🏳️‍🌈One shots for: Radiodust and Chaggie🏳️‍🌈 (Request Open)

What goes around comes around

Important AN!!: Hey guys! This is a lil idea I had in the back of my mind for a while, and I decided to type it out. A very big trigger warning with the n-word (racial slur). This takes back to the 1920's where racism was obviously still a colossal issue. Unfortunately, I've been a victim to bigots and unfortunately slurs, specifically aimed at my skin color (coal, burned brown egg, this is my favorite one: burned meat ball, and unfortunately much worse). Anyways, in this one-shot, Alastor is a victim to this and the KKK unfortunately makes a unsettling appearance. I advise you not to read, this is just something I wanted to get out of my head. Also, the art is something I did a while back, I have a very different perspective on how Alastor would look. 

⚠️ Warning ⚠️ 

Racism!

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Shuffling of clothes could be heard from behind him before a kick landed into his chest.

​ "Sirs, I advise you to stop" Alastor coughed out, blood splattering into his light chocolate colored fist.

Another kick to Al's head left his glasses broken and shattered, some glass shards sticking to his soft skin.

In New Orleans, Louisiana the tall trees always swayed with the wind. Some of the people that lived in the city called them "dancin' greens", mostly because it did seem like the trees were dancing with the music that was always playing. The music, oh the music. Alastor could go on and on about the wonderful music that would bless his ears. He could dance all night long with his mother, singing in their charming Cajun accents, laughing at their slip ups and such. On nights like those, Mama LeBleu (Alastor's mama) would cook her famous jambalaya. It was so addicting, she would have to almost snatch Alastor away from getting another bowl. But on one of those evenings, a knock on the door interrupted their laughter. 

"Alasta, be careful, it minh' be da Klan." Mama LeBleu called out, hiding in one of her rooms, a weapon in hand. 

"Ok mama" 

Alastor had be trained enough times to know how to talk and act around whites. 'Perfect and A-1 like this' he remembered what his mama told him as a child. Al's skin wasn't a deep brown to the point of where it hurt him, but it was brown enough to tell someone of his roots. A deep carmel is what his mom liked to call it. He walked towards the door, a shaking hand hesitating to turn the doorknob. He slicked back his hair, it trying it's best to mimick straight hair. Alastor sighed and cracked open the door, but not enough for the visitor to see him. Sure enough, he'd seen those white robes, and pointy hoods. 

"How are you doing tonight sir?" A member called out, Alastor couldn't see which one it was, but he honestly didn't care. 

"I am doing just fine. I am spending some time with my wife, and we'd like to get back to that." Alastor replied, saying it perfect and A-1, sounding just like a radio host. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he held his breath until they said anything else. 

"Yes brother, please keep her way from the slaves, they'll steal her away and breed her! May the lord cleanse this world of those niggers" The leader exclaimed.

 Alastor couldn't take it. The names they would call his people, the dehumanizing language, the attacks and unlawful killings. He took the shotgun near the door, and loaded it up slowly. Alastor threw open the door and shot the men, each one in the head. Red stained their impure white clothing. Alastor laughed psychopathically as the gun shot off round after round. The trees seemed to shake at how loud the gun was. Conveniently, his mother lived on a small hill, not having any neighbors mostly due to the fact that no one liked the location. 

"Didja get them?" Mama asked, stepping into the light.

"Yes mama, I did. They dead now ma" Alastor turned back towards her with a smile. 

"They should be a nice dinner for tonight" 

"And what if we don't nigger?"

That word brought Alastor back to reality. He was being beaten in an alleyway, behind his radio job. 

Oh, how he hated that word. That damned word. It was filled with hate, and wickedness. It only hurt people, and made them feel weak and pathetic. It held so much history in it's grasp, and it could be said by anyone who was wicked enough to say it. But Alastor could only lay there, and take the kicks and pain. 

Alastor was obviously going to kill them later, there was no doubt. But he had to plan it, and make sure everything was in place before he did. Oh, he was going to have much entertainment torturing them for weeks and weeks on end. Their pleads for mercy, and maybe, if they were cocky, some insults. 

"Oh, you'll see soon enough" Alastor spat out.