#ignore the pixels in papas face i tried :(

[cardi-c]

30/∞ ghovie gifs

[one-trigger-lullaby]

The Breaking of Aizawa Shouta-An Erasermic traitor AU

Everything felt pixelated and mix-matched—he felt dizzy and over-stimulated as if he had just been pulled from a deafeningly loud room and dropped into an abyss of silence. His ears felt like they were clogged with water and as his head moved—he could move it, that was something—it felt heavy and weighed-down.

The dizziness seemed to linger, subsiding slowly and washing away his sense of self. His ears tuned in, the hollow sound of nothing being replaced with the loud, buzzing quiet of an empty room.

It took him a moment, maybe a moment too long, but eventually, Aizawa gained his mental bearings enough to force his glued-shut eyes open. His heart stuttered at the blackness that met him as his eyes creaked open, his years-long fear of going blind due to quirk over-usage coming in hot for a split second before he blinked, his eyelashes brushing against something pressed against his face.

He was sitting raised above the ground, his legs at a right angle and his feet flat against the floor without constraints binding them. Unfortunately, the lack of mobility and acute discomfort in his shoulders told him that the same couldn’t be said about his arms. Twisting his wrists, he recognized the feeling of his constraints to be similar to that of the anti-quirk cuffs police departments in Japan used to apprehend villains.

There was no give to the metallic cuffs—steel and copper laced with obsidian and mercury—that kept his hands close with his palms facing away from each other. He’d never had a good experience wearing these things and it didn’t seem like this situation was going to be the one that broke the cycle.

Though his heart was a rapid hummingbird in his chest, his breathing was even, if a bit long. This wasn’t the first time he’d been abducted and though it would be entirely wrong to say that he’d gotten used to it, he definitely hadn’t, it became a bit less startling after the first several times.

A door slamming echoed around him and the sound vibrated unerringly in his ears. He kept deathly still as he heard the sound of footsteps treading into the ground, coming closer and closer to him at a leisurely pace.

His body tingled and twitched as his kidnapper stopped in front of him, close enough for Aizawa to feel the warmth coming off of the person. It made his skin crawl.

His shoulders tensed as he felt something touch the back of his head.

He felt pulling at strands of his hair as his kidnapper fiddled with the blindfold that they’d gotten tangled with his hair at the back of his head. He was frozen, not even breathing until the violating hands pulled away and the blindfold fell with them.

The room he was in wasn’t too much brighter than the blackness he found behind the blindfold, so it took only a brief moment for his eyes to adjust.

“You look so cute when you’re confused.”

Aizawa froze. He felt like his heart had stopped beating, like he’d stopped living the second that voice met his ears. Usually a comforting caress, the voice was like a jackhammer to his head. His eyes were wide as they stared down and off to the side, he refused to look up.

No.

Aizawa had to force himself to calm. This had to be a fucked up joke. Some villain’s idea of fun—

(”Aizawa, I love him, too, but…” Ms. Joke shook her head, her voice was drenched in misplaced sympathy. “…you have to admit it’s kind of weird.”

Aizawa glared over the hem of his scarf where he was hunched. “No. Hizashi wouldn’t betray UA,” wouldn’t betray me, he didn’t say, “they’re coincidences.”

Ms. Joke looked at him with something akin to pity. “Aizawa—”

His eyes were hard and cutting as he narrowed them at her. “He isn’t the traitor.”

He started past her, unwilling to hear any more, but she wasn’t finished. “Are you willing to bet your life on that? Hitoshi’s life?”

He didn’t pause. “Yes.”)

“Aw, come on, Shouta, look at me,” Hizashi said in a sing-song tone, the same one he used when he tried to convince Aizawa to go out on the weekend.

He steeled himself and slowly turned his head. Some part of him wanted to close his eyes and shut out what he knew he was going to see, but he didn’t. He refused to.

At first, he felt a flood of relief because he didn’t look like Hizashi. Then, just as quickly as it came, the relief fled and horror overcame him because he didn’t look like Hizashi.

The face was Hizashi’s, that was undeniable, but his hair—quiet nights spent with his head in his lap, brushing out the long, beloved strands—was chopped short, barely sticking out beneath the black baseball cap shoved onto his head.

(”A hat? That would ruin my hair! I would never!”)

Even in the dim light, his green eyes stood out to Aizawa. If everything about this wasn’t so wrong, they would look just right. But as it was, Hizashi’s grin was just a tad too wide and his eyes just a tad too cold.

