pristine. At first her neck seemed clear of cuts or abrasions until you rode past a streetlamp and a beam of light revealed the slowly forming collar of bruises.

Special attention.

For a hair of a moment you began to gently cover her again, before remembering her crimes and dropping it on her unceremoniously.

“Trunk not good enough for her?”

“Got interrupted. Booked it back to you.” He shook his head and patted the seat in tandem.

What luck that just as he felt sure she was too far gone for revival, he let go over her neck and sat up in time for someone to notice him. Fishing in his jacket draped over the seat, he found his cigarette case just as—

“What exactly are you two doing?” An officer was flashing his light through the passenger side back window.

Alastor froze, Aubrey motionless between his legs and a cigarette dangling unlit between his lips. “You startled me, officer! We were just canoodling. But she’s gone and fallen asleep before the main event.”

The officer’s brass light shone down but couldn’t reach the dead woman’s face past the shadow cast by the car door and glass. “She alright?”

Alastor’s eyes drifted down to the deceased socialite, “Truth be told sir, she’s had a bit too much of the giggle water.” Fishing your lighter from his waistcoat pocket, he lit this cigarette before setting the jacket over Aubrey like a gentleman.

“Alright y'all better get lost. Tell your moll this ain’t ladylike.” The officer tapped the window with his knuckle and when she didn’t stir just left with a huff.

Alastor was quick to leave the backseat and drive off, circling around at the next block to head back to the hotel.

“Is… everything alright?” You asked, very obviously concerned.

“Peachy! I just said we were necking before she passed out drunk.“ he leaned over and kissed your cheek, “Anything exciting on your end?”

Patting his leg you beamed up at him, “Always so quick on your feet! I don’t know why I worry so much.” His face lit up and you wanted nothing more than to launch into a praise filled rant that fueled his smile. But, you moved on to the question at hand. After a moment to think, you remembered ‘the best good deeds are done in the dark’. “Nope! Just got tipsy on William’s dime. An odd woman did touch my hair…,” you recounted every second, leaving out why you chose William, to Alastor. You hadn’t meant to, and he hadn’t actually asked, the evening’s events just seemed to flow out of you. The way he always added little comments and nodded made it feel like a conversation and not just you rambling. 

When the car was pulling into the driveway, you asked Alastor if you could drive it behind the house. Puzzled, he put it in park and let you sit between his legs. You started slowly, but quickly began to accelerate. As you approached the house you turned sharply to the left, right side tires ever so slightly leaving the ground. A sharp correction to the right to straighten out. One of his hands clutched you at the waist, the other gripping the seat.

He tried to form some kind of words but they came out a jumbled and panicked mash of sounds as you barreled toward the greenhouse. 

You slammed your foot on the brakes and Aubrey flew off the back seat and hit the floor with a loud thud.

“Ha!” You slapped the wheel, “I’ve been wanting to hear that sound the whole drive!” 

He used both arms now to squeeze you appreciatively, “You’re just the bee’s knees.” Alastor nuzzled into the back of your neck, truly feeling his heart flutter. You made him skip a beat. So many days and nights not even imagining such a pairing.

The best scenario he could think up was a partner who wouldn’t ask questions, who didn’t care to know, who was maybe a little too naive but otherwise capable. Even in his wildest dreams he hadn’t dared to think someone would exist who could support him.

And not just in the killing, which was a hurdle of course, but the other parts of him. The little sacrifices you made for him without complaint. 

What did he do for you, he worried. Your body was his on the occasions he wanted but never did you ask for him. You shared the housework equally. Yes he drove you around but your skills with the car were still new. Insignificant things, like making your coffee when he awoke first and waiting for you after work. With the detective still looking for connections, he couldn’t even properly introduce you or flaunt you around to his circles.

Like a flash of lightning taking down a tree, insecurity shook him. What on earth was keeping you there? Of all the people in New Orleans, how was he any more worth your time than the next?

If anything, he was nothing short of troublesome. His hold on you twisted from thankful to desperate.

Even the lovely evening out he had promised you, he’d left you alone in a strange place. A stranger had bought you more drinks than he had. 

“Would you like to go to the woods with me tonight? To dispose of Aubrey?” His lips swiped across the fabric of your dress as he said it.

The sudden advancement into his hobby took you by surprise. You hugged his arms against you, “Really? Are you sure?”

“If you don’t want to…”

“Is that what I said?”

“Well, no….”

“Don’t put words in my mouth! I absolutely want to go!” Your arms squeezed his.

He chuckled into your shoulder and gave your hip a pat, “Let me get her packaged up. You go rest your feet and I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go.”

You watched from the kitchen, the light he hung from the greenhouse ceiling setting the entire space aglow. When he finally emerged, his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and his hair was falling into his face, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose before he could push it back into place. He waved from the porch, and when you made it out to him he was already pulling out small bundles.

“We’ll bury the pieces in separate places.” He dragged out a small trash tin with the lid already clapped down. “And this goes into the water.”

The packages were like Tommy’s, but smaller. They fit easily into the trunk, and beside them he snuggly fit the metal bucket.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The Ford was parked down a dirt road far from sight, taking a parcel at a time and a shovel, you followed him into the woods. 

You had to ask, why not just his land? Wasn’t that safer? Easier?

“Well, a skull found out here is easier to act shocked about than on my property.”

The ground was still soft, but you could imagine it was rock solid in winter. “Isn’t this dangerous? Aren’t you slowed down in the colder months?” You kept your eyes open wide, adjusting to the pitch black of the forest. The trees were too close and too full still to see the stars. But soon they’d brown and die, revealing the sky’s light. Revealing Alastor.

“Eh it’s mostly busy during mating season because the hunters come out in numbers. But in general I avoid being here in the very early morning hours.” He paused and you reached out for the shovel for your turn, “It’s not too bad overall.”

“They mate in fall. It’s almost fall now.” You widened your stance for balance and began to dig. 

“Yeeees but I’m not alone!” He chirped.

“Fine… just, don’t come out when I’m not able to join you. Just wait or, I don’t know, burn them or something.” You tried to dig fast, wanting to spare his injured hand another turn.

“Very ineffective, brings too much attention and the body never burns all the way. It’s still identifiable in many cases.” Alastor said it quickly, as he’d had nearly a lifetime to think of these things and test them. 

You huffed, “Well, fuck. Okay. Still.” You leaned over and offered your index finger, not looking at him as you did. He laughed before wiping his hand clean on his pants and hooking his with yours. 

A small scream erupted from you, startling him. Your short heel sunk into the dirt when you leaned to lock fingers. The sudden loss of balance startled you. “Sorry… flat shoes. I need flat shoes…these are gonna be the death of me.”

Alastor’s hand came to his heart, pounding in his chest, “Of us. My heart nearly stopped.”

You dug many holes, all of them quite small in radius, just wide enough to slip in what you needed to. After each was deep enough by some standard you didn’t know, he would untie the twine around the package and let the contents spill out and down into the little cylinderical pocket of dirt. 

The first package had her hands. Then next was her feet. Her arms in pieces and then later her legs. The hips, the chest and shoulders, and finally, her head. You were grateful for the darkness, not wanting to see her face now that it was no longer attached to her body. 

The brush was so thick and the woods so dense that you found it hard to distinguish the burial spots once they’d been filled in and covered up. He explained most people came out there with a purpose, not really noticing some disturbed dirt here and there. It’s not like they’re people sized.

“You’re just something else, ya know that?” You said it into the shadows and didn’t see him wince. But you somehow, accidentally, knew to clarify, “I’m always so impressed by your way of doing things. You’ve really thought it out well huh? I know I should worry less but it’s hard.”

