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Aoextober is a month long event for the month of October. There is no daily prompts to adhere to, but rather a general Halloween theme.
The event will mostly be managed by me @blueexorshit . All kinds of content creators are welcome, and itās available across various platforms. This blog will be the official place on tumblr for Aoextober.
In order to participate, just tag your creation with #aoextober. Anyone can participate in the event if theyād like to. However in order to be featured on the Aoextober blog, the follow guidelines must be followed.
RULES AND GUIDELINES FOR BEING FEATURED:
1. You must use the tag #aoextober in your post.
2. Blood and Gore
Gore is allowed. When it comes to art, heavy gore must have a censored version along with the normal version. Minor gore like bloodstains, are fine uncensored. For fanfics, a trigger warning should be provided.
3. NSFW Content and Shipping
Since this is an event for all members of the fandom, including all ages, sexual content will not be featured. Additionally, keeping in mind other peopleās comfort levels, adult/minor and/or incestous ships will not featured. These ships can be hinted at, but not overtly stated.
4. Posting and Content
There is no prompt of the day, so thereās no worries about āmissingā a day. However there is a general theme of Halloween. In order to be featured you do have to follow the theme. That being said, posting before October is okay too!
Lastly, these rules are not for participating in the event, you can participate even if you donāt follow these rules. These rules are simply for being featured on the blog.
And with that have fun guys! I would love to see what you create. Happy Halloween and Happy Aoextober! š»š
Itās finally october!! U know what that means!! Aoextober!! Iāve been waiting to be able to post this hahhhahahaa⦠some good ole soft horror in the spirit of the month of scary⦠Iāll also put it up on ao3 soonā¦
Characters: Todou Saburota, That demon he had at first, Todou Homare (mentioned).
Contents: Violence & gore, monsters, memory manipulation, surrealism (or is it derealisation? basically we got some weird stuff going on), elements of horror.
Rating: Teen & up.
Word count: 2 888.
__________
Itās all a little fuzzy, this far back in his memoriesā¦
According to family tradition, Saburota receives his temptaint at ten years old. Itās scary beyond belief ā the sudden grotesque presences that await him at every turn.
Thereās a thick black snake on the teacherās desk that watches him, a cat with two heads and three tails and no skin that doesnāt meow as much as it yells, spidery, shadowy hands that wave at him from dark corners and alleyways, always beckoning closer in silent invitation.
The horrible sounds of screaming and crying at night he canāt drown out no matter what he tries to do.
He doesnāt understand how his father and brothers and ā everyone, really- can just ignore it all, can just pretend like itās all normal and okay.
Though, he supposes itās not too implausible ā their ability to ignore things is quite remarkable. One time they pretended he didnāt exist for a whole week ā and honestly, heād been questioning his existence himself by the end of it.
But the problem is these⦠demons. These ghosts and spectres that follow him and distract him and terrify him.
Saburota tries to focus on the page in front of him ā a test in maths that heās writing in pencil because his pen is bleeding red blood ā an ever-growing puddle over the surface of his desk that never reaches his papers and drips over the edge with quiet plips.
The numbers in the problems tilt and tumble and his hands are tingling. But if he focuses just so- if he can keep them in his mind long enough, he can do this.
Pit-pat⦠Pit-patā¦
The blood drips steadily down onto the floor. No one else notices it.
ā
āOh, come now! Youāll get used to it,ā his aunt says when she sees him flinch back from a dark mass that covers the floor like a living carpet, undulating and scintillating and breathing.
She walks right over it, and the black sticks to the heels of her shiny beige pumps like tar ā but she doesnāt even seem to notice-
āCome on, Saburota, letās go,ā she pulls him by the arm, stronger than he can dig his heels into the ground. The black thing is unpleasantly soft under his feet. He feels it writhe.
āDonāt be so obstinate, weāll be late to the opera!ā she huffs, exasperated, āHonestly, youād think a boy your age would have some manners.ā
The black clings to the bottom of their soles without end even after theyāve crossed all of it and are out on the street, spreading out from every point of contact their shoes make with the ground, melting together to form a winding, snakelike path.
