#mention of minor death

[isjasz]

// In stars and time spoilers (of the game mechanic that is in the trailer and in the game description LOL)

[Day 288]

More isat au but guess what quote i can use >:33333333333 LETSGOOOOOOOOOOO (Also yeah introducing what the game is about for those who dont know HEHEHHEHEHEHE)

[ladykailitha]

Grief (A Friend Indeed) Part 7

And now you see why I waited until I had this part written before posting the last one? That was one hell of a cliffhanger. Also everyone gets a dig at Al in this. It's family bonding event. But Steve has the best burn I think.

Just a heads up, Steve talks about being abused...heads up if that's a trigger for you.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

***

Steve placed his hand on Eddie’s back the second he felt his friend stiffen next to him.

“Deep breath, Eds,” he murmured. “There is nothing he can say to you that I will let him get away with, okay? Deep breath. Let me and Wayne handle this.”

Eddie let out a deep breath. “Just careful, Stevie. He’s been known to charm snakes out of their skin.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. So that’s the kind of man he was. He knew that kind of man intimately. His own father was like that. He knew what to watch for now that he had been forewarned.

He plastered a solemn expression on his face, that to everyone who didn’t know him well enough would think sincere, but to Eddie and Wayne, they could see the hard set line of his jaw as he kept one eye on Al and the other on the proceedings.

The funeral wrapped up and everyone lined up to throw dirt on the now lowered coffin. Al tried to get directly behind Eddie, but Steve seamlessly inserted himself between them.

Al bristled but the portly man next to him coughed and he was forced to back down.

Finally the family was all that remained as they all walked back to the church.

The portly man stuck to Al like glue and Steve felt a sudden warmth for the boys in blue at that moment. Because he was pretty sure that even though Al Munson had been granted a furlough, someone was paying to keep that man on a short leash.

The family and a small handful of friends arranged themselves on the pews and waited.

It wasn’t too long until a funny little man with thick bottled glasses came hurrying in.

“I’m sorry Mrs Nelson,” he twittered to Penny. “I had a hard time getting to the church.”

Penny just nodded. “It’s all right Mr Mulbury, you’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

He walked up the pulpit and put his briefcase on it. He pulled out a piece of paper of it and then walked back around the pulpit, leaving the briefcase where it was.

“Ehhm,” Mr Mulbury coughed. “The last will and testament of Gina Munson goes as follows...”

He read it out, people getting little trinkets and things that were meaningful to them, instructions on what to do with her clothes and other things that wouldn’t be given to friends or family.

And then it came time to divide up her meager savings. “My savings of five thousand dollars will be divided three ways. To Penny, you get a thousand to repair that lovely house of yours. I know you didn’t want anything, but use it for your family, dearest girl. Love you all the best.”

Penny laughed a watery little chuckle. She shook her head fondly.

“To Wayne, you get two thousand dollars to finally get that motor home you always wanted. When the time is right, retire and see the world like you always dreamed of. See the stars, my beautiful boy. You deserve stars.”

Wayne teared up, coming down in rivers down his face. Both Steve and Eddie hugged him tight.

“To Allen, who had squandered every good thing he every had, his loving wife, his devoted son, his talents and his good sense, you get nothing. You deserve nothing. If you are here to hear this, I hope it is because the state of Texas deemed it so, and not because you have been set loose again on the world.”

There was a gasp from those gathered and they descended into harsh whispers as they wondered aloud who got the remaining two thousand dollars.

Mr Mulbury cleared his throat. “Instead the remaining two thousand will be given to your son, Edward. Through your actions that boy has suffered so, and because of your actions he will receive not only the money, but all my love as well. Live your dreams, Eddie. Be that star for your uncle. Shine brighter then even that of Polaris. Butterfly kisses into the sunset, darling boy.”

Now Eddie was crying too. Two thousand wouldn’t get him far, but it could get him started. He raised a shaking hand to his quivering lips. Steve grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it.

Eddie looked over and Steve mouthed, “you deserve it.”

He nodded back.

Finally there were some other little things to be wrapped up in the will and then it was all over.

Everyone stood and Steve looked over at Al for the first time since they entered the church. The man had a smile plastered on his face that sent chills down Steve’s spine. Whenever his father wore that expression it meant trouble for someone, usually Steve.

They mingled for a bit, waiting until Penny’s friend came back to tell her that dinner was ready for them. Penny, Wayne, Steve, and Eddie all clustered together while everyone else gathered in other groups.

People were coming up and telling Eddie how much he deserved the money and how much his grandmother loved him. It made Steve puff out his chest in pride.

Finally Al came over and all four of them stiffened.

“Eddie, my boy!” Al greeted warmly. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you. You’re spitting image of your old man.” He lifted a handcuffed hand with a jaunty little wave. “I’d hug ya, but I’m on a bit of a leash.”

Penny bristled. “I paid good money for that leash, I’m glad to see it working.”

The men turned to her in shock.

“Did you know,” she said through gritted teeth, “that the state of Texas was going to let him come to the funeral without a guard to make sure he didn’t escape? And that you actually have to pay for that service?”

Al grinned. “Ah...Penny-elle-oh-pee, you shouldn’t have.” His voice dropped low and menacing. “You really shouldn’t have.”

The portly man nudged him with his elbow. Al straightened up, his charming mask firmly in place.