Because of the shade you didn’t see the way his shoulders relaxed. You never made him regret your inclusion.

Alastor carried the bucket as you slowly made your way through the darkness. You could hear the sounds of bugs, though you couldn’t see any.  The water surprised you, his arm coming to stop you from walking into the bayou.

“In winter they’ll get really still, so I slow down then too. But we still have time, it’s not too cold yet for them.” He took off the lid, the smell of copper blossoming from the tin.

With practiced moves, he tossed the viscera as far as he could into the small inlet marsh of the river. 

Within seconds the water frothed and rolled with the snapping of powerful jaws.

“Gosh they’re so neat.” You said, reaching out into the darkness for his hand. You couldn’t see him looking at you as you watched the prehistoric animals dispose of his crimes.

He wanted to kiss you. To confess every little happiness you filled his formerly hollow chest with. But he held back. He knew better. He’d tried before, once. When he thought settling was better than nothing. It ended terribly. It was better to just exist beside you for as long as you’d entertain his company. If you knew, he thought, of all the futures he imagined with you, you’d just feel tied down by his hopes. You weren’t a small bird he could hold in his home. 

You promised to not get in his way. The least he could do was not cage you with his love. He wouldn’t hold you back.

“Alastor.”

“Yeah?” He said dreamily.

“I think… ” You fought the urge to scream at the sensation between your toes, “Aubrey dripped into my shoes.”

Alastor yanked the bucket away from you, the angle he haphazardly held at it with a single finger to hold your hand having caused the liquid remains to leak out.

“Ankle boots. Ankle boots, no heel.” You muttered, the shoe rinsed off in the water with a paranoid speed now squishing under your sole. The action was enough to draw attention to your shore, long and round snouts moving toward you in the night as you got rid of Aubrey. It was time to go. 

The drive home was dark and silent. The bucket and tarps rinsed with the gas can full of water he always kept in the oversized, custom built trunk. It had taken longer than you had realized, which just brought up renewed worry for his sleep schedule.

When you finally made it home and into the bedroom, he mumbled it was too late to shower. A coordinated grumble between you that you’d both just wash the sheets in the morning. Alastor sat on the end of the bed and bent down, your hand coming to his shoulder to stop him. 

Exhausted, aching, and quite confident you smelled of sweat coated dirt with the tiniest hint of dead Aubrey mixed with alive William (blood and brandy, respectively), you lowered yourself to your knees. You untied the waxed laces of the right shoe, made of a shiny brown leather, and slipped it off. 

Alastor felt his throat tighten as he had to blink to keep tears away. You always seemed to listen when he spoke. Really listened, even when he was just being playful. Another tiny sweetness piled onto the mountain you were currently burying him under. Another ounce of inadequacy tipped on his self measured scales.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Hush, I don’t have to do anything.” You said it and he laughed breathlessly knowing he’d heard it before and praying he’d hear it forever. “I want to.”

You set the left shoe beside the right. When you didn’t stand but instead stared at him patiently, Alastor undid his pants and lifted his hips to push them down. You folded them neatly beside his shoes. Feeling up his legs as if you couldn’t see them there in front of you, you found his sock garters. 

“Keep the socks, please. It’s getting chilly.” He undid his shirt and folded it on his lap. 

When he was in just his underwear and socks, you looked up at him and wondered if he knew. That this was the closest to expressing “I love you” you had ever been. The act itself perhaps far louder than any words could be.

Sitting back, he patted between his legs like he had in the car. As you sat, he undid the buttons down the back of your dress. Why were so many women’s clothing items made in a way that required two people?

In the mirror above the dresser you took in the sight. When the dress fell to your waist he kissed your shoulder and met you in the reflection.

“Quite a pretty couple, if I do say so myself.” He rested his chin where he had just kissed and smiled at you. “What did I do to deserve your attention?”

“Affection,” you corrected. “Aubrey got attention.” He nodded slightly. “I think it’s karma.” You watched his brow arch. “You’ve earned me. Whatever that means, or looks like. We were put together for a reason.”

It was the sappiest thing you’d ever said and a year ago you’d have laughed in someone’s face for saying it. If a character in a novel spewed it out in a confession you’d have closed the book. But you meant it. Every single word was part of the fact this was supposed to happen. The idea that any timeline existed where your paths never crossed gave you the shivers.

Alastor closed his eyes, exhaustion catching up quickly as comfort opened the door for it. That didn’t make any sense to him at all. Why would anyone, god or the devil, give him something good just for the sake of being a good thing. He was very plainly bad. There must be a catch. That fear he felt before, the fear of wanting something too much, reappeared. Turning its ugly head to him as if called by name. 

Why? He could feel something, someone, setting their sights on him. 

When he opened his eyes, you were there still, looking at him. A smile too sweet. He felt the compulsion to tell you to run. That if this was his karma, it would end the way he deserved. And he didn’t deserve happiness. He didn’t deserve you.

But instead he leaned down, lifted your dress, and unclamped your garters. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted to cling to what good he had now. Even knowing he couldn’t possibly get to keep it. His fingertips delighted in rolling down the delicate nylon. He watched the red stained end loosen around your toes, a mental note to burn them before he continued his undressing.

“Lift your hips, my love. I’ll get you all ready for bed.” As he pressed forward and bent into you so he could slip off the stockings he turned to look at the you in front of him, “And I’ll keep you warm.”

⋅��₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Spooky season needs spooky stuff.. >:3

So can I request the digital circus cast (minus Caine)meeting a Child Spirit Y/n headcanons,who like Kinda possesed/went inside the game to find they’re killer for some reason? They are eerily quiet and like to stare but if talked to very sweet but quick to snap in distrust because..well trust is what got them killed in the first place? They’re a bit bloody..and a eyeball sometimes hangs out?? Like vhs horror stuff

Sorry I’m being so descriptive,I hope you are a nice day!

OOOoo yes time for more spooks!

Also I am having a nice night, thanks! (and I hope you are having a nice day/night too!)

......

Pomni

To make a long story short, you got murdered while wearing the headset, and that tethered your spirit to TADC.

As expected, you lost memories of who you were--except for the knowledge that someone killed you because you trusted them too much, and you believed the answers were inside this very game.

Your character ends up looking like a child's ghost costume: a white bedsheet stained in blood and one of your eyeballs occasionally wanting to pop from its socket.

Caine (who was very much bewildered at your arrival) declares that you're part of an "exclusive Halloween update" and changes up the tent and grounds to have more spooky flair.

But Pomni clearly wants no part of it, and she can tell you don't either.

You're clearly a kid who is (somehow) handling the situation of being stuck in this game better than her, yet when she tries asking you about it....all you do is stare back.

She swears she can hear static noises and whispers she can't decipher--all in all getting a...very creepy vibe from you.

Initially she decides to keep her distance, afraid you were secretly some virus or Abstraction underneath that sheet.

But that changes when you're walking by the rooms one night, and you pass by Pomni's door, hearing her quietly crying.

Although you weren't inclined to get close to anybody here, you were concerned. And since you weren't actually coded into the game, you didn't have to follow any of its rules--and that allowed you to enter her room without a key.

At first you scared the shit out of her, but after realizing it's you, she lets you sit beside her, eventually venting about how badly she missed her real home.

"Everyone keeps telling me "oh this place is so much better" or "get used to it"...but what if I don't wanna do that? I don't care if my old life was bad...I-I can't take anymore of this.." Her sobs grow louder. "I wanna wake up in my own bed knowing my real name!!"

"...I miss home, too," is all you say in response. Yet it's more than enough to calm her down.

For once, you're not trying to brush her off or force her to "cheer up" and accept her reality. You made her feel heard.