Hizashi’s face shifted into a pout. “Don’t look at me like that, Shouta, why do you look so sad?”

Aizawa grit his teeth. “Who are you?”

Hizashi paused and quirked a brow. “What?”

“Who. Are. You?”

There was a stillness as Hizashi met Aizawa’s glare with surprise. After a moment, a grin pulled up the corner of his lips. In another, the blonde was throwing his head back with a boisterous laugh that echoed.

An ugly feeling curled into Aizawa’s chest as he watched the blonde laugh. It was so familiar yet so distinctly un-Hizashi it left him deeply unsettled. Hizashi wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Oh, wow, Shouta, gotta say, I knew you were funny, but.” He giggled again. “Do you really love me that much?”

(”I love you so much, Shouta.”)

Aizawa felt a burning build behind his eyes and he had to firmly remind himself that this wasn’t his Hizashi. His Hizashi wouldn’t do this. His Hizashi wouldn’t use their relationship to taunt him.

He wouldn’t.

Aizawa didn’t respond and Hizashi hummed. His hands rested behind his back as he started to pace back in forth in front of Aizawa with leisure. “It’s sweet, you know? How devoted you are to me. How stupid you are for me.”

Hizashi barked out a laugh. “I mean, seriously. Everyone told you it was me. Everyone. But you, you poor little orphan boy, you were so convinced that you knew me best that you ignored all of them. It was amazing!”

He stopped short and bent down to look Aizawa square in the eye. The dark-haired man recoiled, his lip pulling up into a snarl. Hizashi reached a hand up and drew his rough thumb over Aizawa’s cheek, over the gaping scare, like and yet unlike he had hundreds of times before, whispering reassurances into the night. He clicked his tongue. “You were so in love, weren’t you? So happy.”

He removed his hand and straightened again, resuming his pace.

“Why?” Aizawa grit out between his teeth.

“Why?” Hizashi hummed in reply, tapping his fingers against his chin. “Huh. I guess…I guess it’s because I hate you.”

Aizawa jerked. He couldn’t stop himself from reacting, from feeling like the words had been a physical blow to his person. His self-doubt reared it’s ugly head and his mantra of it’s not Hizashi, it’s not Hizashi, it’s not Hizashi was becoming less and less effective as time went on.

(”Hate you? What? Shouta…I could never hate you. It’s not your fault; I don’t blame and I will never, ever, ever, hate you. I couldn’t.”)

“It’s not really just you, I guess. I hate all heroes I just hate you a lot more.”

Hizashi pressed his fingertips together, exposed by fingerless gloves, as he thought. He made no move to elaborate on his answer, though, so Aizawa pushed forward in an attempt to prove that this wasn’t Hizashi—That this man wasn’t his husband.

“What will Hitoshi think?” Aizawa asked as the realization came to him. It was a crushing weight, the thought of how devastated Hitoshi would be if this was actually Hizashi—it wasn’t, it couldn’t be—how devastated both he and Hizashi would be if someone posing as Hizashi killed him.

His beloved blonde would blame himself and live the rest of his shorter-than-average life thinking that Aizawa had believed him to be the traitor, believed that he had betrayed his family.

Which was why Aizawa had to retain the knowledge that this man wasn’t his lovable husband.

Hizashi’s mouth moved into a small ‘o’ shape. “Oh,” he said softly, nearly a croon, “that’s why we’re here, Shouta.”

“What?”

The smile that came upon the blonde’s face was devoid of friendliness. It was cold and cruel, sadistic. “What? Why do you think I’m doing this now? Why would I go through all of this effort just to blow my cover at the last second? Unless someone else was going to blow it for me, of course. Hitoshi always was too smart for his own good.”

It took only a moment for his mind to unscramble and his blood to freeze in his veins. “What did you do?”

“Do?” His eyes were wide with glee. “I thought Hizashi would never do anything to his beloved son.”

“He wouldn’t,” Aizawa hissed, knowing this to be true from the bottom of his heart. Hizashi would do anything for Hitoshi, Aizawa had seen it. “And I don’t know who the fuck you are,” Aizawa said lowly, dangerously, “but if you put a hand on my son I will rip you apart.”

“Scary,” Hizashi murmured teasingly. He came to stand in front of Aizawa again, looking down on him. “And what will you do? When I tell you what I did? How he screamed.”

It’s not real, he’s lying, it’s not real, Hitoshi’s fine, he’s trying to make you upset. It’s okay.