Wayne shook his head. “Al, Al, Al...you never did know when to fold and when to call.”

Al turned to his brother for the first time. “Big brother always watching out for everyone and never getting ahead. How much they pay you at that workhouse? You know the one, the one that took Dad’s life?”

Wayne grinned. “Pretty good considering we union’ed up about five years ago. Which would have known if you actually read any of the letters I sent you. Just like you would have known about what Eddie looks like now...”

Steve hurried to cover his snort, but Al whipped his head his direction.

“And who the hell are you?”

Steve eyed him with a raised eyebrow. “Steve Harrington, my mother is Sophia Kincade, of the Lexington Kincades and a good friend of your son’s.”

Al turned to Penny. “Why he is here with family?”

Wayne bristled. “This is the boy that saved your son during that major earthquake we had earlier this year. Another thing you’d know if you’d read my damn letters. He deserves to be here just as much as you if not more so.”

Just then Penny’s friend came in and told them that dinner was ready for the family.

Al ran his tongue over his teeth and grinned. “Hey, Bernie, how much time have we got?”

The portly man looked at his watch. “We’ve got about an hour before we have to leave to catch our flight.”

Penny furrowed her brow but knew she couldn’t deny him dinner as much as it grated.

The friends that had been at the reading made their goodbyes and soon everyone else was filing into cars.

Penny and her family in her blue Chevy, Steve, Eddie and Wayne in his BMW, and Al and Bernie in an unmarked Crown Vic.

They get to the house and the scents of a home cooked meal waft from the open front door.

They all go sit down at the table, Danny and Wayne pulling out two more chairs for their unwelcomed guests.

Steve was disappointed to see that not only was there enough food to feed Al and Bernie, but that there was enough food to feed a fucking army.

Penny’s friend’s name is Lucy and her daughter Beth is one of Lauren’s friends, too. They’re both blonde with bright blue eyes and curvy bodies.

They are bustling around the table making sure everyone has enough food.

About half way through dinner Al speaks up. “So you still playing that guitar of yours, Ed?”

Eddie stiffened. “I’ve got a red NJ Warlock that I play now.”

“Ooh...fancy,” Al whistled. “You steal it?”

Lauren and Wayne bristled, but Eddie scoffed. “No, but I did steal an RV once while on the run wanted for murder, but they were a bunch of pricks anyway.”

Wayne and Steve stifled a laugh while the rest of the family looked as though they weren’t sure if he was telling the truth or not.

“Cleared of all charges,” Steve added with a sly smile. “Court ruled it extenuating circumstances.”

It was Eddie’s turn to hide his smile in his napkin.

Al’s mood darkened. He didn’t like being out of the inside joke. “You gonna do anything with the talent I gave ya, teaching you how to play on that beat up ‘ole six string?”

This time Eddie rankled. How dare AL imply that he had anything to do with his ability to play guitar? As if the real reason wasn’t sitting right there at the table.

Steve put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, calming him.

“Was that before or after you taught him how to hotwire a car?” he asked, faux innocence.

Al sputtered.

“See, I always got the impression,” Steve continued, “that instead of teaching Eddie how to play guitar or throw a ball you were too busy trying to make sure your son followed in your footsteps straight into the penitentiary.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide with barely contained glee.

“While Wayne on the other hand,” he said scratching his temple, “was working hard to put on the table, get Eddie through school, and give him the best life he could given the hand you dealt both of them. Now, I’m just some outsider, but I know what it’s like to have a shit dad.”

The room was stock still. Steve didn’t think that they were even breathing at this point, but he pressed on.

“Didn’t fit into the box he built? He hit me. Didn’t get captain my sophomore year, something that had never been done ever? He hit me. Didn’t date the right girl? He hit me. Ditched my asshole friends? He hit me. Now, I don’t know if you’re cut from the same cloth or not. I don’t give a fuck. But you tell another lie like that one to these honest folk, and Officer Bernie here will be taking you back to Texas in a body bag.”

Al jumped to his feet, but before he could even twitch Steve’s direction Bernie whipped out a taser and zapped him with it. Soon he was doing a different kind of twitching.

On the floor.

Bernie began clapping and soon everyone else was too.

Steve blushed. “To think I could have been like that asshole if it wasn’t for getting some sense knocked into me by people who actually gave a damn. I’m sorry he ruined dinner.”

Penny scoffed. “Dinner isn’t ruined. Wayne, Danny please help the kind officer take out the trash.”

Officer Bernie chuckled. “Much appreciated, ma’am.”

Wayne and Danny stood up and helped him take Al back into the Crown Vic.

Wayne went through and made sure that Al didn’t steal anything or had anything that might be a danger to the good officer. He never had trusted Al, even as kids and he sure the hell wasn’t going to start now.

Soon the officer was on his way and the family sat down to eat the dinner that was so wonderfully prepared in peace. Like Gina had always intended.

Wayne smiled at Steve. He was proud of how he had stood up to Al for his boy.

****

Pt 8|Pt 9|Pt 10|Pt 11|Pt 12

Tag list: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @emly03 @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @vecnuthy @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @gutterflower77 @genderless-spoon @hel-spawn @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @mamafaithful @yikes-a-bee @dragonmama76 @flaming-reauxster

[trans-queen-administrator]

During the talk with Phir Sē, it comes up that he has a daughter when he tells Taylor about how keenly aware he is of what he could be sacrificing to kill Behemoth.