"Yeah..me, too....sh-should I thank you for agreeing..?" She sniffles, seeing your subtle nod, before you leave her be, not wanting to get too attached.

Ironically, she was able to sleep a little easier after talking to you.

Jax

From the get-go, he's gonna be real nosy and curious.

Since not even Caine himself expected your arrival and found out that you don't follow the "rules" like everyone else...Jax is gonna try his damnedest to understand you and see what makes you tick.

But he's gonna be disappointed quickly since you don't respond much to him (or anybody in general).

"So...ya like Halloween?"

"........"

"....thought so. Good talk, new kid."

You definitely act like a legit ghost--doing nothing but stare, move things around, and pop up unexpectedly.

Eventually, his curiosity leads to him visiting your room (which has no key), and he discovers many drawings on the walls.

Most depicting a dead person wearing a headset.

What he found most disturbing was a journal that contained his and the others' names..

From what he's gathering...you're suspecting one of them of murdering your real world-self.

But he doesn't get much time to ponder this as you show up, angry at him for intruding.

You make yourself look even bloodier and scarier, with both of your eyeballs hanging from their sockets and staring at him.

"Get out."

Those two simple words put the fear of god in him.

Jax runs out faster than a jackrabbit, colliding with Gangle in the process. Her comedy mask falls off again, but he catches it and looks at her.

"J-Jax..?" She realizes his fur is standing up on all ends, and he looks terrified....even more than he did after realizing the circus was his forever home.

But he just shoves the mask back into her hands and leaves without saying a word.

He never speaks of what he found in your room that day.

Kinger

He thought his eyes were weird...until you came along and periodically had to put your own eyeball back into its socket.

"It's good to know I'm not alone!" He nervously chuckles, only to be met with your eerie silence.

Sometime later, he suggests showing you his insect collection, and it does pique your interest.

You did love all things "creepy" and "crawly".

Yet you're adamant about going to his pillow fortress after he invites you.

It reminds you of the ones you used to build all the time, up until...

Fortunately, Kinger recognizes your reluctance and just brings one of his bug boxes to you so you can look at it.

He could infodump about the various critters for hours, with nothing but nods and quiet "mhms" from you, and he's happy.

In general, he doesn't mind your quiet personality.

Although you still sometimes jumpscare him unintentionally like Gangle often does.

Tbh he's a good father figure and recognizes that you're just a kid who got trapped in this game unfairly.

Even so, you try to keep your distance and looks at him suspiciously if he starts acting too nice.

He was quiet aloof, and you weren't sure how he would act on any given day.

Gangle

After accidentally spooking her (by simply existing in the same room as her), she breaks her comedy mask off.

But immediately she feels guilty for screaming and tries scrambling to fix it, hoping you weren't mad at her.

Yet all you do is stare, not looking angry or anything at all (it's hard for any of the performers to see your expression in general, aside from your hanging eye, but still).

Poor Gangle is just afraid you'd turn into a scarier version of yourself.

When she keeps cutting her ribbon fingers(?) on the ceramic pieces, you come over and clean it up for her, taking it away despite your own hands bleeding.

The implications that you were able to shed blood and nobody else were a little disturbing to her..but she's glad you're not offended by her screaming.

Although she wonders where you're going with her mask..

Later on, you knock on her door and present it fully fixed.

Except...it looks more Halloweenish with an evil smile painted on it, messily glued together.

'Oh god I hope this doesn't turn me evil or anything..' She thinks, putting on a smile as she takes it anyways.

Yet you remain where you are, staring and clearly waiting for her to try it on.

And so she does, and it turns her into a very chaotic Halloween lover, acting even more mischievous than Jax and allowing her to finally get her revenge for all his pranks.

In the end, you gain a decent friendship with her, subtly protecting her from Jax's bullying.

Ragatha

Seeing that you're so distant from the rest of the gang has her worried.

Some of them might consider your loose eyeball creepy, but she's not gonna judge you on that (besides, she's missing an eye altogether so she can't say much anyways).

Howeve,r she's the first to find out how strong your distrust of everyone is.

"[Y/n]? I don't think it's good to be isolating yourself like this. I know you hate being here and Caine's a weirdo..but...we're all in this together. You can trust us-"

"Don't." You warn, putting on a frightening display of anger that sends her tumbling to the ground, sending chills up her spine.

"Trust" became something you didn't take lightly, as the last time you put your trust in someone....you ended up dead, turning into a literal ghost in the machine (that was your gaming system).

Despite this, Ragatha doesn't run away.

Like Pomni, she understands that you're just a kid who's confused and lost.....and clearly had serious trust issues.

But she's determined to help you through that, even if you keep scaring everybody away.

She's got motherly instincts, and she hopes that in due time you'll learn to warm up to her.

Zooble

"A bedsheet worn as a costume? That's a classic."

She's seen weirder things during their time in the circus, so you don't faze her too much.

Only when you snap at Ragatha or somebody who was trying to be nice to you does she raise an eyebrow.

Honestly, they 100% understand that you just wanted to be alone sometimes, and she respects that.

It's suffocating trying to act all cheery and go along with every damn activity Caine tries to get everyone involved in (but lucky for you, he can't make you follow along).

Especially since she believes he made up that stupid "Halloween update" as lazy way to explain your sudden arrival.

The only time you do interact with Zooble is after she yanks Jax by his ears, and they hear this eerie-sounding giggle behind them.

When she turns around, you're just standing there motionless, staring at her.

Somehow, they just know you were smiling underneath that costume, which makes her smile, too.

"Maybe I should pull him out a hat next time, huh?" She jokes after letting him go, and you giggle once more as he hits the ground.

[ayyy-imma-ninja]

Would you perhaps gift upon me some Age Regression facts about the SK boys?

Fictional Agere serial killers give me serotonin, and i need some serotonin this week (and any facts about your other AUs :D i love them all)

wanted to wait to answer this so i was on my laptop-

HI YES ABSOLUTELY!!! I'll share some facts both old and new as kinda like a refresher, and I'll talk about them individually.

SUN☀

is mostly nonverbal, but will make noises to indicate what he wants

likes to play games, do arts and crafts, will watch cartoons

comfort items are an old plush of himself from the Pizzaplex and a blanket with circus elephants on it

has a binky, but doesn't use it as often as Moon

mostly regresses due to stress or it happens because of a traumatic trigger

calls Moon "bubba" (and Moon calls him the same thing)

responds to "Sunny" rather than just "Sun"

he walks on his knees or will crawl to move around

does not like being by himself, he will freak out and panic

responds better to softer and kinder voices (kinda like how pets respond better to baby talk)

getting angry around him makes him think you're upset with him and he'll cry

needs a lot of reassurance

likes to be read stories (a favorite is "Very Hungry Caterpillar")

MOON🌜

was actually the first to show signs of regression pre-fire

also goes nonverbal, hardly making any noises unless he's crying

he needs to hold part of you, whether it be your hand or your sleeve. He needs constant physical contact. Anywhere you go, he will want to follow

has a binky he likes to use

comfort item is a blanket of his own, which has sleeping forest animals on it

also watches cartoons, but prefers watching things like videos of aquariums with calming music. Less stimulating

likes to nestle in a pillow fort and read stories

like Sun, regresses due to stress or traumatic triggers

prefers to be in comfy loose clothing when regressed

behaves very timidly, and won't do anything unless you say it's okay to

responds to "Moony"

responds to kind and patient voices, similar to Sun

will want to hear his brother's voice and will "ask" you to give his bubba a call (Sunny will do the same when their roles are switched)

wheeeee fun facts!

