So, now that I’m writing chapter 2 and have nothing to post (yet) I decided to post this. It was in my drafts and it was supposed to be a first attempt at writing “Red hood junior”. A first version you can say. Lowkey my choice of words were better. Total downgrade on my part…
Decided not to go with this version because I wanted more angst.
It’s just a little introduction, you can say. Nothing big and nothing special. Enjoy..??
The future is both a frightening and desirable phenomenon that dominates all living things. It can be described with different epithets, but it is also so inexpressible with mere words. Foggy and yet so clear, bright and yet so dark, so desirable and yet so frightening to many.
And this phenomenon sooner or later catches up with everyone. It opens its big mouth and swallows everyone and everything, without exception.
But damn it, Jason didn't think that this so-called future would come so soon and in the form of a cocky kid who came out of nowhere and said: "I'm your son". Seriously, what the hell?
"Okay, kid, April Fool's Day is long over. It's not much of a joke, but I'll give you a point for bravery." With a dismissive wave of his hand toward "his" kid, Jason turned to leave.
At first he was shocked, and for a second he thought, "I have a kid?" but when he saw that the boy looked to be about fourteen, he realized it was just a bad joke. He just can't have a son that old, he's only 21! The kid just caught him off guard.
"Yo, I'm serious! I'm your son!" Pointing up and down at himself with both hands, he began to desperately prove his truth, "Don't you see? We literally look alike!"
Well, he's got a point there. It was also the reason why Jason believed him for a second, a fleeting second. It was as if Jason saw himself from the past, a small copy of himself. But also different. Child looked different and at the same time like Jason. Here and there. The only difference between this kid and him were the eyes. They were bright and light, completely different from his. A different color too. Perhaps...
Shaking his head, Jason dismissed these rambling thoughts and stared at the boy reproachfully, turning to him, "So what? My looks aren't that special, there are plenty of people in the world with the same features." He raised a hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose, “Look, I can help you to find your parents, okay? Tell me their names.”
So much for the weekend.
"...And then he gave our full names and the address where we live." Rubbing his temples, Jason exhaled as he finished his story. “Also our secret identities. Did I mention that he said he is my son?”
It had been days that Alastor started to act weird. M/n noticed that his Father tried to hide something from him. The 12 year old boy saw how frustrated the man started to get.
Just what got his Father so on edge ?
One night the boy decided to spy on his Dad. He snuck into the Basement, after Alastor, without being seen. He hid in the shadows and watched as the Radio Host seemed to prepare a shrine and a circle around it. He took a book and read ancient words out loud, as he finished, he waited.
....Nothing happened.
“Oh, Applesauce ! Not again !”, Alastor cursed in anger.
He blew out the candles and smacked the book on the floor, grumbling in anger, then left. After he was gone, M/n came out of his hiding spot and he took a look at the book, lightening up the candles again.
M/n read the words out loud, to understand them better, as they were in old latin, it seemed. He didn’t even notice that he performed a ritual for Voodoo powers.
As the boy finished the spell, all lights went out and M/n stood all alone in the dark, for a while. Then he heard a whooshing sound from behind him. M/n whipped around, slightly scared.
“H-Hello ? W-who is there ?”, the boy asked, scared.
Suddenly he spotted a pair of green glowing eyes. M/n shook in fear. The candles lit up again and the boy blinked a few times, then he looked again and gasped, taking multiple steps back, from the thing he saw.
It was a shadow that looked just like M/n, with green glowing eyes.
“W-who are y-you ?”, M/n stuttered out.
The shadow chirped in amusement and pointed at the floor. M/n looked down and was shocked as he saw, that he had no shadow of his own anymore. The boy looked at the entity.
“So...you are my shadow and I made you come to life ?”, the 12 year old asked.
The shadow chirped happily and nodded. M/n was amazed. So that was what his Papa tried to do all this time. The boy felt a bit smug at that moment. He succeeded in that first !
“What’s your name ?”, the boy asked.
The shadow shook its head and pointed at M/n, trying to tell him, that he can name them.
“Oh...you don’t have one....then I’ll call you...Benicio !”
The shadow chirped and smiled, green light leaving its mouth. M/n giggled and then he heard the Basement door creak. M/n eyes widened.
“Turn out the candles, we need to hide !”, M/n whispered.
Quickly the shadow blew out the candles and then grabbed M/n and pulled him into a dark corner of the Basement. The lights were turned on and Alastor entered again. He looked around.
“Cher ? Are you down here ?”, he called softly.
M/n stayed dead silent for a while and his Papa sighed, then rubbed his temple.