And it's very odd to me that she's a hero, when her father is one of the men so monstrous that he's used as evidence for why the PRT should stick around. It's almost like the stereotypical superhero show plot where the plucky protagonist hero learns their dad is Doctor Evilman or whatever, but this is Worm. Later in the conversation Phir Sē reveals that he sacrificed family before in a similar scenario

And I can't help but feel that him sacrificing his wife and sons is connected to his daughter being a hero? Like imagine being her, and seeing your dad refuse to save the rest of your family because of the greater good. He could effortlessly step backwards in time but he stands there while their corpses cool instead. That could definitely crack a rift between them and cause his daughter to join the heroes in a desperate attempt to prove that you can save everyone. Hell, I could even see her dad letting her family die being a trigger event. And she's specifically one of the bright and popular heroes, one of the campy flashy ones like Mouse Protector. How much of that is because she can't bear to let herself be anything less than the ideal of a hero, because she can't stomach the thought of being someone who has to make a sacrifice like her father? Phir Sē says he'll live the rest of his life down in his bunker mourning her if he fails, but I think he's already been doing that. He's been consumed by the guilt of who he left in the past and how that ruined his only tie left, and he wants to do something that justifies his existence. If he kills Behemoth, the world celebrates, people are saved, and maybe his daughter will talk to him again. If not, he keeps living as he always has, alone and crippled by the weight of his actions.

I wonder how he felt, in his last moments. The bomb didn't kill the Endbringer, and Behemoth hunted down his bunker and killed him. He had to have seen that it survived, and while maybe he didn't fail so hard he vaporized the country, he didn't redeem himself, he didn't save anyone. He'll never know that his actions weakened Behemoth enough for Scion to finish the job, from his perspective he lost. I wonder if his daughter survived, and if she knows what he did to tip the scales of the battle. Would she even mourn him, assuming he caused her trigger and she knows he let her family die?

He liked Weaver because she reminded him of himself with her ruthless pragmatism and ability to make the hard choices, while also reminding him of his daughter with her idealistic nature. I think he saw a version of himself in her, one that didn't end up isolated in a bunker with no family left. One that has hope and still kept the humanity he feels he lost. She talks to him about working together with others, communicating, and he doesn't think it's something that's possible, he thinks humanity is a "wretched, petty species" and that infighting and lack of coordination would prevail even against an Endbringer. And I think he's right in thinking Taylor is like a younger version of him, because that's exactly what happens during Gold Morning until she makes them work together. He would feel vindicated, seeing Khepri.

Honestly I really wish he survived, he's such an interesting character and I would love to see more of him beyond a single random Tohu face. Most of this is headcanon but like, I think it fits pretty well, so who knows maybe it's the intended subtext.

[dreamsteddie]

There is something so beautiful and melancholy about the idea of failed rockstar Eddie who was on the verge of being a major hit but ended up giving up his dreams because he didn't like who he was turning into.

Eddie who leaves Hawkins behind as quickly as he can and dedicates his entire life, every waking moment, to building up his music career. He sleeps on couches for years, staying with whoever will take him in for a night or two in exchange for a bump of coke or joint from the remains of his sizeable Reefer Kick stash. He carries everything he owns in the back of his trunk. Amp, wires, guitars, clothes, etc and basically converts it into a portable practice studio.

He plays every gig he can get his hands on. Playing as a last-minute substitute guitar or base for any band that calls, playing for pop bands and punk bands alike until he convinces enough people to join up with him and start a new metal band.

With the band comes more stability, for a while. They share a cramped two-bedroom among the five of them. Writing and jamming every day, going home to smoke up and decompress.

Just over four years after Eddie lands in the city, they play their first real show. A show at a respectable, if small, bar venue with people in the audience there to see them. People sing their songs and dance to their music. It's not sold out, not even close really, but it's the start of something big, they can all feel it. That night they go out to the club around the block with a couple of people who came to the show and party harder than Eddie ever has before. He wakes up with that distinctly fuzzy feeling the next morning that tells him he dipped into the harder drugs the night before, something he hasn't done since he learned his dad passed three years ago.

It scares him. He can't remember anything past walking into the club last night. He doesn't remember anything he did or said and desperately hopes he didn't do anything weird with a fan, but he brushes it off. Tells himself it was a one-time thing, a celebration of their success. They deserved to let loose, right?

Except it wasn't a one-time thing. In fact, it turns into an almost every night kind of thing, and as their fan base grows what feels like overnight, the parties grow in intensity with them. They play their hearts out on stage, eventually selling out all of the smaller local venues and moving on to the larger, more serious ones. The occasional disagreement over music between the band members turns into larger, more personal arguments. Eventually, they reach Fleetwood Mac Rumors Era levels of drama. Everyone is sleeping around, the drugs are out of control, and they can't hardly stand to be in the same room together anymore, only pulling it together enough to go on stage at the end of the day.

Eddie lives that handful of years in a daze. It can mostly be attributed to the copious amounts of alcohol he's turned to to cope with the stress, but he uses his fair share of snow to keep himself in the creative spirit too. It feels inevitable when he reaches a kind of low he doesn't know if he can come back from.