[henrioo]

°•*⁀➷ CROCOBABY: CROCODILE

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : "There is only one person that Crocodile would get down on his knees and fulfill every wish without hesitation, you, his little and only son"

꒰ WARNINGS ꒱ : Dad! Crocodile, PLATONIC STORY! NO ROMANCE! Dad and son's relationship, the reader doesn't have a specific age but he is a small child, Cross guild spoilers, child reader loves circus, just parental cuteness and stuff

꒰ WC ꒱ : 1,2k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : This another stories of a time I only wanted to write about Crocodile, those last times I only want to write for Killer and him, but since I had more ideas for Crocodile I wrote more of him. My finished stories are ending so I'm back writing again, finishing the ask and seeing what I'm going to do next, maybe I will open my request soon but no promises, bye

You coughed, turned again in your bed and finally decided that you weren't going to be able to go back to sleep. You yawned rubbing your eyes with your small hands as you sat up in bed, you looked around the beautiful room you shared with your father. Although you were the one who spent most of your time in that room, so your father had made the necessary changes so that you wouldn't be bored in a place full of adult things.

You now had your own table to study at, your own corner with toys, even an armchair for your size. Furthermore, there were several books that could distract you, it might not be paradise for most children but you were never very demanding, you had toys and other activities and that was more than enough to entertain you for hours. Besides that, when your father was in a good mood he would let you watch the activity at the circus where you lived, it was always such a colorful and lively spectacle that you were mesmerized by everything. Your father hated the circus, but he had made sacrifices for you for your enjoyment, the truth was that more and more of you two went to watch the shows just because he wasn't able to resist the enchanted face of his little son.

Yawning, you moved through the various scarves, furs and other cloths that were always on your bed. Partly to protect you from the cold and partly because you moved so much that your father got tired of always covering you up again, so he just covered you with lots more cloths to make sure you were still covered even if you tossed and turned all night.

You had a little trouble getting out of bed, but you were soon on the floor, your fuzzy socks keeping you from feeling cold. It wasn't long before several of the circus crew saw a child walking around in green banana pajamas and dragging a huge crocodile stuffed animal with him, of course everyone knew who that child belonged to so it wasn't any problem. All the Cross Guild pirates were very kind to you and were always giving you sweets or doing little tricks, you really liked them but your father not so much, so he always made sure you had as little contact with them as possible. He always said that if you spent too much time with them you would become as dumb as Buggy, you didn't understand exactly what that meant.

Luckily the door to your father's office was just ajar, you pushed it with both hands and entered the room. It was similar to his father's old office but was a little smaller and more minimalist, probably because it wasn't very safe to have so much furniture on a ship that could face huge storms. So even now on land his father didn't have many decorations taken from the ship's office.

Crocodile didn't even look up from his papers when the door opened, it was probably Mihawk or Buggy since they had a meeting scheduled this evening, if it weren't them then it would be Mr.1 reporting to him. However, when no one said anything and the door remained open he was slightly confused, he looked up and found no one, his eyebrows were furrowed as he thought of a punishment if it was a prank by Buggy. But to his surprise, all that happened were two little hands pulling his coat trying to get his attention.

“Daddy, lap, daddy” you called for him softly, you were tired and it was obvious that you had just woken up.

"What are you doing here? It’s past your bedtime�� he asked with a slightly more affectionate tone that he used specifically for you. Of course it wasn't even close to an extremely loving voice, but it was gentle and calm, an extreme compared to his harsh and aggressive voice towards others. “You should be in bed.” He blew the hair from your forehead as he let you lay against his chest, he had to hold you with his hook arm but you seemed extremely comfortable sleeping on him. It had been a little over an hour since he had put you to sleep and he definitely didn't expect to see you here.

“I can’t sleep” you yawned as you held your crocodile plush tighter and leaned on him, you were lying half sideways against his chest. This reminded the adult of when you were a little baby, he would always hold you regardless of what he needed to do, you were a very needy baby, always crying when he left you alone... maybe he missed how little and needy of his attention you were.

“Do you want me to put you to bed again?” Crocodile was ignoring that he had a meeting soon, the other two pirates could wait, after all his little sand prince would always be his priority.

“No… I'll be right back… I just want… to stay here for a little while” you yawned and finally closed your eyes and relaxed completely against your father. You were already big, but now curled up in his arms with a face so relaxed you almost looked like a baby again.

Sighing Crocodile couldn't hold back his smile, of course he was quick to hide it not wanting anyone but you to see this. He covered you with the huge coat he always wore and went back to his paperwork, he would take you to his bed soon, he would just enjoy this peaceful time with you a little more.

He only realized that a lot of time had passed when Mihawk, Buggy and Mr.1 were entering the office. The clown was shouting and complaining about something while Mihawk ignored him, Daz was holding some papers and approached his boss's desk more quickly. Obviously he was quick to notice the strange bulge hidden beneath his coat, before he could question it he saw his little hand clinging to his father's shirt, he almost smiled but that didn't suit him.

“Do you want me to take the young master to the room?” He asked as he placed the papers on the table and the mention of another person in the room made Mihawk and Buggy shift their attention to Crocodile.

“No, I'll take him after the meeting” he dismissed the support, even though Mr.1 had been his babysitter for the last few months, there were things that the pirate refused to let others do with his son. These were things that only he, the father, had the right to do.

"I see we will have a little guest today" Mihawk said with a gentler air as he sat down, it was strange but the swordsman didn't hate children. A few times he had even seen the two of you interacting while Dracule told you about some island he had been to.

“Oh, that explains his calmness” Buggy sighed a little relieved knowing that Crocodile would never be cruel or scary in front of him.

“Shut up and let’s get this over with, I have other matters to deal with” the hooked man said harshly. Everyone agreed but deep down it wasn't difficult to realize that your father had a huge soft spot for you... And well, you weren't complaining about that.

[sharp-silver4795]

The Creepypasta’s Worst Injuries

I get some inspo from “HC Prompt” posts and that’s what I got going on rn!

⚠️DISCLAIMERS⚠️

BLOOD: Mentions of injuries (ofc), graphic details in some of them, and just blood. Weapons will be mentioned, including guns.

INJURY: the situation is explained and can be a lil uncomfortable- but idk. Severe injury or explicit imagery.

SOURCE: Some of these are product of self harm, betrayal, attempted murder, abuse, general assault, or common causes of death.

ALL SENSITIVE TOPICS WILL BE MARKED AHEAD OF IT!!!

Mild Mention > Detailed > Extreme Details > Sensitive Content

Proxy Behavior miscellaneous

Details of how the injury happened. Jumping, defenselessness, detail of scars and the origin of them. Extreme detail of how the injuries occurred, attempted murder, Marble Hornets Spoilers, ig? Car accidents/injuries

Wilson, Zechariah, Neon Spike, and Rogue will not be included. They’re too sheltered smh 🤦

Kat Hunter: he once got shot 7 times by a few police officers. The other proxies came to his rescue.

Kate the Chaser: once got cornered by Bloody Angel and Scarecrow. She ended up bloodied due to being scratched, hacked at, stabbed, and all sorts of things. The most prominent ones were on her face and thigh. Bloody Angel had kept grabbing her legs to keep her from getting away. Bloody Angel has claws. Scarecrow has gloves very similar to that of Rouge and clawed down Kate’s face. Kate’s face was exposed in the first place because she got hot and couldn’t breathe, so she was jumped basically.

Brian/Hoodie: Fell from a two story building… duh

Tim/Masky: got into a tussle with Alex…

Ticci Toby: Car accident. Even though he didn’t feel the physical pain.