“Well, for a while anyway. Until I cut his vocal cords out of his throat.” The blasé way in which he said it disgusted Aizawa. Even if he’d done it—because he hadn’t, Hitoshi was fine—an average person wouldn’t talk about the torture of an innocent teenager so easily. “You should’ve seen him, Shouta, when he realized what I was doing. He called for you, screamed at the top of his lungs for his papa for as long as he could. You should’ve seen his face the second he realized you wouldn’t be coming for him. The betrayal.”

The image seared itself into Aizawa’s mind without warning, the look of terror Aizawa had only ever seen on Hitoshi’s face once and had sworn he would never see again. “No.” He couldn’t mask the tremble in his voice. He swallowed and breathed slowly through his nose, reminding himself that Hitoshi was okay. He had to be.

“Oh, yes,” Hisashi hissed gleefully. “Do you remember last month? When we took that family trip to that onsen in Osaka.”

How could he forget? It was the first family trip they’d taken out of the city. They had pictures up on the walls of their apartment of various precious moments they’d had on the trip, all of them happy and having fun. His favorite was of Hizashi holding Hitoshi bridal style, Hitoshi’s face a stubborn, flaming red.

(”Smile, princess plum!”)

Aizawa swallowed, a clump forming in his throat.

“I’ve never seen you laugh that much in my life, Shouta. Truly, it was amazing. I was so glad to see your dreams of a perfect family being realized because I knew how sweet it would be to see how much this crushes you.” He pulled back, a sly look in his eyes. “I could taste how heartbroken you would be when you found out that I was the one who caused USJ. Who helped the villains take Bakugo. He was supposed to die there, you know, but I guess that was my mistake. I didn’t think you would find him so quickly. No mind, though, dear Hitoshi made up for it with his own life.”

“You didn’t,” Aizawa grit out. “You couldn’t—”

“Oh,” Hizashi pulled back suddenly. “I couldn’t? But, Shouta, I could.”

The earrings pierced into Hizashi’s earlobes gave a dull shine as he resumed pacing once again, his finger sticking up into the air. “I told him you were visiting your mother in Kyoto, by the way, he was so worried for you and her, asking if everything was okay. I gave him a biiiig ol’ hug and told him everything would be alright. And then? And then I pushed him to the ground and held him down by the throat.” He gave a single, dry laugh. “’Daddy, daddy, why?’ he cried. Pathetic. And then I dug a kitchen knife—the one you always use to cut bacon because it has a long handle—into his throat.”

“He lived, though. I didn’t cut into his trachea,” He continued, mindless or perhaps uncaring of the horror he’d imposed onto Aizawa. “He lived and he cried. Tried to tear his own throat out, at one point, tried to end it himself. I let him have my phone, told him he could send one last text to you. In the end, he bled out, his thumb only half way through sending ‘I love you’ to your phone. Tragic, really.”

“No,” Aizawa choked, unable and unwilling to think about his son in such a state. Unable to think about someone wearing his husband’s—Hitoshi’s dad’s—skin to do those things to him. He shook his head obstinately, his throat closing on a mound of terror. “No.”

“Oh, you still don’t believe me?” Aizawa couldn't associate the crazed look in the man’s eyes to his Hizashi but he didn’t know what the hell else to do— ”Then how about I show you?”

It was the second—the very moment that he saw his son’s corpse, dragged by his hair behind his husband with his throat in shreds, that his heart gave in and his stomach gave out and everything disappeared.

~

“Stop it, stop the fucking simulation!” The glass in front of Yamada’s face trembled at the strength of his barely-restrained voice.

People were rushing around on the other side of the pane, trying to find a way to safely disconnect Mind Shatter and Shouta who had begun violently convulsing in his chair. Yamada could do nothing but watch on helplessly, his eyes flickering back and forth between the real Shouta and the Shouta on the monitor to his right.

The Shouta that thought he’d killed their son.

Hitoshi’s grip on his arm was tight and unrelenting. His distress was concealed, but Yamada could feel it radiating from him. “You would never do that,” Hitoshi mumbled confidently.

His heart warmed. No, he wouldn’t and, as much as it hurt knowing that some of his friends thought that he would, he was glad to hear that his son knew better.

“You didn’t. You couldn’t—” Yamada was drawn back to the scene unfolding before him, not-him moving away from Shouta.

“Oh, I couldn’t? But, Shouta, I could.” Yamada felt tears burning his eyes. He didn’t know how his husband had managed to keep it together. He knew it was fake and he felt like his heart was being torn out of his chest.