“I need sleep...now I am imagining my Son in the Basement at night...”, Alastor muttered and left again, turning the lights off.
The boy let out a breath, he didn’t know he was holding and turned to smile at his shadow. It smiled back at him.
“Crisis averted. Now...how do we get to my room, without Papa noticing ?”
The shadow chirped and then touched M/n, which made the boy gasp, it was cold. Then everything went black and M/n felt the ground shift, then he was suddenly in his room. He looked around in awe and then turned to his shadow with a big smile.
“That was awesome !”, M/n said happily.
The shadow chirped happily and then vanished, not long later M/n heard footsteps and a knock on his door.
“Mon petit (My little one) ? Are you in there ?”
“I am Papa !”
“Can I come in ?”
“Antre (Come in) !”, M/n said in creole.
M/n heard Alastor chuckle as he opened the door.
“You studied creole, mon petit ?”
“Yes ! You told me to study, so you can teach me better !”, M/n replied and held up the book, Alastor gave him a while ago.
The boy was in his Pajamas already, ready to go to sleep. His Papa chuckled again with a wide smile, then he ruffled the boy’s hair.
“Mwen fyè, Pitit gason. (I’m proud, Son.)”
“Mèsi, Papa, sa vle di anpil. (Thank you, Papa, that means a lot.)”
Alastor smiled warmly at his Son and then sat down on his bed. M/n soon enough slipped under the covers.
“So...anything you need before I go to sleep ?”, the Radio Host asked.
“Maybe a story about Grandma and you ?”, M/n asked.
Alastor chuckled, but nodded.
“Alright, Cher.”
Alastor told his Son about the first time he and his Mother cooked together, which was chaotic, because Alastor almost cut himself, trying to chop as fast as his Mother. She almost had a heart attack as he almost hurt himself and scolded him to be careful. He was five the first time he wanted to cook with her. Then he only got the job of washing the vegetables for a few weeks and his Mother taught him how to properly chop vegetables for the future.
As he was done with telling M/n his memory, the boy was already asleep. The Radio Host smiled and got up, kissed the top of M/n’s head and then left his Son’s room, went into his own, got ready for bed and went to sleep too.
-Days later-
The Radio Host was angry and irritated. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t reach out to the entity that could allow him to own Voodoo! He mastered everything his Mother knew, but he wished for more.
‘Maybe another time... M/n needs me...’
If Alastor would have known that he constantly said only one word wrong, he would be ripping his hair out...
While he was in the Basement, cleaning everything up, M/n was with his shadow in a small conversation. The boy sat on his bed, while the shadow just looked at him from the wall.
“So...do you need anything to get stronger, so you can perform more tricks ?”, M/n asked.
The shadow chirped softly and nodded.
“What do you need ?”
The shadow made a thinking face and then shaped carefully into different things. M/n tried to watch it carefully.
It showed food, rest, practices from the book it was summoned from, training with M/n and...ghosts ? No wait...souls !
“You need...souls ?”, M/n asked gently.
The shadow shape shifted back into itself and made a so – so gesture with its hand.
“Wait...you don’t need them, but you CAN take them to grow stronger ?”, M/n tried.
The shadow nodded.
“Does the food have to be real or also a shadow ? Show two fingers for real and one for shadow.”
The shadow showed two and M/n nodded gently.
“Then I will try to sneak some in for you.”
The shadow chirped happily and nodded.
“I think the book will be an issue. I can’t sneak into the Basement and take it from Papa without him noticing, but I can’t tell him about you either. Not...not now at least.”
The shadow waved its hand and made a small noise that sounded like a scoff, telling him that he should leave that worry to them.
M/n, in the end, did sneak food in each time, without his Father really noticing. He was in awe that his shadow could actually CONSUME the dishes. M/n could feel how his shadow got stronger, even if it was just a little bit. His shadow was soon enough strong enough to part from the boy and it stalked Alastor a lot. Each time the Radio Host gave up for the night in the Basement, it snatched the book Alastor used and M/n practiced all sorts of Voodoo Magic in the book, which made them both a bit stronger each time he got better and more skilled.
The spells weren’t much and nothing too powerful, but for small card tricks and quick escapes it was enough.
The 12 year old had a feeling that the both of them will get along just fine. Just...when will he tell his Father about this ?
Oh well, for now he didn’t have to tell him anything...
I see the quote in your bio… and that you do artists..☺️$uicideboy$ angst (where scrim has a son who is like just like younger scrim)?? Pls 😛 and thank you. Your writing is amazing btw :)
-👾
The Ghost In The Garden
Dad!Scrim x Son!Reader
CW: Drugs, but not too many details.