Eddie wasn't a saint, but he has always sworn off meth. It was the thing that killed his mom. He remembers the way she'd wasted away, the days when she seemed crazed, and how sorry she was to him when she stabilized. The regret in her eyes when she looked at him. But when he's asked if he wants a needle all he can think about is the prospect of spending the rest of his life stuck with this band full of people he can't stand and people who can't stand him if the record deal they've been negotiating goes through, and it feels like it will.

Thinks of what all his hard work will mean if it doesn't.

He says yes.

Wakes up the next day starfished in the alley of an apartment he doesn't recognize staring up at the little sliver of blue sky he can see between the fire escapes and weeps. He's become exactly the kind of person he never wanted to be, some asshole almost rich guy laying in a damp alleyway all alone with no real friends.

Eddie lies there for an hour just thinking. Trying to remember when the last time he called Wayne was. Thinking of all the girls he slept with when he probably shouldn't have, when they were both too fucked up to make the right choice. Thinks of his mom and dad.

Tries to remember the last time he made the world a better place to live in instead of contributing to the filth.

He gets up and leaves. Leaves it all behind. Gets in a taxi to take him to where his van is parked by the venue from last night. Frantically takes everything out of the back and leaves it on the street. The only things that remain are the few keepsakes he brought with him to the city and his acoustic, the one his mom left him and Wayne helped him paint. The amps, his sweetheart, and the performance wear all get dumped on the side of the road and then he's jumping into the front seat and stearing himself toward Hawkins.

Hours of driving leads him back home to Hawkins Indiana, the one place he promised never to return. Hawkins has seen a boom in the last few years, it seems. More shops, a bigger main street. He even spots a proper cafe. It all feels less haunted than he remembers. More people, fewer familiar faces. The trailer park, though, looks almost the same as it did the day he left, right down to the sight of his uncle lounging on the porch, waiting patiently for whatever comes next the way he always has.

Wayne doesn't ask any questions, not right away. He just scoops his nephew up in his arms and holds him in the cool morning air. He always knew his nephew better than anyone else, never needed words to know when he needed his uncle to help hold up the weight of the world.

And that's how Eddie finds his way back home. It takes a while for him to feel well enough to face the world again. A mixture of detoxing and coming to terms with the feeling of starting back at the beginning, like the last six years of his life didn't even happen leaves him licking his wounds in his partially empty childhood bed. It looks the same way it did when he walked out the front door.

When he does come back to the world, he starts small. Stepping out on the porch to share a cup of coffee with his uncle feels like one of the hardest things he's ever done. Maybe the most important.

He's proven right when he steps out to find he's not the only guest his uncle is entertaining this morning. Another resident of the park has already claimed the second chair as his own.

Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington who never made it out of Hawkins but also never regretted it. Who's made a small, happy life for himself here in the trailer park after his parents kicked him out for good when he turned 20. Who works part-time under the table at Miller's Mechanic and collects disability checks for the lost leg and minor brain damage he got from a car accident at 21. Steve Harrington who keeps his uncle company and makes sure he has everything he needs, taking care of the other residents in the park to the best of his ability doing easy car maintenance, babysitting, or just offering company to the more lonely residents.

Steve is so different from the guy Eddie vaguely knew in high school that he might as well be a stranger. They all sit and talk together for the entire morning, laughing and sharing stories. Steve never asks about where he's been or why he's back and Eddie wishes he could tell Steve how much he appreciates it.

Before Steve heads back he asks if Eddie would like to come over after he gets back from his shift. Asks if he wants to drink a beer and watch a movie. Eddie is quick, maybe too quick judging by the sympathetic look Steve sends his way, to turn down the beer and scoop up the movie invitation like the precious thing it is. There's something about Steve that soothes his soul. An easy connection between them that Eddie hopes they both feel.

Steve kisses him that night, slow and easy like they've been doing it their whole lives. Like they didn't basically meet for the first time this morning. Like Eddie hasn't been in denial about his sexuality for his entire life. Eddie cries at the warmth it fills him with. Steve just cradles him by the cheeks and lets him. That night Eddie doesn't go back to Wayne's. He lets Steve drag him to bed and hold him close. Lets him tangle their legs together and breathe warm air into the crown of his head until morning.

Steve shows Eddie how to live a life without dreams. A life without ambition but full of love and comfort. A life without plans, but with the knowledge that every day someone who loves you will kiss you when you wake up and hold you through the night.

[thefanciestborrower]

The Devouring of Prometheus

Ohh boy this fic has been over a year in the making and by golly am I proud of it. It was mostly an attempt to imitate Mary Shelley’s writing style while adding more classic lit vore into the world cause oh boy do we need it. This fic is a little darker than my usual fluffy stuff because. You know. It’s Frankenstein. But everything is still safe despite what Victor thinks. Anyways, please enjoy and let me know what you think!

Warnings: Contains soft, safe, unwilling vore, mentions of digestion, mentions of dying, mentions of cannon character death, minor injury, and vomit

Characters: Victor Frankenstein and the Creature

Word Count: 2,830

Mankind has no greater fear than that of being devoured. It is an instinctual fear, engrained deep within our very beings from the moment we are born, as it is in every living being, and yet it is perhaps one of the most uncommon fears to experience in its true, unaltered form. We are quite familiar with the notion of being killed and eaten by a wild beast, since such a thing, while not terribly common in the more civilized parts of the world, is often talked of in books and by explorers returning from long voyages to strange, wild lands. It is a threat to be sure, but perhaps not the most fear inspiring one. A hungry lion might indeed pounce upon you with his teeth and claws bared as if to shred you to ribbons while you lay awake in agony, but in truth he is far more merciful than even most men and will end you swiftly with a bite to the neck before he ever starts to feed. The fear of being eaten in this way, then, is diluted by the promise of a swift death at the claws of a creature who bore you no more malice than you do a butchered duck. 