“I told him you were visiting your mother in Kyoto, by the way, he was so worried for you and her, asking if everything was okay. I gave him a biiiig ol’ hug and told him everything would be alright. And then?” God, no, don’t continue. His Shouta was tough, but his heart was soft and this would destroy him.

“And then I pushed him to the ground and held him down by the throat.” Not-him laughed and it made Yamada feel nauseous. “’Daddy, daddy, why?’ he cried. Pathetic. And then I dug a kitchen knife—the one you always use to cut bacon because the handle is long—into his throat.”

Yamada wrapped an arm around Hitoshi’s shoulder and pulled him in close. He didn’t know if the teen was allowing the contact because he knew Yamada needed it or if he needed it himself, but he was grateful for it as he pressed his nose into his son’s fluffy purple hair.

“He lived, though. I didn’t cut into his trachea,” The terrible man continued. “He lived and he cried. Tried to tear his own throat out, at one point, tried to end it himself. I let him have my phone, told him he could send one last text to you. In the end, he bled out, his thumb only half way through sending ‘I love you’ to your phone. Tragic, really.”

Yamada squeezed his eyes shut, tears slipping past them and down his chin. He knew what kind of hit that was; Hitoshi had only ever said ‘I love you’ to either one of them a grand total of three times. It was just another stab to the heart.

“No.” Shouta sounded so scared, already trembling as if he’d lost everything.

Because he thinks he has, Yamada realized with a sharp pang to his heart. He really wished Shouta had listened to him when he’d told him not to put himself through this.

“We can’t disconnect them, yet!” Someone, Mind Shatter’s handler, called out.

Yamada jerked forward. “Why the hell not?!” Shouta was going to have an honest-to-god aneurysm if this continued.

She gave him a helpless look through the glass and shook her head, pigtails waving around her face. “It’s gone too far. It shouldn’t be much longer before it’s done playing out, but we have to wait.”

He was about to ask further before he remembered the briefing he and Shouta had gone through before they agreed to this. They’d been told there was a certain cut off point, Yamada just felt like there had to be something—

“Oh, you still don’t believe me?” Yamada heard his own voice say. His eyes were drawn back to the screen, watching as Shouta was clearly trying his damnedest to keep himself together. “Then how about I show you?”

Yamada felt everything in him stop and as he saw himself walk off screen, only to hear a heavy dragging. He pulled Hitoshi closer with a swiftness he rarely utilized and pressed the boy’s face to his shoulder. He was glad the teen didn’t fight him on it.

He didn’t know what he would do if his beloved son had to deal with the image displayed on the screen before him for the rest of his life like himself and Shouta would have to. He felt nauseous, absolutely sick.

He—because that was him, wasn’t it? Even if it wasn’t—was holding Hitoshi, an exact replica of the boy Yamada held in his arms now, by his unusually limp purple hair, a smear of gore following the boy’s heels. His copy didn’t even look apologetic as he presented the corpse of their son—

(”Hizashi, I want to adopt him.”

“He isn’t a cat, Shouta.”

“I know.”)

—to Shouta who Yamada knew loved Hitoshi more than life itself.

Yamada could see it on his beloved’s face the second he realized what was being shown to him. He looked like his entire world had been disintegrated right before his eyes.

On-screen Shouta’s eyes rolled back into his head and Yamada’s Shouta’s convulsing had reached a boiling point. The poor man was shaking so hard he’d have flipped out of his chair if he weren’t firmly strapped to it.

“Unhook them!” Yamada yelled even as he saw Mind shatter’s handler already beginning the process of disconnecting the wires that attached Mind Shatter and his husband to the monitors.

Yamada pulled Hitoshi by the arm as he speed-walked over to the door on the side of the room he’d been forced to watch the proceedings from.

“Present Mic, sir—” Someone tried to stop him, but he just pushed them out of his way and brought both himself and his son through the door and into the bright white room.

They'd gotten an unconscious Mind Shatter removed from her seat and were already carrying her out while others had managed to get a still-seizing Shouta onto the floor where they held him securely.

Yamada moved immediately to aid in holding his husband still so he wouldn’t hurt himself while Hitoshi had his palms on either side of his face to hold his head, his jaw tense and his eyes grim.

Soon, the fit subsided and Yamada’s husband stilled. People started to stand and walk away, one muttering about a medical crew being on their way. “He should wake up in a minute, um, we’ll give you some time,” Someone said. Yamada paid them no mind, deciding to put his trust in their expertise concerning Mind shatter’s quirk being far greater than his own.