Depression

graphic/horrific death, freak accidents, Self harm, attempted suicide, Religious stuff/demons, mourning

Nathan the Nobody: Masky rocked his shit.

BEN Drowned: accidentally electrocuted himself and couldn’t stop glitching and getting bent and twisted

Eyeless Jack: he does by biting his own tail and literally exploding his organs-

Clockwork: she got skewered, but somehow survived.

Jeff, Jane, and Nina the Killer: burned alive ofc

Puppeteer: Liu wears a rosary to remember his mother…

Liu Woods: when he was alive, he used scissors to cut at his shoulders and chest. He cut at his arms, legs, and abdomen as well. He nearly bled out in his bathroom.

Zero: she stabbed herself with glass shards cuz she had a mental breakdown

Kagekao: purposely ran into oncoming traffic.

This is what happens when you mess with kids

severe injury/free amputation

Jason the Toymaker: kid ripped out a ton of his hair and made his head bleed

Laughing Jack: got his arms cut off somehow- they grew back tho

Laughing Jill: a parent hit her upside the head and her own chainsaw went through her chest and abdomen

Clumsy Bitches

Mutilation, stupidity , how the fuck did they survive this shit? segments of body being removed and explicit injury mention(?), Experiments, self inflicted injury

Ani the Wight: existing in summer heat

Chess Master: boinked his head, tripped, and landed on the grass… off of a 10m tall tree

Candy Pop: fell off a building. He’s clumsy.

Bloody Painter: he jumped off a building and landed safely, then stepped on a bear trap. How does that even happen?!

Bloody Angel: her whole thing is that she got mutelated into a monseter by a crazy circus… do the math.

X-Virus: while working on a project and it exploded in his face. So, he now has giant burn scars on his face, neck, and chest.

Judge Angels: Rouge kicked her ass and she has claw-like gloves. She ended up with scars on her face for a long while.

Scarecrow: Hoodie once cut her in half with a tree branch.

Doll Maker: Stabbed himself in the eye

Divider Creds: Sister Lucifer; adorneswithlight

Header Creds: ME!!!

[elysiaheaven]

KC band au where reader is someone they chose from an audition to be a drummer kek…

ANGEL-GOTHIC! KILLER CHAT X READER! BAND AU!

Band AU Character Introductions: Angelgothic

Ronin (Electric Guitarist, Main Member): he/him Now playing!-"Ghost Rule"

"Rolling Girl" Lost One’s Weeping" Unhappy Refrain" Tokyo Teddy Bear" "Blessing"

Ronin stands tall at 6'1" with a devil-may-care attitude that could rival any rock star stereotype. His plum-colored hair peeks out from beneath his worn black beanie, and he’s almost always clad in dark clothes that lean heavily into an alternative, punk-goth aesthetic. Tattoos peek out from the sleeves of his ripped shirts, telling stories no one dares ask about. Known for being post-ironic, Ronin oozes confidence and sarcasm, loving to toy with people’s expectations. He has an intimidating, haunting presence that lingers even after he leaves the room. Despite his rough exterior, there’s something enigmatic about him that keeps people guessing—and intrigued.

Specialty: Wicked guitar solos that leave the audience breathless. Personality Highlight: Snarky and complex, hides deeper traumas under layers of wit and punk. Fixing is different from healing!

Angel (Lead Singer): she/her Now playing! "World is Mine"

"Tell Your World" – "Melt" ."Miracle Paint" – Not Allowed" (ダメダメよ) "Starduster" World's End Dancehall

Angel is the heart and soul of the band, known for her magnetic stage presence and a voice that can switch from angelic to ferocious in seconds. She has blonde, hair and wears outfits that are a blend of edgy and ethereal, playing into her stage name. Her optimism and warmth make her the glue that keeps the band from falling apart during tough times. Offstage, she’s the type who remembers birthdays, brings snacks to practice, and makes sure everyone feels like part of the team. But she has her moments of introspection, shadows that creep into her usually sunny demeanor. Specialty: Bringing raw emotion to every performance. Personality Highlight: Sweet with a strong backbone; can stand up to anyone when it matters. Misaki (Bass Guitarist): she/they! Now playing! Electric Angel

"Remote Control" "Ageage Again" "Nijigen Dream Fever" "Romeo and Cinderella" "Teo" by Omoi

Misaki is chaos personified, with short, choppy hair carrying an aura of wild energy. They’re nonbinary and switch between fashion styles effortlessly, sometimes punk, sometimes glam. Misaki has a sharp grin and a knack for stirring the pot, whether it’s with mischievous pranks or daring antics on stage. They keep practice sessions lively and are always the first to suggest taking a break for spontaneous dance-offs. However, behind their playful exterior is someone who fiercely protects those they care about. Specialty: Killer bass riffs that pulse with infectious energy. Personality Highlight: Jokester with an unyielding loyalty; wild but deeply caring. V (Pianist): he/him

Now playing!-"The Disappearance of Hatsune Miku

"The Thought to Relinquish" "Judgement of Corruption" by KEMU VOXX

"Senbonzakura" "Dark Woods Circus" "Two-Faced Lovers" "Kagerou Days"

V is the brooding genius of the group, with a cold exterior that hides a mind working a thousand miles an hour. Tall, with dark, neatly kept hair and sharp eyes, he exudes an air of mystery and meticulousness. He dresses in clean-cut, dark clothing, looking more like a classical pianist than a heavy metal musician—an image he subverts with hauntingly powerful keyboard solos. V is quiet and doesn’t give away much, choosing his words carefully and never indulging in small talk. His rivalry with Ronin is palpable, fueled by differing philosophies and a history they never talk about. Specialty: Complex and dramatic piano accompaniments that give the band a unique edge. Personality Highlight: Stoic and highly intelligent; has a deep, hidden care for his bandmates.

Other characters!

Vince (Manager): Vince is the brains behind the operation, a sharp-eyed man with a penchant for sharp suits. He’s dedicated, resourceful, and knows the industry inside out. Vince has a strong bond with the band, even though he often has to play the role of the exasperated parent. He believes in Angelgothic’s potential and pushes them hard to reach it, but he’s also the first one to show up with support when things go south. Specialty: Business acumen, organizing tours, and keeping the band in line. Personality Highlight: Strict but supportive; a true believer in the band’s potential. Ai Hua (Boss’s Wife & Band Caretaker): Ai Hua is a warm, motherly figure who makes sure the band is well-fed and looked after. Though she isn’t officially part of the crew, she’s a comforting presence at gigs and practices. With a love for music herself, she enjoys watching Angelgothic’s growth and often gives them pep talks before big performances. Specialty: Bringing stability and emotional support. Personality Highlight: Kind, nurturing, but with a hidden fire when it comes to defending those she cares about.

PLAYLIST! FOR THEM! "Magnet" (with Luka Megurine) "From Y to Y" "Cantarella" Luca and Feli Just fans and "friends" Luca x Feli now playing!

"Wave" by Lily "Sayonara Memories" by Supercell (feat. Hatsune Miku) "Blue Star" by Hatsune Miku "World is Mine" (Soft Version) "Meteor" by Hatsune Miku Main lover!-you! (Y/N) (Drummer): (Y/N) embodies resilience with a rebellious streak, decked out in an emo style that reflects the turmoil and drive inside them. They grew up under strict, judgmental eyes, enduring the suffocating expectations of a religious upbringing that clashed with their true self. Every beat they strike is a declaration of independence and defiance, heavy with the promise to prove themselves and silence those who doubted them. When they auditioned, (Y/N) brought an energy that shook the room and a confidence that masked their jagged edges. Specialty: Thunderous drumming that adds explosive energy to the band’s sound. Personality Highlight: Charismatic with hidden depths; driven by passion and a need to belong.