The terror of being consumed lies not in the act of consumption, but in the method. Stories full of giants and ogres who devour men whole and alive fill the countryside and take captive the minds of all who hear them, filling their dreams with images of gnashing teeth and slavering mouths, capable of sending a grown man down, kicking and screaming, in a single swallow. I must confess I never heard much of these tales growing up, aside from a few Clerval was so fond of telling, and when they did reach my ears, I simply scoffed, laughing such frightening images away in the clear light of day when nothing could seem more ridiculous. They were children’s tales, I thought, simply meant to frighten and entertain, for nothing, man or beast, could swallow whole a living man. Oh, how I wish I had been right. 

He came for me in the night. I was asleep, or nearly so, when a sudden noise at my window startled me awake. At first I assumed it to be the scratching of a branch or perhaps even some night creature making its rounds through the garden outside. After all, I was far more unfamiliar with the Oxford landscape than my dear friend Clerval, who had spent much of his afternoon exploring the grounds, so I felt there to be no need for concern. Indeed, I had nearly turned over to drift back to sleep when I saw his eyes. Those wretched, sunken, yellow eyes staring as if into my very soul through the dusty window I had neglected to lock in my naivety. I might have screamed had fear not grasped my throat and strangled my voice, and though I longed to run, terror turned my legs to lead and forced me to watch as the fiend pried open the window with a delicate ease that seemed almost laughable compared to the rest of his hulking mass. I pulled my sheet up to shield my chest like a child might, entertaining fantasies that perhaps this was simply a nightmare, and if I remained still in my bed then he would be unable to harm me, but when he began to climb through the window with the elegance of a lion stalking his prey, eyes never once leaving me, panic settled over my heart and I realized this was no mere conjuring of an overworked mind. The beast was here, looming over me in my chambers as I trembled in bed with naught but a thin sheet and even thinner night clothes to protect me. 

“Devil! What do you want from me!” I cried at last, terror loosening her claws from my throat. “I have not forgotten our agreement, so why do you insist on tormenting me so!” 

I received no reply, the beast more than content to simply stare at my trembling form. Perhaps he enjoyed how weak I must have appeared before him as his eyes flicked over me, almost sizing me up for reasons I could never have comprehended in that moment. Cold and yellow as they were, I could see an inkling of some mysterious emotion behind those eyes, but it’s identity I couldn’t say. Nor did I care. My thoughts were quickly preoccupied as he advanced upon me, padding forwards like some great and terrible cat, until he stopped just shy of the side of my bed, so close I could have reached out and touched him. 

Again, I saw that strange emotion flicker behind his dead eyes, but before I had time to ponder it he wrapped his hands around my chest and lifted me from the safety of my bed with terrifying ease, like one might lift a small child or a doll, and while I screamed and writhed in his hideous grasp, his hold only tightened. My ribs creaked and complained under the pressure and my cries became strangled and choked. With a ghastly popping sound he opened his grotesque mouth, jaw hanging at an angle too wide for any human to achieve, and to my upmost horror he quickly stuffed my head inside with the terrifying efficiency of a ravenous beast. The slimy muscle of his tongue lapped against my face and my body convulsed in disgust as I desperately fought not to be sick. Revolting as my situation was, I did not wish to add my own vomit to the mix, even if it might have disgusted the fiend enough to free me. 

I could see nothing but darkness, each desperate gasp for oxygen only supplying me with the barest sliver of foul air. Teeth ringed my neck like a terrible collar, and for a moment I entertained ideas of those teeth, the very same I had picked and sorted by hand, crashing together to sever my head from my body like some terrible executioner. Before my thoughts could spiral much more in this direction, his grip changed and I was suddenly shoved against the slick, fleshy opening of his throat. My blood curdled and, with a sudden, crushing pressure, my head was crammed downwards in the most painful manner which caused me to cry out in despair. My skull felt as though it would shatter, and I screamed a horrible, terrible shriek of agony and terror as my shoulders were crushed down after me, the tight gullet of the beast threatening to break them into splinters. My vision swam, stars of pain and lack of breath sparking and dancing before my eyes, and though no light followed me into my hellish prison, I could still see the blackest pitch wavering at the edge of my vision, threatening to drown me in its inky embrace. For a moment I wished it would, if only to keep me from the terrible suffering I knew lay before me, but fate is a cruel mistress and before I could sink into that comforting ocean of darkness a terrible pressure bloomed upon the crown of my head and forced me into an open pocket of stinking, putrid air. 