Yamada and Hitoshi watched with bated breath and Shouta’s eyelashes fluttered. His neck twitched and Yamada worried for only a moment that he would start seizing again before the man’s eyes shot open, red and wild.

The first thing Shouta seemed to focus on was Yamada which, in hindsight, wasn’t the most ideal situation. The panic and horror that settled onto Shouta's face, a look Yamada had never, ever seen equated with himself, was like a butcher knife to the heart.

Shouta was on is knees in a flash, scrambling away until his back hit the wall with betrayal and hurt etched into his face. His hair was raised like a spiky black crown on his head, sharp and frazzled.

“Shouta,” Yamada’s voice was soft and calm, “do you remember agreeing to let Mind shatter test you? For Nedzu? None of it was real, baby. None of it.”

His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes scanned Yamada's figure up and down before leaving him completely and locking onto Hitoshi who had stayed entirely still and silent, watching with caution as the scene before him played out.

It was like the air fled out of Shouta all at once. “Hitoshi.” The relief in his voice was palpable.

Hitoshi started forward, kneeling to envelope his father into a hug. Shouta gripped him tightly, his hands shaking as he pressed his face into his son’s shoulder. He let out a shuddering sigh and his hair relaxed around his shoulders.

Yamada had never seen Shouta look so small, so vulnerable and, for a moment, he hated himself for doing this to him, even if he wasn’t the one who really did it.

I should’ve fought harder against it; I knew it was a bad idea and I let it happen anyway.

As much as he ached to hold his husband, Yamada stayed back. He hated being so far away and utterly useless, but he knew that if he had just gone through that Shouta had, he’d want a moment with his son.

Shouta sniffed hard and when he moved his head up to look at Yamada he wasn’t teary-eyed but he seemed terribly close to the brink.

Shouta removed one of his arms from Hitoshi and held it out. His voice was gruff and choked when he said, “Come here.”

Yamada didn’t waste a second, striding over to the two people he loved the most in the world and falling to his knees, drawing them both in for the tightest hug he’d ever been a part of. He wasn’t nearly as strong as his Shouta, no, he cried like a baby.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. It felt like an obligation, this well-deserved apology.

Shouta’s hand gripped his hair like it would fall off. “It wasn’t you. I know you would never do that to me."

No, he wouldn’t, not ever, but wasn’t it terrifying to know that he could?

AO3

[elkfeast]

PART. I / II / III / IV tw: violence, blood + suicide ! * also has depiction of wwi / trench warfare.

    ❛ somebody, somebody please ! ❜ dry tears and disheveled hair masking prominent cheeks as his legs finally collapsed from underneath him, rosary cradled against his chest and body shaking in uncontrollable shock. the battle was over. the battle had been won but among the men that had survived one was missing and Alastor willed himself to stand as he reached for his rifle and stumbled around the trenches out of balance. a voice called, a comrade coming over to place their arms around their form and point towards sanctuary and the truck waiting. ❛ Alastor come on, we have to leave ! there’s nothing else here. ❜

    the redhead clutched the man’s uniform, blue eyes begging. or were they green? there were too many tears. ❛ Carmichael, i need to find Carmichael please, he’s... my brother. my brother he’s only fourteen please, please help me. please help my baby brother, please... ❜

    Rogers shook his head, taking off his cap and wiping his forehead at the recent discovery. a boy had been holding the line all this time? fuck. fuck these bastards. he nodded, raising a hand to the truck to wait up before nodding to his brother in arms. ❛ ...jesus christ, fuck, fuck that’s a kid... ok, ok. let’s go, we’ll search the field maybe he’s... you know, he’s a smart kid. he probably hid beneath a body or, or something... yeah. okay, let’s go. ❜

    following close behind the brunette Alastor climbed the ladder. emerging from the trenches he screamed into No Man’s Land and sprinted across the empty battlefield taking one side as help covered the other. he was thorough, but not careful. he didn’t care whether there may be any landmines or slumbering grenades. he just ran. when he tripped against a corpse or slipped against mud he got back up and crawled if he had to. he screamed into oblivion until his voice no longer held its disguise. if the other men were to hear him now he wouldn’t care to stop them if they began questioning his identity. what matters now is...