Now playing!?

"ODDS&ENDS"

"1/6 -out of the gravity-"

Ura-omote Lovers"

PoPiPo"

"Love is War"

This is part 1! Let me know if i should continue this!

You stood outside the worn-down building, heart pounding in your chest like a drum, a mixture of excitement and anxiety bubbling within you. This was it—the moment you’d been waiting for. After countless auditions, you’d finally made it here to audition for a band, and not just any band, but one called Angelgothic. The name alone sent shivers down your spine, resonating with your desires for rebellion and expression.

You’ve always wanted to be part of a band. Ever since you were a kid, the beats and riffs of heavy metal resonated with you, making you feel alive in a world that felt hell-bent on crushing your spirit. Your parents, however, saw it as nothing but a phase—something associated with rebellion, with styles they deemed inappropriate and sinful. It didn’t matter to them that music was your refuge, your sanctuary. It was just another thing to add to their list of disappointments.

Growing up in a strict household, your parents had never understood your love for heavy metal, the powerful beats and raw lyrics that spoke to your soul. You’d spent your teenage years confined within the walls of a Christian school, where the teachers preached about righteousness while you sat in the back, doodling skulls and flowers in your notebook, dreaming of a life drenched in black leather and screaming guitars. They didn’t just push you away from music; they tried to erase who you were, constantly reminding you that your style was unacceptable, that your dreams were foolish. They wanted you to be perfect, but perfect wasn’t a cage, it was a prison, and you’d had enough.

Ever since you were a kid, your heart beat to the rhythm of heavy metal, drowning out the judgmental whispers of your parents and the cruel laughter of your peers. They never understood your passion for the dark and gritty side of life; to them, it was just a phase. But you were determined to break free from the shackles of their expectations. You wanted to prove them wrong.

Every night, you’d sneak into your room, blasting the music that made your soul sing—the harsh chords and thunderous drums calling to you. You longed to be part of a band, to unleash your frustrations on the drum kit, to feel the vibrations of the music pulsate through your veins. But life was shit. Your parents had made it clear: heavy metal was a sin. So you kept your dreams hidden, nurturing them in the shadows.

You had auditioned for countless bands, hoping to find a place to belong, only to be turned away time and time again. But then came the fateful day you heard about Angelgothic—a new band formed by talented individuals who had faced their own struggles. You felt a spark of hope ignite in your chest. This could be your chance.

You walked through the doors of the rehearsal space, you felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. You were about to meet the people you would be sharing the stage with, and while the fear of rejection crept in, the thrill of potential success pushed it aside. You had to prove to your parents that you could make it, that you were more than just a disappointment.

What you saw left you breathless.

There he was—Ronin. He was mesmerizing, his hands moving fluidly over the strings of his electric guitar, a devilish grin plastered on his face. The music he played was intoxicating, a dark melody that resonated with the chaos you felt inside. His hair fell just above his eyes, a wild plum color that contrasted against the stark black of his clothing. Everything about him screamed rebellion and artistry, and you found yourself completely captivated.

When you entered the room, you were hit by the sound of electric guitars screaming with energy. The sight of the band was overwhelming. Ronin, the electric guitarist, was in the middle of a solo, hair falling over his face as he played with an intensity that made your heart race. There was something devilish about the way he moved, a magnetism that drew you in. He was the embodiment of everything you adored about the heavy metal scene. You felt your cheeks heat as you watched him, feeling as if you had fallen in love at first sight.

Misaki, the bass guitarist, was energetically keeping up with the rhythm, her fiery spirit contagious. V, the pianist, added a layer of complexity to the sound, his fingers dancing over the keys like a master magician. And Angel, the singer, poured her heart into every note, her voice echoing through the room with a passion that sent shivers down your spine.

You watched in awe as the band played, feeling a connection to the music that coursed through your veins. It was raw, it was powerful, and it was everything you had ever wanted. You felt a sense of hope blossom within you—maybe this was your chance, your opportunity to finally become part of something great.

But then, reality struck. You remembered the trepidation that followed you everywhere. Your parents’ disapproving faces flashed in your mind, the words of your teachers ringing in your ears. “You’re wasting your time. You’ll never make it.” Doubt crept in, threatening to suffocate the excitement bubbling within you.

You took a moment to catch your breath, soaking in the atmosphere. V, the pianist, was in the corner, his fingers dancing across the keys, lost in his own world. He seemed cold and distant, the kind of person who might look right through you if you dared to make eye contact. Misaki was chaotic, dancing around the room with a laugh that was infectious, as if she were filled with pure energy. And then there was Angel, the singer—her voice cut through the air, sweet and powerful, a combination that felt like a promise of what was to come.

Suddenly, the music stopped, and you felt like a deer caught in headlights. Ronin turned slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours, piercing through the haze of uncertainty. The room went quiet, the air thick with tension as everyone’s gaze shifted to you.

Now, Ronin noticed you. His eyes narrowed, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned against his guitar, looking you up and down. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? A little lost lamb wandering into the devil’s den?”

You felt your stomach twist with a mix of embarrassment and intrigue. He was teasing, and there was something about that glimmer in his eyes that both frightened and excited you. It was a challenge, and you weren’t about to back down. “Just here to audition,” you said, trying to sound confident despite the fluttering in your chest.

“Is that so?” He crossed his arms, a playful grin spreading across his face. “You think you can keep up with us? We’re not just any band; we’re Angelgothic. We bring chaos, darling.”

“Please, Ronin, be nice,” Angel interjected, her voice soothing like a gentle breeze. “You know we need a drummer, and if they made it this far, they must have some talent. What's your name?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m Y/N,” you managed, feeling a bit out of place but excited nonetheless.

“Awesome! We’re about to take a break. Why don’t you grab a seat?” she suggested, motioning to an empty chair nearby. You nodded and settled in, your heart racing as you tried to absorb everything happening around you.

The band took a break, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Ronin. He caught your eye and flashed you a smile that made your heart race. Your stomach flipped, and you could feel a warmth spreading across your cheeks. Was it possible you had fallen for him just like that? You couldn’t help but admire how he seemed so comfortable in his skin, exuding a confidence you wished you had.

“What brings you here, Y/N?” Angel asked, her voice sweet and melodic

You couldn’t help but admire how Angel balanced the chaotic energy in the room with her sweet nature. She exuded warmth, making you feel more welcome. But Ronin wasn’t done with his game. He leaned closer, his voice low and teasing, “You do look a little… emo for our style. What’s your story, huh?”

You felt your heart race at his words. Here was this handsome devil of a guitarist, flirting and taunting you all at once. “Just someone who got tired of being told I couldn’t be myself,” you said, trying to inject some attitude into your response. “I want to be in a band and prove everyone wrong.”

Ronin’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Rebel against the system, huh? I can respect that. But can you really handle being in a band with a bunch of misfits like us?”

Misfits. That was the perfect description. You had always felt like an outsider, the black sheep of your family, especially after years spent in religious schools that drilled the idea of conformity into your head. The trauma of being told you were wrong for wanting to express yourself in any way lingered like a dark cloud overhead. But here, surrounded by these musicians, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe you could carve out a place for yourself after all.

“I’ve handled worse,” you replied, smirking back at him. “Besides, if I wanted to play it safe, I wouldn’t be here.”

Misaki burst into laughter, and V, still focused on his piano, rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the hint of a smile creeping onto his face. “Spunky, I like that, Vince is back, Let's see how you do!"

Um! What! Oh shit! This is it! Breathe y/n! Breathe!