āWhat show are we going to see?ā he asks cautiously, trying to distract himself.
āThree dead men and the devil, of courseā she answers haughtily, āWhy, Saburota, itās as if youāre trying to irritate me on purpose! Youāre the one who wanted to go!ā
He did?
āOh, I remember now!ā he says, but itās a lie, itās his mouth moving on its own, āI hope itās as good as the reviews promise!ā he says again, a giddy edge to the words- but theyāre not his words.
āIt will be,ā his aunt answers with a mysterious sort of smile, her hand tightening around his wrist.
ā
Saburotaās hiding under the bed, curled up in the dark. It seems like no matter how much he shrinks down; he still feels watched, still feels threatened. Feels like heās not alone, like thereās something else inside him.
The door opens and footsteps make their way over to the bed ā but theyāre sharp, like knocking wood on wood, and so loud.
Saburota holds his breath when hooves come into view right in front of him. Fear is like a bird trapped in his chest, raging desperately against the bars of his ribs.
Whatever it is climbs up on his bed with an ominous sqeak of the springs and a decidedly animal huff.
āOh, youāre already in bed, honey?ā the voice of his mother speaks from the doorway. She all but floats over soundlessly. Her skin is deathly pale and dry beneath the hem of her nightgown.
āIām scared, mommy,ā the thing says in a voice thatās nowhere near Saburotaās own. āI think thereās a monster under my bed.ā
āMonsters donāt exist, silly,ā she coos, ābut Iāll look and make sure for you, alright?ā
She gets down on all fours and peers beneath the bed. Her unseeing eyes look straight at and through Saburota. Her face is as pale and bloodless as her feet and hands, a greenish-blueish tinge to her lips and eyelids.
āThereās nothing here, honey,ā she says in her beautiful, sonorous voice. Her smile reveals her teeth that look much longer and sharper now that the gums have dried out and shrunk back.
Then she rises again and says, āNow, will you be a good boy and sleep? We have a busy day tomorrow. You need to be ready to do what has to be done.ā She kisses the thing sweetly goodnight before leaving, footsteps as soundless as when she entered. The door closes behind her, and so disappears that last bit of illumination the room had.
The darkness left behind feels like itās eating Saburota whole, encompassing him in a tight and claustrophobic space. He reaches out to prove the feeling wrong, but the darkness is smooth and solid against his hand, pushing up against it with incrementally increasing force.
āYou donāt have much time left down there, do you?ā the thing up on the bed asks, soft and sleepy. It yawns. āYou know, God canāt see you anymore, and neither can most other things.ā
The darkness pushes up against his skin, too tight to move, too tight to breathe.
ā
Theyāre in the main hall. A soft record plays in the background, a gentle but somber croon accompanied by a saxophone and a cello.
āYou know they donāt exist,ā the shadow sitting across from Saburota at the dinner table says, āright?ā
Itās gesturing at his family, where theyāre chatting amongst themselves as they eat. At the other, farther end of the table ā itās farther than usual. The table is as long as the room as opposed to taking up just the center.
There are so many empty seats. So many set plates, untouched. Like thereās supposed to be a banquet, but no oneās shown up.
Saburota stares down at his plate. The soup is black and thick, and thereās the smooth off-white surface of a bone peeking out from beneath the surface.
Heās not particularly hungry.
āYouāre wrong,ā he tells the shadow quietly ad he pushes the plate away, and the damn thing laughs in response. Itās fuzzy and translucent, and smears in Saburotaās vision when it moves.
āOh, my bad!ā the shadow chortles and picks up a knife, and twirls it around the fingers of its hand; the gleaming facets of the blade catch red and orange lights from some strange and unknown source, āYouāre the one who doesnāt exist, I meant to say. Easy mistake to make.ā
Saburota feels goose bumps break out over his body. A cold gust of wind whistles over the edge of his collar, ruffling the back of his hair. He places one of his palms protectively over his nape, feeling unsafe.