    ❛ oh my god, Carmichael. ❜ tears come to his eyes again, legs carrying him to the unrecognizable splotch of red hair among the dead. tears of joy overwhelming him as he collapses upon the dirt and takes his brother in his arms, crying into the other’s shoulder who for a lack of a better word remains ever so quiet. pulling back to stare into the other’s face Alastor brought a finger to the other’s lips as they tried to speak. proceeding to shrug off his backpack he placed one arm around his sibling and stood, heaving both himself and the younger man up.

    Carmichael felt incredibly light but the sudden strength could just be from adrenaline and excitement. he carried him back to the trenches and saw Rogers’ expression turn from hopeful to horror. ❛ Alastor, i’m so sorry... ❜

    ❛ no, what? what do you mean don’t be stupid, i found him. we can bring him home ! ❜

    ah. the other man understands, and with a few solemn steps forward he ushers for the other to let go of the dead. ❛ we’ll bring him home but, he’s gone. half of him is missing. ❜ so that’s why Carmichael was so light. Alastor said nothing after that. but he did lose his sanity that day ; making sure that as the rest of the surviving platoon slept that night on the boat home that none of their captives would make it back to America.

    and somehow as his new world stopped spinning and came to a halt the events of World War I were but a distant memory. handled against his will, dragged across the floor in an explosion of concrete as he held the wrist that gripped his throat and choked out a gasp when his back met the wall. his vision doubled, cranium taking too much damage in a momentary daze. Michael’s breath is hot against his face as Alastor felt the pressure of the archangel leaning in. ❛ you shouldn’t have interfered. ❜

    ❛ well, you can tell God that he can go fuck himself. ❜ dagger unsheathed, Alastor drove it into the angel’s heart. time seemed to stand still for a moment as a pulse of energy swept across the room matched with blinding light. and then Michael was gone and Alastor caught himself on his knees, coughing and heaving for air.

    try as he might to look up his head felt heavy and he crawled his way to the fallen television ; angelic spear protruding from Vox Populi’s chest. ignoring the pain Alastor shook his head, fighting back tears as breathing only seemed to get harder. speechless as the other craned their head weakly to their direction and flashed them a pixelated grin. ❛ shit, i’d be mad but... this isn’t a bad way to go. ❜

    ❛ please don’t go. please, Vox don’t say that. please don’t go. ❜ resting his head gently against soft shoulder pads the Radio Demon shut his eyes and pleaded silently, cradling what was left of his apprentice. he didn’t cry when he felt the soothing motion of metallic fingers stroke his hair or his face. he didn’t cry when the other’s breathing slowed and became nothing. he didn’t even cry as he came to his knees again and touched the blank screen before him ; catching his reflection in it.

                                                                                                  ❛ wake up. ❜

    when no one answered, that’s when the tears came. like a gunshot wound to the gut Alastor couldn’t breathe. dainty claws shaking to the extreme as claw tips caress a television frame. the tears kept falling, drenching the empty void of Vox Populi’s screen with sorrow and loneliness. he couldn’t breathe. oh, god he couldn’t breathe ! he... he... she just cried.

    long red hair and a tear stained face. why did her brother lie? what point is there serving a war that would only end in misery? she comes home and her pretty freckles are slapped right off her face. mother’s nail scratching the bridge of her nose as she runs up the steps and throws herself onto her bed, crying herself to sleep. when she woke up at night she knew she had to do something.

   she cried as she took a pair of her mother’s best shears and looked in the mirror. this isn’t for mother. this is for her brother. by dawn she’s made herself unrecognizable, dressed in her deceased father’s clothes and on the boat to war. her mother’s mark is healing but it’s a scar that’ll be there forever even as it fades.

    the trenches are wet and the rain keeps pouring. she’s afraid that her platoon may drown if their ditch overflows with water but her captain reassures her. still she cries and misses home. misses mom. but even as she desperately tries to light a wet match she decides to cry but stay strong. she isn’t going to die until she finds her brother. hell, she’ll bring him home. she promises herself that.

    she cries at her first gunshot wound. the fucking bastard got her right in the shoulder. by some miracle a medic says she’ll heal over time but she knows she’s one of their best snipers. who thought that learning how to hold a gun with papa would become a dangerous career? she tells the medic to pour alcohol on the wound and she screams. she shoots clean head shots that day.

    she cries when she finds her brother as another platoon joins her’s. her identity is kept secret between them but they hug and cry together. he tells her that he too misses home but that the final hour is among them. they’ll get to go home soon.

    but she cries when fourteen year old Carmichael’s hand slips from her grip and she sees him running across No Man’s Land to set off the detonators because no one else can. the last she hears until she blacks out is an explosion that shakes the earth and tosses her body against rock, knocking her out.