The rehearsal came to an end, the energy in the room was electric. Ronin had been relentless with his teasing, as usual, throwing playful jabs at you and challenging your confidence. You could tell he wanted to push your buttons, testing how far he could go before you snapped back at him. But there was something about it that felt… invigorating.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got, drummer,” Ronin said, leaning against his guitar with an amused smirk. “I hope you’re not just here to play ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ because I might have to kick you out of the band myself.” His tone was teasing, and you rolled your eyes, a small smile creeping onto your lips.

“Maybe I’ll surprise you,” you shot back, your ego rising as you felt a surge of determination. This was your chance to show them what you could really do, to prove that you belonged here among the chaos of Angelgothic.

Angel, with her ever-supportive nature, jumped in to defend you. “Come on, Ronin, give them a break! We all know they’ve got talent.” She shot him a look, her hands on her hips as if to say, “Don’t mess with my new friend.”

Ronin feigned innocence, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, Saint Maria, I’ll be nice. For now.” The rest of the band chuckled, and the atmosphere lightened as everyone settled down to watch you.

“Alright, (Y/N), we want to hear what you’ve got!” Misaki exclaimed, bouncing on her heels with excitement. Her chaotic energy was contagious, and you felt your heart race with anticipation.

“Yeah, show us what you can do!” V added, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. Though his tone was cool, you could sense the underlying interest in his words. It was a rare moment of encouragement from the usually aloof pianist.

Everyone in the room fell silent, their eyes trained on you. You could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on you, but instead of feeling overwhelmed, you embraced it. You took a deep breath, letting the rhythm of your heart guide you. This was what you had always wanted—a chance to prove yourself.

“Alright, Ronin,” you said, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Let’s see if you can keep up with me.” You picked up your drumsticks and took your position behind the kit, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Better not play something lame like ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep,’” Ronin quipped, his voice dripping with mockery.

With a smirk, you launched into a rhythm, the sticks flying through the air as you brought the drums to life. You started off slow, teasing the beat, but then you cranked up the energy, drumming like you were channeling every ounce of passion that had been pent up inside you.

The sound echoed around the room, and soon Ronin couldn’t help but join in, his guitar weaving seamlessly into the rhythm you created. His playful demeanor faded as he focused on the music, the atmosphere shifting from playful banter to serious collaboration. You could see the spark in his eyes as he began to lose himself in the moment, the two of you creating something electric together.

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” he shouted, a grin breaking across his face. The way you drummed made his laughter fill the air, invigorating the energy in the room. You poured everything into the performance, the adrenaline surging through your veins as you locked into the groove with Ronin.

Misaki bounced along with the beat, she joined in on her bass guitar, matching your intensity with her chaotic style. “YES! SLAY!” she cheered, the excitement radiating from her. You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, feeling like a part of something bigger than yourself.

V picked up the piano keys next, adding a melodic layer that wrapped around the rhythm like a warm embrace. His cold exterior melted away as the music filled the space, and you could tell he was enjoying this as much as the rest of you. The synergy between the four of you was palpable, and it felt like you were creating magic in that moment.

When you finally ended the song, a triumphant crescendo of sound echoing in the rehearsal space, the room erupted in applause. Misaki dashed over, wrapping her arms around you in an enthusiastic hug. “You’re so good!” she exclaimed, squeezing you tightly, her chaotic energy wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

“Thanks, Misaki!” you laughed, feeling elated by the praise.

V, maintaining his cool demeanor, nodded slightly. “You did well,” he said, his voice steady. It was as close to a compliment as you would likely ever get from him, and it made your heart swell with pride.

“Still not that great, but you’ll survive,” Ronin teased, crossing his arms with a playful smirk. You shot him a mock glare, your competitive spirit flaring up. You wanted to kick his nose, honestly.

“Shut up, Ronin,” you said, a smile creeping onto your lips despite your irritation.

Angel laughed softly, shaking her head. “If you keep this up, we might just have to keep you around,” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious.

The band exchanged glances, and you felt your heart skip a beat. Did they really want you to stay? You couldn’t help but feel a swell of hope, a flicker of possibility igniting in your chest.

Vince, the band’s manager, watched the scene unfold with a thoughtful expression. He exchanged glances with Ai Hua, who stood nearby with a supportive smile. After a moment of consideration, he approached you, extending his hand for a shake. “I think we’ve found our new drummer,” he said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Welcome to Angelgothic!”

You couldn’t believe it. Your heart soared as you accepted his handshake, feeling like you had finally found your place. “Thank you! I won’t let you down!” you shouted, your excitement bubbling over.

“Yasss!” Misaki cheered, jumping up and down. “We’re going to be the best band ever!”

Ronin pretended to roll his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk on his face. “Just remember, I’ll always be watching you, (Y/N). Don’t think you can slack off just because you’re part of the band now.”

The laughter in the rehearsal space began to fade, Ronin crossed his arms, leaning back against his guitar with that ever-present smirk still plastered across his face. “You think you’re just going to waltz in here and take my spot without a fight? I’m gonna give you a hard time, (Y/N).” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it that made you gulp involuntarily.

But you weren’t going to let him see any fear. You straightened your posture, plastering on your best “womanizer” face, filled with bravado. “Okay, bring it on! Just remember, if you keep messing with me, does that mean you’re a little obsessed?” You winked, reveling in the challenge you had thrown his way.

The room fell silent for a split second, all eyes shifting to Ronin, who seemed unfazed by your cheeky comeback. He just leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Obsessed? Please, I’m just trying to keep you on your toes. Wouldn’t want you to get too comfortable.” His smirk deepened, and you could see the playful fire in his gaze, but the tension in the room crackled with something deeper.

Nudging Misaki with your elbow, you added, “NGL, you remind me of that guy from Heathers, JD. You’ve got that whole ‘dark and brooding’ vibe down pat. How do you feel about it?”

At the mention of the character, Ronin’s expression shifted, a dark look crossing his features that sent a chill down your spine. It was a split second, but you caught it—a glimpse of something more intense behind his playful facade. Angel must have sensed it too because she immediately pulled you aside, her voice low and conspiratorial.

“Oh, you just did emotional damage to him,” she whispered, barely containing her giggles. “He’s definitely gonna hold that against you.” You wanted to glance back at Ronin, curious about his reaction, but Angel shook her head vigorously, a teasing grin on her face.

“Nope! Keep looking forward! Trust me, it’s better that way!” she said, leading you away as Misaki snorted in laughter, clearly enjoying the whole scene. You couldn’t help but smile at the chaos surrounding you.

“Come on, I’ll show you around the studio!” Angel continued, her excitement infectious as she dragged you further into the space. As she pointed out different areas—the sound booth, the lounge where the band often hung out, and the practice rooms—you felt your nervousness begin to melt away.

You walked through the studio, Angel, always the enthusiastic one, decided it was time for proper introductions. She spun around to face you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Alright, it’s time for everyone to introduce themselves properly! I mean, you’re going to be part of our little chaotic family now, after all!”

Ronin leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smirk as he observed. “Sure, but don’t be surprised if I don’t like you after this,” he quipped, the playful edge still evident in his tone. You rolled your eyes at his antics but couldn’t suppress a smile; it was all part of the game with him, and you were more than willing to play along.

“Okay, I’ll start!” Angel beamed, clearly thrilled to take the lead. “I’m Angel, the voice of this band. I’m basically the sunshine in this chaotic mess, and I can’t wait to work with you!” She was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to Ronin's cold front.

“V here,” the pianist said next, his tone cool and detached. “I’m the one who adds depth to our sound, or so they say. Nice to meet you.” He didn’t seem particularly invested, but his presence carried a quiet intensity that intrigued you.

