(ANDY BIERSACK, CIS MALE, HE/HIM) They say the city never forgets a name and AXEL STONE is no testament to that. The THIRTY FOUR year-old has carved out their place in NYC’s underbelly. On the surface, they’re all INTELLIGENT, smooth moves and sharp eyes. But dig a little deeper and you’ll find something far more dangerous , EXPLOSIVE TEMPER, with no hesitation and even less remorse. They move through the streets like they own them, wearing the colors of the NOCTURNE and running the game as a INTERROGATOR. Some say they’ve always been here. Others swear something’s changed. Either way, they’re not just part of the story. They’re rewriting it. -written by stella
child abuse, drug addiction tw, child neglect tw, alcohol abuse tw, murder tw, poison tw,
axel stone was born into a world that felt like it was already rotting, a crumbling house in a forgotten corner of a city that never slept. from as far back as he can remember his father, a mean drunk with fists like sledgehammers, ruled their home with rage that burned hotter than the whiskey he drowned in. every night was a storm of shouts, broken bottles, and bruises that axel wore like a second skin. his father’s anger wasn’t triggered by anything specific; it was a constant, suffocating force, as if the man was punishing axel for existing. but the truth was, his father was a sick man. “you’re weak.” "you're a mistake." "you'll never be anything." "you're nothing," he’d slur, his breath always sour, before another blow landed.
his mother was no savior. she was always lost in a haze of pills and needles, she was a specter in their crumbling home, her eyes always glassy and distant. once axel, trembling and bloodied, begged her to make it stop, she just laughed, a hollow sound, and told him to “toughen up.” her apathy cut deeper than his father’s fists. axel learned early to swallow the pain, to let it fester into something sharp and dangerous.
"the way I saw it, everybody takes a beating sometime," - henry hill (goodfellas).
he was fifteen when the plan came to him in fragments, like a song stuck in his head. he might've been skinny and bruised, but his mind was a blade, honed by years of surviving. nights laying as still as the dead hearing his parents fight, hearing his mother’s screams about poison, about wanting his father gone. they planted a seed. axel started small, slipping into the library after school, reading about toxins, about doses that could kill quietly. he chose antifreeze, colorless, odorless, sweet enough to mask in his father’s cheap vodka. then, for weeks, he watched, waited, and measured. every night, axel stirred a little more death into the bottle.
the night it happened, axel felt nothing. his father collapsed mid-beating, clutching his chest, eyes wide with confusion that turned to stillness. axel stood over him, heart pounding, not with fear but with a strange, electric clarity. he was free. but freedom wasn’t enough, he needed justice, the kind that burned. his mother, passed out on the couch, was the perfect scapegoat. axel planted the evidence: a half-empty bottle of antifreeze in her stash, her fingerprints already on the glass. he called the police, voice shaking just enough to sell the story of a scared kid who’d found his father dead and his mother’s drugs nearby. she got 35 years to life, no parole. axel was sent to foster care, but he was already gone, his heart hardened into something colder, sharper.
The world had taught him that love was a lie, that trust was a weakness. He carried that lesson like a weapon.
at 18, axel was on his own, drifting through the city’s underbelly. he learned to read people, to twist their fears and secrets until they broke. he was good with herbs, making poisons, sharp with a blade, and creative in the ways of torture death. it was a talent that caught nocturne’s eye. so, axel became their blade in the dark, extracting truths at any costs and lengths. he's loyal to the gang, they are the only family he's ever truly known. and while his entire life has always been driven by a cycle of blood and betrayal, leaving him with a heart that half-broken, half-burning. it's just business, nothing more.
FUN FACTS:
he's got a cat named "turd" because he's an asshole and couldn't be bothered to think of a nickname for the little guy, but he loves him like his own kid, and they saved each other. turd was a stray, found by axel.
he's inked UP! arms, chest, back, etc. he loves tattoos and is often adding more to his collection. he also as a couple of piercings.
he bartends and performs (he's in a small rock band, nothing major) at a random dive bar on the side, but he's always on call for whatever his real bosses need him for.
he swears more than a sailor and definitely has a ' i don't give a fuck ' attitude about him. his punch does match his bark and his patience is as practically nonexistence. long story short, don't make him mad.
occasionally he visits his mother in prison, not something he cares to talk about.
AXEL AND TURD
SEXUALITY:
uncertain. he's only ever had girlfriends and hooked up with women. BUT he has silently crushed on a guy friend or two from afar, maybe even flirted with a guy at the bar once or twice. for some reason things never progressed further than that with guys and so he's not sure if he would like it or not. but he does know he has the ability to at least like a guy, the physical stuff is just uncertain.
RELATIONSHIP:
single. he chilling on that because the last girl he dated keyed his car and he's still a bit pissed about that (it happened one year ago), so he doesn't want to risk it again.