    and she cries when her eyes fall upon her brother’s corpse. she can’t breathe. oh god, she can’t breathe and Rogers just holds her as she screams to the Heavens. then as she sets foot back on America she forgets how to cry. she changes her name legally and never comes home.

    she becomes Alastor and when he takes the life of a blonde haired and blue eyed handsome fella’ during the month of rain he can only taste sweet revenge against the German bastards that took away his brother. but the hobby becomes a career and the night that he’s taken to the woods and shot at the back of the head becomes phase three ; he becomes the Radio Demon.

    but right now, she’s crying and she spots her rifle. one more bullet. in her heartbreak she reaches for the gun, positions it under her jaw and as the doors burst open with Lucifer and Rosie rushing in their hearts stop when Alastor pulls the trigger on himself and collapses in an unmoving heap.

                                               the Radio Demon is no more, or so Alastor thought.

[fernlomwrites]

Chronicles of Tenaria: Split Plans and Wrong Ideas

Issac and Tommie darted through the city, people running away in terror from the commotion at the mayor’s office. As they reached the hall, they noticed the ground and surrounding buildings covered in the black glitched pixels. “Ah crap” Issac stopped, looking forward to the corrupted Mayoral office building. Standing in front was a figure with a head of flames. “Error 53, this is really not the best time for this” Tommie groaned. She stared at the glitch, it's head a grinning jack-o-lantern bathed in a green pixelated flame, dressed in a purple flannel shirt and old jeans with hands and feet of straw. “Oh come now my precious little feline friend, I know of the two newcomers of this world, I felt their presence enter. I also know what they have done to your precious fathers. I wish to offer my assistance, for a fee of course.” “Please, you won’t be of any help to us you disgusting waste of hard drive memory space. “ Issac scoffed at the villains offer. “We’re goI got to go find DOTcom, he is actually a useful computer program come to life.” “Words are hurtful you little shit. Well they would be if I was pathetic and mortal like you idiots. But alas, I don’t care enough about this world and what happens to it to truly help you. Though I was serious in my offer to assist you both in freeing your pathetic fathers. “ “You describe us as pathetic, and how many times have we defeated you?” “Truly none, because here I still stand.” Error 53’s sarcastic tone sent shivers down Tommie’s spine. “Ok, listen you little freak of a computer virus, we have bigger problems in the world right now than you, so we are going to keep going, and someone else can kick your ass and fix this mess you made.” Tommie clenched her fists as she spoke, clearly annoyed. “This poor city. What has Salsburg ever done to you?” Issac asked, his arms outstretched to the damage done to the nearby tal buildings. “To me personally? Existed. I don’t care about the things I destroy, I just destroy: Tommie rolls her eyes. “Call the OFFkeys? Ask them to sort this out?” “Oh yah, you know Eric loves fighting him” “Are you two ignoring me now?” “Yes we are, now shut up while we make a plan!” “I can just teleport them here, just give them a call first so they expect it.” “Agreed.” “Oh my me, can I just kill you both already?” “You couldn’t even if you tried jackass!” Error 53 placed his head in his palms. … “Virus extraction attempt three” Stephan stood at his control table, goggles on. His hands worked fast flipping switches and turning nobs. The enclosure that held Hood filled with a purple gas. Hood roared and slashed at the mist until the room had been completely filled. He continued roaring, until the roaring switched to coughing and eventually nothing but the sound of a body hitting the floor. “Removing gas from room” Justin began working at his control station, quickly pulling dials and pushing buttons as Stephan furiously took notes. Quickly the gas was removed from the room, laying at the center was Hood, face down, the glitches gone from his body. “First look?” Stephan asked? “I see no more of those strange marks.” Ishmael replied, looking into the enclosure. “Awakening Subject: EDGE now” “We can’t let him know we called him that.” “I know, he’d like it too much.” Justin and Stephan laugh to themselves. Stephan flipping a single switch, a loud boom echoing through Hood’s enclosure. He woke up with a jump, quickly standing to his feet. “Where the hell am I? Where did that evil Justin go? Wait, Ishmael? Is that you?” “Hello Guardian. You are safe” “Begging