The room is colourless now, and his family sounds all muffled - and the shadow is gone. He shivers, then takes a fortifying breath and reaches for the spoon again, hand trembling minutely.
Saburota lifts a spoonful of the simple noodle soup to his mouth hesitantly. It doesnāt seem like thereās anything wrong with it, but⦠heās just got this nagging worry that something isnāt right.
ā
āI see right through you,ā the creature says hotly in his ear, āyouāre little more than smoke - a miasma leaking through the cracks of the skin you wear.ā
Saburota stares at it through the mirror. Itās taller than him, wider than him, has horns like an ibex and hands like eagle claws, poised up in the air, talons glinting menacingly.
āPoor little Saburota,ā it hisses, leaning in even closer, snake tongue peeking through its teeth on the āsā. āSo damaged and twisted that no one could ever like you. You empty little puppet, you pathetic fucking piece of shit.ā
Saburota shrugs at its words. They sound about right. Itās what heās heard all his life, what heās thought all his life. A truth confirmed over and over.
āYou should bite them back for making you,ā it says with a beastly leer, talons wrapping around his shoulders and digging in, drawing blood in small beads, āMake them regret your existence. Teach them what it means to hurt. You want to. You need to. Iāll help you. Iāll make you strong, Iāll make you dangerous.ā
Thereās a certain desperation to the thingās words.
āMaybe someday,ā Saburota murmurs, stepping forwards - out of the creatureās embrace towards the sink, heedless of the shallow wounds left behind by the drag of its talons. He needs to brush his teeth and get to bed.
The bathroom darkens and the walls and floor wobble dangerously, like light broken on the edge of water, like matter passing through the planes of a prism and coming out wrong.
āYouāre ready,ā the creature wails, upset at his coy evasions of what needs to be done.
āNo, Iām-ā he stammers. God, everything here looks so fake it makes him nauseous. He needs to- he needs to set himself straight. Needs to recalibrate.
āIām not ripe yet,ā Saburota says gently, cautiously - looking at the beast without turning, eyes dark like the sky on the night of a new moon.
ā
Fatherās saying something to him. He looks angry. Heās gesticulating like crazy.
Saburota canāt hear it. The soundās muted. Pure silence.
No, not pure⦠thereās something whispering in his ear. It takes a moment for him to understand what itās sayingā¦
Saburota feels a smile spread out over his face at the promises of violence, bloodshed, nasty ugly retribution-
The world seems sharper somehow. Like itās come into focus after being blurry and vague for his entire life.
Saburota looks at his hands. Heās got claws ā mean, nasty looking things, the kind that maim and rip and rend. When did that happen?
The little whispering voice giggles in his ear. Iāll give you this. Iāll give you this if you just let me-
ā
āIāve been cultivating you for years,ā the thing says, looking down at him from its full height. The creature is menacing, attention catching, terrifying. āYouād be nothing without me. Youād be small and powerless and pathetic.ā
Its arms wrap around his shoulders covetously, possessively. The talons sink into the flesh of Saburotaās deltoids like a butcherās knife sinks into a hunk of meat.
āYouāre all mine,ā the thing whispers, opening its maw to reveal row upon dizzying row of teeth arranged in a beautiful rosette. Saburota touches a tooth and pricks his finger.
Blood red. Drops on the floor. He smears them with the toe of his shoe and suddenly realises.
Oh, what a clever thing. Had him really going for a while.
āNo, Iām not,ā Saburota says, something in his voice dark but⦠whistful and dreamy. āYou did nice this time, Iāll give you that. Too bad youāre so slow with it all,ā he says, and reality shifts.
Well, the not-reality shifts. Saburotaās holding the thing ā a squirming little creature with a long leathery tail, smaller than ever andā¦
And perfect for eating.
ā
Heās not afraid anymore. Despite the thingās attempts ā this particular memory remains unchanged, remains his fully. So far.