Coughing and gaging I struggled to draw even a single breath. My ribs, now horribly compressed, creaked and shuttered terribly under the pressure of the creature’s throat, and though my legs still flailed outside, and my hands desperately scrambled for a hold on what I felt to be his chin, I did not dare move the length of my compressed torso for fear of inflicting more damage upon myself. Another painful swallow jolted me down, my face jamming roughly into what I presumed to be the bottom of the creature’s dreadful stomach, and the grotesque flesh not only yielded to accept my presence, but did so with an almost pleased sounding groan, if stomachs can be pleased, as if I really were simply a morsel of food to be consumed and forgotten. The sound filled my heart with a terror I’ve never known, and I cried out, though my voice was quickly silenced by the slick flesh as more of my body was squeezed through that terrifically tight ring of muscle and forced to bend and twist to fit my new prison like some sort of contortionist. 

I know not how long it took the devil to consume me: the darkness of my surroundings and constant pain dulled my senses and left me disoriented to the point where I no longer could even tell up from down. I remember no longer feeling the cold air on my body after some time, my entire being now encased in sweltering heat, and searing pain as my legs were crushed down against my ribs. Finally, it was all over. My entire body had been fully compacted into the creature’s stomach, and although this new development was arguably a much worse position than my previous one, I was far too preoccupied with gulping down precious lungfuls of oxygen to care.

Then, all at once, the reality of my situation came crashing down upon me and with the fervor of a cornered beast I began to lash out and fight, twisting and turning in the confined space in hopes of causing my captor at least the slightest bit of discomfort. 

“Fiend! Devil! Release me at once!” I panted, gnashing my teeth in fear and anger. “This is no way to treat any man, let alone your maker!”

I had no doubt that he could hear my cries and feel my struggles, confined as I was, and yet no answer came. Despite the nature of my location, I was completely and utterly alone, for what man pays attention to his food after he’s eaten it. Again, I tried to call out, to plead for release as I fought against the smothering flesh, and again I was ignored, save for a light pressure against my back from which I hastily jerked away. It was his hand; I knew it instinctively. The brute was no doubt relaxing after so fine a feast of human flesh, and that touch was nothing more then the satisfied gloating of a predator now sated with a filling meal that would last him far longer than any morsel of bread or wine. I was merely something to be enjoyed, digested, and forgotten.

 How many more, I wondered, would be lost in the same way once I had perished. Clearly my current location indicated my captor had grown fond of the taste of human, and with a heart wrenching shudder I suddenly realized I had no way of knowing wether I was the first victim of the monster’s appetite, or if he had already glutted himself with other gentle country folk, just as he had done to me, and I was now resting in their grave. The thought was too much for my already distraught and troubled soul, and the disgust which filled me suddenly became too overwhelming to sustain. With a thick heave I proceeded to retch onto myself, my sick mixing with the beast’s own bile, and I sobbed bitterly for my home. 

“Oh, my dear mountains and precious lake. Will I truly never again delight in your sweet air and radiant beauty? Am I to perish so far from all that is fair and wholesome, without even the cold stars to bare witness to my demise?” I lamented; my voice thick with the grief of a man who believes he is to die isolated from everything he once held dear. 

The spongy flesh seemed to mute my voice effectively as a heavy curtain might, and my words fell upon deaf ears, for no reply came from my creation. My captor. My killer. Was I really to meet my end as nothing more than a meal? My last breath tainted by the stench of bile and vomit? The pressure to my back returned, and although the touch revolted me, I was far too exhausted from my fear and the quickly thinning oxygen to do more than twitch in protest. What difference would it make anyways, my fate was already sealed.

Each breath I drew grew more ragged and gasping with every passing second, my panic having done nothing but quickly use up what little air I had in the stale cell, and in some fever, I realized that, although my air was quickly thinning, I had not yet begun to feel the slightest tingle of digestion. Oh, what sweet twist of fate was this! I still would meet my end as nothing more than a morsel of food this was true, but I would be long since unconscious and perhaps even suffocated before acids truly began to work on me and thus spared the sensation of digesting alive. It was a small assurance, but so consumed was I by grief and terror of my fate that even the small mercy of a painless death brought me comfort. It was more than a man like me deserved after all I’d done. The innocent blood on the creature’s hands stained mine as well, and I thought bitterly of poor darling little William and dear Justine. Their blood has been spilt on my account, and yet, while their deaths had been horrific tragedies, I took solace in knowing they had left the world far quicker than I would, and that I would be seeing them again soon.

My vision swam before me, and with one last shuddering sigh I slumped against the slick walls, no longer attempting to catch my breath, for what would be the point in trying to breathe when there is no air left to fill my lungs. The stomach clenched around me with a disgusting squelch, smothering and squeezing my helpless form as it worked to knead what I presumed to be caustic acids into my sodden clothing and soft flesh, preparing for the undoubtably difficult task of liquifying my un-masticated body. With a gasping, barely audible sob I pressed a trembling hand out against my churning prison walls, cursing my creation and praying my end would be swift. Then the darkness engulfed me, and I knew no more.