cleansing process on Subjects FURRY and REDNECK” Justin called out, activating the necessary protocols. “These subject names are horrible bro” Stephan chuckled “I can’t believe I agreed to them.” “So, you guys gonna let me out or what?” Hood asked, knocking on the glass, “I have bad guys to beat up.” Ishmael rolled his eyes, opening the enclosure for Hood. Hood yawned and stretched, stepping out of the glass room. “So, where is my son?” ‘Going out to warn everyone and gather reinforcements.” “Ah” Hood turns and looks at the other two gas filled enclosures. “So, who else did he get?” “Well, it turns out it's not just an evil Justin. The Stephan from his world is here too.” “What? He said he killed him using his powers.” “Well, unlike you, Stephan was able to use the glitches for himself. And well, he used them on Aaron. Then, Mal right?” “Yah, he calls himself Mal” “Ok, Mal used it on Vet, he kind of just passed out though.” “Huh, so what does Evil Stephan call himself?” “Trojan” Stephan answered, flipping the switch to pump out the glass. “Hey Little Bro, good to see you” Stephan smiled “Good to see you too big bro” “Ugh, where am I?” Aaron groans and stretches, his tail fluffed out. “Hey Big bro, “ Justin smirks “good to see you bright eyed and bushy tailed.” “Shut up Justin” Aaron laughed, standing up straight. “Where's that evil Stephan?” “We don’t know, probably still in Tartalgia honestly. I hope the Tartalgia brothers didn’t try taking him on themselves.The last thing we need is them taken over.” Hood remarks, opening the enclosure for Aaron and Vet. “Agh, thanks Son” Vet steps out, cracking his knuckles. “I better call Sam, have him bring the TAURTOS around for me.” Aaron steps out. “Can you guys let Issa Tommie know we’re back?” “I will” Ishmael nods, stepping out of the lab. Vet follows behind. “Well, this week sure will be interesting” “Aren't they always?” “Oh no, we’ve had boring weeks.” “Name one!” “Well, a couple months back, we had an entire week without incident, Error 53 was still piecing himself back together from the deepest pit of the deep web we banished him from, and Fatality went into hibernation.” “Oh yah, that was a very boring week.” “My point exactly” … “Ok, let me get this straight. “ Kujo leaned against his welcoming desk at Tartalgia Inn, “There is an evil version of Justin and Stephan running loose somewhere in the world, and Hood and Aaron are currently mind less monsters.” “Yah, pretty much” Issac replied, taking candy from the welcoming bowl. Kujo smacked his hand, “Hey!” “Candy is for the children of guests only” “My dad stays here all the time!” “Are you a child?” “...” Issac looked away, Tommie rolled her eyes, “So, we just are going around, warning everyone, so you guys know, mind letting your brothers know?” “Yah sure, I’d be glad to help.” “Thanks Kujo.” Kujo nods, Tommie and Issac turning and walking out. “Good, the Tartalogia Brothers know now, The Shattered Six know, though they are currently helping the Fivefold with their Prince problems. And the OFFKeys are fighting Error53 in Salsburg. “ “Well,” Issac pops a root ear candy in his mouth “Apparently Error53 has Xalarn helping him again so the OFFKeys have their hands filled.” “Ugh, alright, and DOTcom is taking the TAURTOS to go check on Vet and see if he can help.” “Should we head back now then?” “Yah,” Issac snapped his fingers, opening a portal before them back to the lab. As they stepped through, they saw Hood and Aaron talking to Justin and Stephan. “Huh? Issac!” Hood rushed over to his son, hugging him tightly. “Good to see you again my boy!” “You aren't;t a monster anymore!” Issac laughed, returning the hug. Tommie pounced Aaron, pinning him on the ground with a tight hug, “Papa!” Aaron and Tommie purr together loudly, hugging. “Wait, Ishmael went out to find you guys, did he find you?” Stephan asked, worried. “Huh?” Issac looked up, “No, we never saw him” “When did he go out?” “I’d say, a few minutes before you guys showed up.” Justin answered. “Then i’m sure he’s fine.” Issac replied. “I don't know, I Hope so.” … Ishmael walked through the streets of Tartalgia. People happily walked along the path. He smiled enjoying the fresh air. “Ishmael?” Kujo walked up to him. “What are you doing here?” “Looking for Issac and Tommie, Hood and Aaron are fine now.” “They just left, back to the lab with Justin and Stephan” “Hmm, good. So you know of the threat?” “Yah, evil Justin and Stephan.” “Mal and Trojan” “Whatever” Ishmael chuckled. “Good, Be careful then” Kujo nods “of course.” Ishmael nods in return, turning around and walking away, his grip firmly on his spear, though everything felt calm, he knew to never let his guard down.