Thereās carnage all around ā his family, the house staff ā mutilated sacks of meat, strewn about carelessly, all carved up and bled out.
Saburota can taste it ā the metallic tang of something raw clinging to his palate, the edges of his teeth.
He knows what he did. He knows how he did it. But⦠heād been too excited, too in-the-moment about it. Itās all a red haze in hindsight.
āWell, this was easier than expected,ā he says, all light and happy and unburdened.
āYou finally did it,ā Homare says as she watches him from the top of the stairs, her face a blank mask.
āYouāre free now,ā Saburota says with a wide grin, āThis power could be yours too, Homare.ā
It slips off his tongue like a well-oiled phrase. This isnāt the first time heās said this.
āWhy wonāt you let me out, Saburota?ā she says in someone elseās voice. Shadows cling to her, making her larger and darker than what she is. The beast is here again, messing with his mind and senses. āWhy must you deny me so? You canāt hold me down forever. I will claw my way out.ā
The house is dark and crawling with black shapes and bugs the size of rats. Saburota feels his mood sour. Thatās not right, thatās not what she really said.
Homareās walking down the stairs towards him, heedless of the gore she steps in, looking at him like she wants him to burst open like an over-tense bulla.
āKill yourself, Saburota, you worthless fucking heap,ā the thing says, even if itās Homareās lips that move, āGetting all cocky and full of yourself. You will regret it. I will make you regret it.ā
Saburota smiles lazily, āYouāre just throwing a tantrum because Iām stronger than you. Tsk-tsk. Youād think that demons had more class than that.ā
Saburota flicks open the zippo in his hand, and the smell of buthane hits him above the wet smell of fresh guts. His hands are shaking, his heart is racing. Thereās a cacophonous screaming in his head above it all.
āLet me out, Saburota,ā the thing says through Homareās lips, low and thunderous and so angry, āLet me out and let me in for real.ā
Saburota flicks the wheel and sparks the flame, looking right into Homareās eyes where he sees it looking at him.
He drops the zippo carelessly, ignoring the beastās words. This ā all of this is his.
And heās going to burn it all down.
ā
Saburota wakes with a jolt that has the water sloshing against the sides of the tub. Heād dozed off again.
The nightmarish pictures of his dream fizzle out into the subconscious part of his brain. The phantasms are creeping upwards again, seeking to dig their claws into his more recent memories.
He sighs tiredly, rubbing a palm over his face. It had taken him too long to notice. Next time the demon might get him for good. He rests a palm over his stomach where he feels it like a hot, familiar weight in his gut. So small, so stubborn, so bothersome.
Saburota canāt remember his childhood clearly anymore, not the way it really was. His recollections are all twisted and maimed, cut up and pasted together into tid-bit horror stories and fantastical exaggerations, much like the dream had been.
It comes with being a demon eater. Thereās a certain cost, a sacrifice he has to make in the form of his memories and occasionally, his personality. One can only hold on to darkness for so long until it grabs back.
Saburota barely ever sleeps anymore. Whenever he dreams, the distortions get worse and feel more real.
Realistically, he knows there wasnāt a dead man lying on the table and singing at Homareās tenth birthday party⦠he knows that his mother died in childbirth when she had her last pregnancy, that heād never heard her voice and had only ever seen her in pictures⦠but he can remember these delusions so very vividly itās kind of scary.
āYour brainās rottingā¦ā He tells himself in a low voice. Then, he chuckles,ā Heh, who knows if whatās left is even you anymoreā¦ā He pauses, moving his hand through the water, watching it slosh against the sides of the tub.
Heās awake, sure, but he still feels like heās dreaming, like this isnāt reality. Another chuckle, a little more self-deprecating, āGood thing that wonāt matter soon enough.ā
Saburota sinks lower into the water so that his nose just above the surface. The waterās lukewarm now, so it doesnāt seep into his bones and muscles the way he wishes it would.
Heāll get out in a minute and get dressed and do things, but for now he just⦠ruminates. On what he is. On what heās done.