Due to the circumstances in which I had fallen unconscious I fully expected to never wake again, so when I started awake some unknown amount of time later in the very bed I had been snatched out of, I could seldom comprehend what was happening. My first thought was that my horrendous experience had been naut but a dream; an apparition brought upon me by the dreadful task I knew I would soon be required to complete. Then I became aware of the disgusting film of sticky, foul smelling sick coating my body and the dull, yet throbbing pain in my ribs, and my blood ran cold. It had been no dream. My creation truly had assaulted me in the night, swallowed me whole and alive, and, by some miracle, vomited me back out before his digestive system could process me. In fact, aside from my ribs, which were badly bruised, I appeared whole and unharmed. Not even a drop of acid had singed my clothes, and my skin was fair and unblemished as it had always been. I pressed a hand to my cheek as if to make certain of my unharmed state, and then, to my own surprise, I began to laugh. It was not a mirthful laugh, but rather one of incredulous shock and relief as I grasped at my warm and unharmed skin. So certain had I been that those final moments filled with slimy blackness and foul reeking air inside the creature would be my last that the cold air of my room and the sting of my nails against my face might well have been gifts from Heaven itself. Even now I marvel at my incredible escape and wonder what could possibly have prompted the monster to give up as filling a meal as I surely must have been. I do not think I shall ever know, but judging from the healthy nature which I possessed upon waking, I can only assume he realized he could not process me as he intended and his body expelled me, though wether such an expulsion was voluntary on his part I still could not say. Nonetheless I knew I was no doubt incredibly fortunate to have survived such an encounter and my resolve had the been strengthened. Where before I had postponed my promise, I vowed to not do so again, for who knew how long the wretched beast would be content to wait and leave me and others be. As soon as I was able, I would set to work creating another who would contain his terrible urges and put this dreadful encounter behind me forever. 

[cconfusedkat]

Pro tip: don't leave a pacifist god of wisdom goat on thxir own to run a death cult for three days 🧍

Something quick just bc of how funnily coincidental that everytime i declined a follower request in game , it killed an elder ,, to be FAIR i have a Lot of elders in my first save so death is to be expected at any given moment JDSKSJKD but it was funnier just cuz i finally got to play goat (ps5/console patch yesterday) and everything in my crusades and cult were going The Complete OPPOSITE when compared to playing lamb 😭🙏

[steakout-05]

random thought but i love the idea of Herobrine being less of an explicitly evil character and more of a weird cryptid thing that exists by accident and can only be perceived at long FOV distances by humans, forever being sort of isolated from the rest of them to only be seen partially obscured by the fog. he physically exists, but can only be perceived as though he were a ghost. he's very curious about other humans, watching over them as they traverse the world, but he means no harm. this can often look like stalking behaviour which can freak other humans out and make him seem menacing or off putting. scrambled throughout the world are legends and scriptures written about this mysterious being that make him out to be terrifying and threatening. warnings, spells and summoning rituals are seen scratched across the walls of ancient catacombs and ruined civilisations. locked inside dusty chests are torn and withered parchments scribbled with illustrations that depict him to be some sort of monstrous eldritch creature, perhaps mistaking something more terrifying for the legends of the strange man all should beware that have persisted for centuries. others depict him more as a silent, stalking shadowed figure, lurking behind trees and mountains with unknown intentions.

the only reason he exists is because of a strange bug that causes a duplicate of the main player to generate along with the world, and no matter how many times the developers of Minecraft try to remove him, he always quietly comes back somehow, implying that the rules of the game they created has developed into its own ecosystem that is slowly developing its own independence separate from the game, and that Herobrine is an integral part of it. he might possibly be a remnant of an ancient experiment or society that has long since disappeared, but for whatever reason, Herobrine still persists.

[eeboshmeebo]

👁️I see you, and I love you.👁️

Part 2 of Perfection in Pettiness.

================================================

[(︶-︶)]

You held Monoma's hand as you both walked back home from the comic store, a brand-new series of Belgian comics and groceries you were tasked to buy in tow. It was peaceful with only the slightest hints of tension until he started talking.

"Hey, darling?" He asked, glancing at you with a worried look on his face as you both continued walking back to UA.

"Hmm? Yes, my love? What is it?"

He looked around, biting his inner cheek as his face scrunched up slightly, but decided to say it anyways.

"I... I'm worried about Itsuka, you know? She went on a date with a guy along with Pony who came along to make sure everything's alright and she texted the rest of the class about it, but we haven't seen her. Not recently, anyways."

Your hand tightened around his own as you both walked through the city, pulling him closer so he wouldn't be on the crosswalk for too long while walking.

"Yeah, I'm worried too. All we can do is hope for the best and trust her, along with Pony, okay? I'm sure Vlad and the rest of the teachers know what's going on."

You were a bit annoyed at the mention of the two girls. He couldn't know, though, so you just masked it with nervousness and a reassuring squeeze of his hand along with a smile. That seemed to do the trick, as he seemed less nervous than before as he followed you.

The walk back to UA was pretty quick, fueled by both his worry and your 'worry' for your classmates from 1-B.

[◉_◉]

In the class lounge, after you had put the groceries away, Monoma was on the couch reading the first volume of the comics he had bought.

Of course, you were right next to him. Or, more accurately, you had your chin on his lap, looking up at him with your knees on the ground and your hands on his thighs.

"How's the comic so far, love?"

He peeked past the comic, setting it down and sighing right before he patted your head.

"I'm too stressed to really focus on it right now, with two classmates missing and the test we have in two weeks. AND I'm still working on the slideshow to prove that we're superior to that other class! That's a lot of work!"

He flopped on the couch, another sigh escaping his lips before turning into a gasp of surprise when you moved on top of him to lay your face on his chest.

"How about a little cuddling to relieve some of that stress, then?"

"Hmmmmnnnhhh..."

"I know you want to, to have a little break from it all..."

"Nnnnnnnnn..."

"I'm right here already half-cuddling you, my love."

