SOUL SUCKER!

original character created and written by
     BAT    

• RULES
• MUSE
• HEADCANONS
• SOLOS
• CONNECTIONS

think you could use a new abuser;
close your eyes and listen carefully.

  001.   ooc. written by bat, uses they/them pronouns. adult (21+). friendly but anxious. always willing to discuss plots in dms or simply chat! should there ever be a problem, i'm more than open to talk it through and find a solution. i do not tolerate any kind of discrimination. i'm not getting involved in any kind of drama or cancel culture. please keep in mind that i work full time and have adult responsibilities, this place is my hobby and therefore i won't be online 24/7.  002.   triggers. dark themes. strong language. religious/ blasphemous themes. sexual themes. violence/gore, mental health struggles/illnesses. death/loss. substance abuse.  003.   account. independent oc, fandom-flexible. writing as a versatile/multi-verse character. open to do au-plots. very tolerant and only selective in the sense of keeping my own comfort.muse, writer, face claim are 21+. minors do not interact!

  004.   plotting. i enjoy banter as well as longer story lines. eager to engage in both lighthearted and angsty plots. dark themes are extremely welcome as well, triggers and limits should always be communicated in advance!  005.   relationships. i love building connections between muses whether platonic, romantic, or rivalry-based. i'd rather plot and let the chemistry dictate the dynamic than force it. writing multiverse and multiship, each ship exists in its own timeline, unless otherwise discussed. also open to poly-ships, as long as everyone involved has agreed to it.  006.   lewd. it is welcome as long as there is chemistry and some interactions beforehand. this is not a lewd account, and i would prefer not to have someone enter my dms with the sole purpose of writing smut. lewd themes will be present, but not consistently taking over the feed.

THE DEATH OF JESSE CARSON. jesse carson was a quiet child, full of energy but nobody to share it with. he never learned how to speak his mind, how to voice his needs, because nobody was listening. all he ever wanted was to be held close, to feel loved and seen by his mother.instead, his world was quiet. growing up in an empty room without toys, a life without any connection to other children, only his mothers' guests, who offered him empathetic smiles. at times, their elderly neighbour would take him in. she gave him warm meals, interesting stories and eyes that actually looked at him. she called him smart, polite, a cute kid and a good boy. but even kindness couldn't erase what was waiting back home for him.the house grew strange, shadows moved through the rooms, voices were whispering at night. whenever jesse ran to his mother for comfort, frightened and desperate, she punished him, locked him in the closet where he couldn't bother her. left with his fears, thoughts and whatever unseen things kept him company. jesse had learned not to cry, not to feel. it was easier to be silent than to be hurt for speaking.the only place he felt safe at was the library. there he read about spirits, about the occult, about rituals and all the things that fascinated his mother. maybe if he understood what she loved, he could become one of those things. so he studied, practiced and learned that some of the spirits didn’t want to harm him.jesse learned about the link between faith and fear, between power and worship. he read about cults and those who lead them, how one person could command attention, shape belief and be adored. he drowned in those stories, wanting to be visible, to be adored. he didn’t want to be the boy locked in a closet with monsters. he wanted to become someone else, someone unforgettable. because if no one could love jesse carson, maybe they would love who he became.

as jesse grew older, he began to mirror the very woman who had shaped him. he became reckless, returning her coldness with indifference of his own. with mabel barely around anymore, he had the opportunity to build his future, survival was no longer his priority.
the boy who once craved affection, turned into someone calculating, manipulative when it was needed, seductive, even. jesse understood how to observe, adapt and control the narrative. he was a quick learner, smarter than most his age and knew just how to twist things to his advantage.over time, he developed a deeper connection with the spirits that had haunted him. he no longer feared the supernatural, he communed with it, forming quiet alliances in the shadows.he did not restrict himself anymore, investing in knowledge, identity, power. one path that caught his attention was metal music. he read about its historic ties to satanism, ritual and devotion. a culture once feared, still misunderstood, calling out to him. through music, jesse found a way to express the emotions he buried deep inside of him. his first tunes and lyrics were raw and private, not meant for the world to hear.to most, jesse remained quiet, forgettable. his charm, wit and intelligence hidden beneath his unassuming exterior. he preferred it that way, silently building someone else, someone that could no longer be ignored.in his late teenage years, the inevitable finally happened.his mother had battled spirits before, dispelling them without any issues. but this time was different. the presence inside of her was something darker, something jesse had never encountered before. it wasn’t just malevolent, it was making his blood run cold. terrified, overwhelmed and desperate, jesse did the only thing he believed was left to do.

he ended her life.it was a mess, left him shattered in ways he didn't expect. and if someone were to ask him what truly happened that night, jesse wouldn’t have an answer.was she really possessed? or did he simply want to kill her? had he constructed a story to avoid facing the truth? even jesse himself didn't know the truth anymore. but one thing was certain, jesse carson could no longer exist.he buried himself with that name, left behind in the ruins of his past. from those ashes, he created amo.a man that was everything jesse wasn't allowed to be. a man that was bold, magnetic and untouchable. channeling his knowledge, his disarray into music, writing songs filled with darkness and allure. he created a band, connected with the right people and surrounded himself with influential voices who supported his vision.AMOs debut wasn’t slow nor subtle, they exploded into the scene. a full album, whispered rumours about rituals onstage and occult influence. the media latched onto the spectacle, journalists speculated, followers multiplied.and somewhere along the way, the lines between jesse and amo blurred. even he couldn't tell which of the stories he told others were real and which were carefully crafted lies.but maybe you had to lose yourself completely to become someone new.