He doesnāt regret his choices, but⦠sometimes he wonders what life would be like if he was⦠more normal. If heād never clashed with his family the way he had⦠if heād justā¦
Well, whatever. Those thoughts donāt lead anywhere.
Heās made it this far ā thatās the only thing that matters. He just needs to pull through and do his part in getting the phoenix for the Illuminati. Heās been planning it for years now, sowing doubt and trust in the right places, and itās finally so close he can taste it.
Thatās his purpose now. Thatās whatās important. He has a goal and a purpose, and he is needed. With that much, heās satisfied.
As long as he does what he needs to do for the Illuminati, for The Commander, what happens to him afterwards doesnāt really matterā¦
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Moriyama Shiemi & Okumura Rin, Moriyama Shiemi & Okumura Yukio, Kamiki Izumo & Moriyama Shiemi, Kirigakure Shura & Okumura Rin & Okumura Yukio
Characters: Moriyama Shiemi, Kamiki Izumo, Okumura Rin, Okumura Yukio, Suguro "Bon" Ryuuji, Shima Renzou, Kirigakure Shura, Miwa Konekomaru
Additional Tags: Haunted Houses, Aoextober, shiemi pov, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, scares, Haunting, Ghosts, Demons, cram group, Minor Other Characters - Freeform, Friendship, Ghost Stories, Mysteries, Monsters, Trust Issues
Summary:
None of the students liked the house. Shiemi was sure the teachers didn't like it either, but no one would say anything. It didn't surprise her but it did make her a little concerned that she might be imagining their nerves and that she was alone in her fear.
She'd been through a fair number of frightening circumstances but she couldn't remember a place that felt so wrong. It was cold outside but it didnāt look like itād be any warmer inside. Rin was the only one that didnāt look cold and she felt a little envious at his ability to warm himself.
It was an imposing house, solid and sharp. The wood had been highly detailed at one point before it had started to rot away in broken pieces. It was too tall and the windows were easily twice her height. They were made of wrought iron and you couldnāt see inside them. A few of the panes were broken and several on the higher floors were shattered. The porch was covered, long columns guarding the steps.
The structure felt at odds with the nature around it. The wild had tried to overtake it again but it seemed to be resisting. It felt defiant and she had the immediate feeling that the land did not like this building.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 3/?
Fandom: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Moriyama Shiemi & Okumura Rin, Moriyama Shiemi & Okumura Yukio, Kamiki Izumo & Moriyama Shiemi, Kirigakure Shura & Okumura Rin & Okumura Yukio
Characters: Moriyama Shiemi, Kamiki Izumo, Okumura Rin, Okumura Yukio, Suguro "Bon" Ryuuji, Shima Renzou, Kirigakure Shura, Miwa Konekomaru
Additional Tags: Haunted Houses, Aoextober, shiemi pov, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, scares, Haunting, Ghosts, Demons, cram group, Minor Other Characters - Freeform, Friendship, Ghost Stories, Mysteries, Monsters, Trust Issues, this is a ghost story, Spooky, Possession, Horror
Summary:
None of the students liked the house. Shiemi was sure the teachers didn't like it either, but no one would say anything. It didn't surprise her but it did make her a little concerned that she might be imagining their nerves and that she was alone in her fear.
She'd been through a fair number of frightening circumstances but she couldn't remember a place that felt so wrong. It was cold outside but it didnāt look like itād be any warmer inside. Rin was the only one that didnāt look cold and she felt a little envious at his ability to warm himself.
It was an imposing house, solid and sharp. The wood had been highly detailed at one point before it had started to rot away in broken pieces. It was too tall and the windows were easily twice her height. They were made of wrought iron and you couldnāt see inside them. A few of the panes were broken and several on the higher floors were shattered. The porch was covered, long columns guarding the steps.
The structure felt at odds with the nature around it. The wild had tried to overtake it again but it seemed to be resisting. It felt defiant and she had the immediate feeling that the land did not like this building.