“Yup, and I’m Misaki!” she chirped, bouncing on her feet. “I’m the chaos factor and the bass guitarist! If you ever need a partner in crime or someone to annoy Ronin with, I’m your lover!” She winked at you, her energy infectious.

Finally, it was your turn. You took a deep breath, channeling your inner Britney Spears, ready to be bold and sassy. “I’m (Y/N), the new drummer in this delightful chaos. I’m here to prove to my parents that I’m more than just a rebellious phase,” you said, matching Angel’s enthusiasm but adding a cheeky wink of your own. “And for good luck, I think we need to introduce ourselves again!”

The room fell silent for a moment, then erupted into laughter. Ronin, arms still crossed, rolled his eyes. “Oh great, just what we need—more introductions. Can’t wait to hear your sob story again, (Y/N).” He was being insufferable, but you loved it.

“Hey, if you don’t like it, you can just leave,” you shot back, the confidence surging through you. “Besides, I’d love to hear everyone’s sob stories. It’s like a twisted group therapy session!”

Misaki clapped her hands in delight. “Yes! I love this idea! Ronin, you first!”

“Absolutely not. I’d rather you all didn’t hear my tragic backstory,” he retorted, his tone sarcastic but the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. You could see that even beneath his facade, he was intrigued by your spirit.

“C’mon, Ronin! It’ll be fun!” Angel chimed in, clearly not ready to let him off the hook. “And it’s only fair since we’re all sharing!”

With the pressure on, Ronin sighed dramatically, finally giving in. “Fine. But just so you know, I’m a dark, brooding enigma that doesn’t need pity or sympathy, especially from someone like you, (Y/N).”

“Oh please, if you were a real enigma, you wouldn’t be making such a big deal about it,” you teased, your voice laced with playful sarcasm. “But go ahead, I’m all ears.”

Ronin opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly trying to find the right words. “Let’s just say I’m a misunderstood genius with a tragic past,” he finally said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Boring!” Misaki shouted, her laughter ringing through the room. “Angel, you go next!”

The introductions continued, the camaraderie grew. You felt a warmth spreading through you—a sense of belonging that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Each person shared their quirks and stories, and even if Ronin continued to act like a jerk, you could tell he was intrigued by you.

The laughter and chatter subsided, Angel’s bright voice rang out again. “Alright, since you’re our new drummer, we think it’s only fair that you choose someone to look after you! It’s a big responsibility being in this band, and we want to make sure you’re taken care of!”

Everyone turned to face you, their expressions a mix of curiosity and expectation. The weight of their gazes made your heart race, but you couldn’t help but feel a thrill at being the center of attention. You bit your lip, weighing your options carefully.

“Who’s it gonna be, (Y/N)? You have to pick someone!” Misaki exclaimed, practically bouncing on her feet. “Choose wisely; you might get stuck with someone really weird!” She flashed a cheeky grin at Ronin, who rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Great, just what I need—a babysitter,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You glanced at each of them, your mind racing with possibilities.

V stood off to the side, arms crossed, his expression cold yet contemplative. Despite his detached demeanor, you sensed an undercurrent of interest in his eyes. “I may not be the warmest person, but I’ll keep an eye on you,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Just don’t expect me to hold your hand.” There was a strange comfort in his straightforwardness, and you could tell he meant what he said, even if he had a unique way of showing it.

Then there was Angel, radiant and sweet as ever, her smile infectious. “Oh, I would love to look after you!” she gushed, stepping closer. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need, and I’ll be here to cheer you on! Plus, we can totally have girl talk whenever you want!” The warmth in her voice made you feel safe, and the thought of having her as a supporter was undeniably tempting.

Misaki leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “C’mon, you know you want me to be your guardian! I’ll make sure you have a blast, and I won’t let anyone mess with you! Plus, I have snacks!” She flashed a playful wink, making it hard to resist her chaotic charm. The thought of Misaki by your side filled you with excitement—she’d definitely keep things interesting.

Finally, there was Ronin. He watched you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine, his expression a mix of amusement and something darker. “You know I’d make the best choice. I’d keep you on your toes, and you’d never get bored,” he teased, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Besides, who else would challenge you the way I do?” There was an undeniable allure in his confidence, even if he did come off as a bit of a jerk.

The room was silent as everyone awaited your decision. You took a deep breath, glancing from one person to the next, each offering their own unique promise of companionship and support.

After a moment of deliberation, you felt your heart race as you finally spoke up, ready to make your choice. “Alright, I’ve made my decision!”

If you choose V: “I think I’ll go with V. I could use someone steady and reliable.” The moment the words left your mouth, you saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he masked it with his usual cool demeanor.

If you choose Angel: “Angel, I’d love for you to look after me!” You grinned, and her face lit up with delight.

If you choose Misaki: “Misaki! I want you as my guardian!” You laughed at her excited squeal as she jumped up and down.

If you choose Ronin: “I’m going with Ronin. I think he’ll keep things... interesting.” A teasing smile spread across your face as Ronin raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your choice.

If you chose V:

V’s expression shifted slightly, his cool facade cracking just enough for a hint of a smile to appear. “Interesting choice,” he remarked, his voice steady. “Just remember, I’m not a hugger, and I prefer silence over chatter.” The others chuckled at his classic V-ness, but you could see the glint of approval in his eyes. “But if you need someone to help you focus or keep you out of trouble, I suppose I can manage.” He inclined his head slightly, making you feel like you’d made a wise decision.

If you chose Angel:

Angel squealed with delight, clapping her hands together. “Yay! I’m so excited!” She bounced on her toes, her enthusiasm lighting up the room. “We’re going to have so much fun! I’ll make sure you have everything you need—snacks, a cozy spot to hang out, and I’ll always be your biggest fan!” Her bright personality radiated warmth, and you couldn’t help but smile back at her infectious energy. It felt reassuring to know she’d be there to support you through the ups and downs of being in the band.

If you chose Misaki:

“YES! Finally, someone who knows how to have fun!” Misaki exclaimed, launching herself at you for a quick hug. “We’re going to make this band the wildest one ever!” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she pulled back and grabbed your hand. “Get ready for spontaneous dance parties and chaotic practice sessions! You’re gonna love it!” Her chaotic energy was contagious, and you couldn’t help but laugh, already picturing all the shenanigans that awaited you.

If you chose Ronin:

Ronin’s smirk widened, a glimmer of intrigue flickering in his eyes. “Oh? You want me to look after you?” he teased, leaning closer with a playful yet slightly sinister grin. “I hope you’re ready for a wild ride, then. I promise to make you tougher.” The others rolled their eyes, but you could feel the heat of his gaze. “Just remember, I don’t do hand-holding. You’ll have to keep up with me.” There was a strange mix of challenge and allure in his words, and you found yourself oddly excited at the prospect of navigating this complicated dynamic with him.

The banter continued, everyone began to settle into their roles, the energy in the room shifting from uncertainty to an electric thrill. It felt like a new chapter was opening, and you were eager to dive headfirst into this chaotic world filled with music, friendships, and the occasional drama.

“Welcome to Angelgothic, (Y/N),” Vince said, a proud smile on his face. “You’ve officially joined our crazy family.”

The acceptance from everyone made your heart swell with happiness.

part 2!

W-what you- k-killed somone?! You h-have blood?!

"Look, sweetheart, you see this crowbar? It’s got your name written all over it. You’re just a drummer, just like the last one. And trust me, he didn’t end well. So unless you want to end up just like him, keep your mouth shut. I’ve got no patience for some whiny emo loser ruining our lives. Got it?”

Congrats Y/n! You did join a hell-den!

If this post is good, I'll do a part 2! Until then!