AMO: Fueling Rumours and Cult-Like Obsessionout of the shadows of the uk metal scene, AMO bursts onto the stage, shrouded in mystery. the band seemed to appear out of nowhere, but they quickly ignited conversation due to their live performances. thousands of fans chanted along to their songs while the lead singer—also named amo—performed bizarre and questionable rituals under the stage lights. some viewers labelled the shows dark and satanic, sparking accusations of the band brainwashing young listeners. others claimed it was all an elaborate performance designed to stir controversy and boost the band's fame. regardless of intent, the result was clear: AMO was gaining traction.as the buzz grew, so did their fanbase. each song released by the band quickly racked up thousands of streams, and their presence in the metal scene became impossible to ignore. yet, despite their rapid rise, there was an unsettling mystery surrounding them. who was behind AMO?information about the band members was strangely absent from the internet, and many started to believe they didn’t exist beyond the performances. rumours swirled that the band was more than just a musical act; it was a cult, hidden behind a disguise.

.

a deeper secret unravelled when reporters uncovered an unusual connection. amo, the lead singer, wasn't just an anonymous figure from the scene. he was the son of mabel carson, a well-known tv medium famous for her knowledge of the occult and alleged ability to communicate with the dead.curiously, mabel carson had kept her son's existence out of the public eye during her lifetime. but after her death, AMOs rise in popularity coincided with the mysterious figure of amo becoming one of the most searched names in the music world.is AMO a band cloaked in controversy for publicity, or something far more sinister? fans are divided, but the band's enigmatic image continues to fuel their rise. one thing is certain: the story of AMO is just beginning, and no one knows where it will lead next.

  spirits    —  he became sensitive to the presence of spirits, recognizing their signals and finding ways to connect with them through specific objects. amo wasn’t sure if this ability was inherited or the result of his efforts to mirror his mother's spiritual practices.amo knows he's never truly alone. he exists in a space between two worlds, aware of the weight of unseen entities around him.over time, he’s found that certain substances help dull the intensity of these experiences. the drugs act like a filter, reducing static, blurring the boundaries between the physical and spiritual, giving him a sense of calm and distance from the overwhelming sensations he can never escape.navigating between what's real and what's not keeps challenging him. for amo, the best way to confirm his reality is through physical pain, to bleed. to see that he is real, flesh and bone.

  connections    —  amo has a restless nature when it comes to human interaction. he tends to find most people unworthy of his attention, often losing patience with shallow conversations. his social engagement is selective, always calculated.however, when someone does manage to catch his interest, his focus shifts entirely. he’ll become obsessed, analysing every detail of their personality, even if that means presenting himself in a carefully crafted guise to draw them closer, he does so effortlessly. but this fixation never lasts; over time, even the most captivating people tend to lose their appeal to him.this cycle of attraction, fixation and detachment is a recurring pattern, explaining his difficulty with long-term emotional investment.

  social media    —  even though amo grew up in a world heavily influenced by media, he never felt much of a connection to it.spending hours in libraries as a kid taught him to appreciate the analogue. he writes down all of his thoughts in notebooks, he even has an entire shelf filled with them, pages full of ideas, lyrics, sketches, things he considers worth holding on to. he also enjoys writing letters by hand, whether it is to his friends, fans or followers. for him, it feels more personal, creates a real connection.social media never appealed to him, the idea of constantly sharing your life online doesn't fit with the mysterious image he's building. he still has trouble understanding how it all works, but figured out how to utilize the band account to post updates, leave cryptic messages or share puzzles for his fans to decode. he also figured out how to post selfies of himself, enough to keep people interested, to draw attention to himself without getting caught up in the addiction of online affirmations.

  tattoos    —  amo’s tattoos share a similar placement to oli’s, covering almost every part of his body, but are mostly in black and white. their meaning is entirely different, the designs are intentional, pieces of a puzzle. together they form a bigger picture; his plan, his beliefs, his legacy.his body is covered in spiritual symbols, energy marks, protective signs and runes, all wrapped up in individual designs. it is all related to his personal beliefs, the spirits he talks to and is connected with. each tattoo is an unseen secret, holding a lot of meaning. if you really take a closer look, you can see a story unfold across his skin. it’s like a visual manifesto, carefully chosen, symbolic, purposeful. similar to the stage outfits oli wears.but a lot of things stay similiar. his palms are tattooed as well, but it would rather be something like their band logo instead of oli’s original tattoos. the blackout tattoo is there as well, possibly representing a part of his past he had outgrown, or a belief he has moved on from. some things stay the same, like the tattoos on his face.there's ink on every part of his body, but every design is chosen carefully and intentionally.