Masterlist
Scott Arceneaux Jr., better known to the world as Scrim of $uicideboy$, never expected to be a father—especially not from a hazy, one-night tangle of sweat and silence in a dimly lit club in New Orleans. It was a night lost in the fog of touring, withdrawals, and stage lights. He hadn’t even remembered her name.
Three years later, a letter arrived. No threat. No drama. Just a short note:
“He looks like you. You should meet him.”
Attached was a Polaroid of a boy with ice in his eyes and a furrow in his brow too heavy for someone so young.
Scott met the child—Leo—and felt something inside him crack open. He’d cleaned up by then, at least mostly. With Sage beside him, soft-spoken and grounded in a way he wasn’t, he started shaping a life for Leo that he never had. One where music was art, not escape. Where pain wasn’t inherited. Where a father’s sins didn’t echo.
They raised him in a quiet part of Louisiana, close to the swamps but far from the demons. Sage homeschooled him for years, guiding him through words and melodies. Scott taught him about rhythm, about how to hold a pen like a scalpel. They wrote verses together. A new kind of legacy.
But at sixteen, Leo began disappearing at night. First, it was once a week. Then it was three, then five. Sage would ask where he went. He’d mumble something about friends. Homework. Skateboarding. But his eyes twitched the way Scott’s used to, and Scott saw it—the lie humming beneath his son’s skin like a faulty wire.
Scott started following him.
One night, under the broken halo of a streetlight downtown, Scott watched his son disappear into a warehouse. Inside: flashing lights. Pills passed in palms. Numb music blaring through cracked speakers. A girl dancing on a pool table with glassy eyes and a bleeding nose.
Leo was there—laughing. Wide-eyed. Spun out on something Scott didn’t want to name.
Scott didn’t storm in. He just stood there in the dark, remembering what it felt like to need the high more than the air in your lungs. Remembering what it felt like to die in slow motion.
The next morning, Leo came home with pupils like moons.
Sage was making pancakes.
Scott didn’t say anything. Not yet. He sat across from Leo and slid a napkin across the table. On it was a verse:
“If I bury my past in the garden,
Will my son dig it up in the dark?
Or will he plant his own ghosts,
Water them with what I left behind?”
Leo stared at it. He knew.
Tears didn’t come. Just silence. And that same heavy brow.
Scott stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don't have to make the same mistakes to understand 'em, man. But if you're gonna walk into that fire, don’t do it pretending you’re cold.”
Leo didn’t say a word.
But that night, he didn't sneak out.
Years later, Leo would put that verse in a track. The beat raw. The vocals cracked. Produced by his father. Mixed by his mother. It would blow up on SoundCloud.
TW: abandonnent (not by fukuzawa), burnout, and implied suicidal ideation
Pronouns used: he/him
Note: this is more of a vent and I used Fukuzawa cause he’s my favourite father figure character.
————————————————————————
“I can’t stop!” Y/N yelled grabbing onto Fukuzawa’s haori, tears streaming down his face.
He needed this to feel purpose. He needed someone to be proud of him. His real parents only being proud of him when they could use his achievements to brag, otherwise he was of no use. Who was once the golden child, is now the burnt out disappointment.
Fukuzawa sighed. He knew there was nothing he could say in the moment to ease the boys pain.
“If I can’t do it then,” the boy sniffled, “then you won’t be proud of me and leave!” He pushed his face into Fukuzawa’s chest.
Amidst all the crying, the boy mentally cursed himself for always needing praise from people. Always feeling like he had to be above all in order to deserve the praise giving by his found father, Fukuzawa. He wasn’t like them but—that lingering voice that said that Fukuzawa would not love him anymore if he wasn’t the best. Failure wasn’t an option. Neither was giving up, even if it costed him his life, and many times it nearly did.
Fukuzawa hesitantly wrapped his arms around him. To others, he seemed to be an emotionless man, and a younger him would have wondered how he ended up in this situation, but this boy was one of few who he had come to love as a son
So he stood there with him and let his tears soak into his garments. He knew that there were no amount of vows he could make that would assure the younger in front of him that he would never hurt him. He knew that the best thing he could do at this moment, was to say nothing and let the boy cry away his burden. Perhaps, Fukuzawa thought to himself, the boy didn’t want a string of broken promises. He looked down when the boy squeezed him tighter.
Fukuzawa knew that in that moment, the younger just needed him to be there. It was not a permanent fix as anyone would have hoped, nevertheless, it brought a comfort to him that no amount assurances would provide.