  apartment    —  amo’s apartment feels like stepping into the mind of someone who's always thinking, always creating. his apartment isn't chaotic, but also isn't minimalistic, it's curated. everything has its place, sitting there for a reason.he barely uses the ceiling lights, sticking to little sources like amber floor lamps, leds tucked behind shelves and a few candles here and there. one can tell he's spent time making the lighting feel just right.there's a mixture of digital and analogue, tech needed for producing music, cables and instruments standing in the room surrounded by stacks of books on the floor and in shelves, looking used, bookmarked and annotated. there's always something playing in the background, whether it is a vinyl or his spotify playlist.his spiritual connection is mirrored in each room, the slight scent of incense, dried herbs and materials, tarot cards, a ouija board that serves the purpose of keeping an old cabinet standing straight.his apartment holds a lot of things. surfaces are cluttered in a charming and organized way, drawers stuffed full but labelled. amo’s desk is always a mess, but just functional enough for him.his kitchen holds mismatched mugs and ceramic bowls, a lot of herbs and different teas. hiding a few smart devices between wooden counters and and handwritten notes on the fridge. there's a lot of cozy space to live, to eat together or to cook.beside the living and studio rooms, the bedroom is his most sacred place. it is naturally darker, intimate, with heavy curtains and a big bed covered in different pillows and layered sheets. there's a notebook ready on the nightstand, for when he wants to turn dreams into reality. the majority of his clothes is stowed in a big wooden wardrobe, but some of them are draped over the back of a chair. it is always quiet, always safe.

a glimpse of his past.’hello, jesse.’ — ‘it’s amo now.’
he was in his early twenties, though he carried himself in a way that made him appear older, taller, greater. a strand of hair fell loose from where he had tucked them back behind his ears, a way of taming his long, unruly curls. it brushed against his cheek and softened his facial features. his voice carried a confidence he didn't quite believe, an air of uncertainty surrounding him, showing in the way his lips tightened into a thin line, unsure if he should take back the words already spoken.‘amo, right. you’re really doing this?’
his hazel hues narrowed, a faint frown pulling at his features, the tension slipping into his body. the boy's shoulders hunched, a nervous tug at his sleeves as he pulled the soft knit of his sweater over his fingers, hiding them as if the fabric offered protection.‘isn’t this what you wanted?’
silence.
then slowly, a grin unfolded across the face of the man opposite him. a smug, knowing curve of lips that carried the arrogance of someone who believed he could read minds. the kind of smile that suggested he held the answer to every question worth asking.the urge to rise from his seat, to push his palms against the glass between them surged in his chest. but that kind of attention was the last thing he needed. instead, he forced his anger down, clenching his jaw until the muscles ached, shoving his hands deeper between his thighs as if to cage them, to keep them from betraying him.‘no, this is what you wanted.’ the moment he was about to part his lips to reply in protest, he was immediately shut down. ‘you knew about the consequences. you see them right in front of you.’the man appeared to be in his forties, his dark hair threaded with silver that seemed more prominent now, as though the past few weeks had conspired to age him twice as fast. the collar of a white shirt peaked beneath the heavy, dark blue fabric of a prison jumpsuit. his wrists were hidden, out of sight, but the metallic rattle of shackles were enough evidence of their existence. a sound that weighed on the silence between them.‘you’re being unfair.’ — ‘life is unfair, amo.’
tears well in his big eyes, clinging to his lashes as he blinked hard, desperate to get rid of them. that action only made the redness bloom faster, spreading from the rim of his eyes to the flush across his cheeks. a small sniffle escaped him, a betraying crack in his composure, a single tear rolling down the curve of his face.‘keep yourself tog—’ — ‘fuck you!’
suddenly he was on his feet, the chair screeching backwards across the floor as though startled by the sudden fury. the sides of his fists struck the glass with a loud thud, eyes locked on the man seated calmly on the other side. the man that didn't flinch, didn't speak, only sat there in silence, utilizing it as a weapon.the heavy steps of guards closed in fast, strong hands tugging at arms. his breath caught, anger shrinking to regret in an instant. he stumbled back, words falling in a rush of apologies, his feet retreating as if distance might erase the outburst. they can't take this away from them. this is all they've got.and the man's eyes?
they glistened, as though some unspoken weight lay behind them, but his mouth curved into a smile, unsettling in its calm.and amo?
his whole body trembled, nails digging into his palms with such force his knuckles turned white, crescents of broken skin blooming beneath the pressure.‘read the books. work on yourself. this isn't over yet.’
but amo couldn't catch the words, they slipped past him. all that filled his mind was the execution, dulling everything else until nothing existed outside that inevitable, inescapable moment.

.