"Fiiiiine."

He whined, but he wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled into your hair despite his initial protest. You could tell he still wasn't used to this with how fast his heart was beating through his chest, but you loved every bit of him

From the smallest hair to the largest organ.

He was perfect. He is perfect. Flaws were perks in your eyes. You love him.

You love him.

You snuggle against his chest, enjoying the warmth of the shared moment, the closeness, the scent of the clothes he wears, the firmness of his body. Everything.

No shame in taking a little nap.

A few minutes later, he had noticed you fell asleep, so he let a smile rise on his face before carrying you to your dorm.

(⓿◡⓿)

The next morning, you woke up with him by your side along with a few books. Oh, such a delightful sight, you wished you could just lock him up and keep him to yourself forever and ever...

But Neito wouldn't be Neito without the attention of the masses. The attention that made him glow with pride and joy, that gave him purpose. You understood, since he was your purpose anyhow.

"Good morning, my love."

You kissed his forehead and rubbed the crust out of his eyes as he woke up slowly, mumbling about something incoherent. You had your arms around him, which you retracted so he could sit up by himself.

"Feeling like having something for breakfast, love?"

He turned slightly to look at you.

Oh, how you loved those eyes and those lips. Not even the 'morning breath' could keep you from staring at those lips which sounded out 'crepe'. Crepes for breakfast? A classic. You were far too busy listening to his melodic tone than his actual words, so you hoped that you were correct.

"Crepes, huh? Alright," You sat up from the bed, stretching. It was pretty early in the morning, if the sun peeking over the horizon hinted towards anything. You stood up, looking towards him...

"Hmm. I can bring breakfast to you if you want-"

"Noooooo! I wanna watch you make em'..."

You grinned at how he whined and clung onto you even while he was still bleary from just waking up so early. He was clearly unused to waking up at this time, so you let him be.

"Okay, okay, and you can watch. Just don't touch the pan."

"Mmm-hmm."

He followed you out of the room and to the dorm kitchen, where you prepped the ingredients and washed from dishes from last night that your classmates probably forgot to do after dinner.

You let Neito choose what fruits and fillings he wanted in the crepe. He always chose the best things. He's perfect...

Soon after you finished washing the dishes, you took out a flat crepe pan from the cabinet, greasing it with butter and letting it heat it up on the stove before mixing the flour and other dry ingredients together.

Neito watched as you cooked, as you let the batter spread over the pan and how it cooked before you put it on a cutting board, put all the fillings inside and a small drizzle of syrup on top, and gave the finished crepe to him.

"Tell me when you want another, okay? I've got plenty of batter left."

"Okay!"

You focused on cooking, since everything you cooked for him had to be perfect. It had to be, only perfection was worthy of perfection, and to you, Neito was the pinnacle of all perfection.

Some of your classmates were roused by the scent of cooking. Of course you made crepes for them, but without any of the fancy flair you put in Neito's crepes.

Blatant favoritism, but it was excused since everyone knew you loved him. Just not how much.

"Man, Kendo would love these! Too bad she hasn't come back yet, along with Pony." said Tetsutetsu, while shoving a crepe into his mouth. He never really cared for taking time while eating, though it was a bit endearing.

"I think she'll be back eventually. We just gotta hold out hope."

Empty words came out of your mouth, because there was one thing you knew that nobody else didn't.

Pony Tsunotori and Itsuka Kendo weren't coming back.

Pony was sweet, but she saw too much. A witness. Witnesses had to be rid of.

They won't find the bodies.

That thought made the strawberry in your mouth taste both sweeter and sourer. A pity she had to go, but it was necessary. You couldn't risk her telling anyone.

You held Neito's hand for comfort. She'd never tell anyone anything ever again, and it was all for him.

================================================

I'm sorry Pony, and Itsuka, but sacrifices had to be made for the plot! ಥ_ಥ

[lesbianoms]

I kind feel like there’s an unspoken rule that safe vore and endo has become “sfw vore” and the kinkier side is generalized as fatal only. It feels like whenever someone has a vore kink they are also expected to be okay with digestion and death. I’ve found a handful of creators who make kinky endo content but it’s very few and far between and I just wish that “kinky” didn’t automatically register as “bones and murder and the screams of innocent prey >:)” because like that’s really distressing to me a lot of the time.

[amberjazmyn]

grief is just unexpressed love💔

pairing : charles leclerc x platonic fem! aston martin driver reader, platonic fem!driver reader x f1 grid

summary : everyone knew how tough being the youngest on the f1 grid could be. but only few understood what it felt like to grieve someone during a grand prix weekend.

warnings : mentions of minor character death, mentions of illness, slight mention of herve leclerc, slight mention of jules bianchi, angst, argument between mother and daughter, manipulating mother, manipulated mother

a/n : this was a request from an anon and whilst i loved the original request, i decided to tweak it slightly so to whoever requested this, sorry it's taken this long and i hope you enjoy it! flynn drives for aston martin alongside lance and fernando has moved to kick sauber alongside zhou (sorry valtteri!) and her race number is 19!

a/n : readers name is flynn like mentioned in anon's request and some things about the race, f1 and f1 academy may be explained incorrectly <3

death anniversaries were never easy, no matter what number it was, ease was not in the oxford dictionary under the word grief nor was it the definition either. unfortunately, formula one driver, flynn l.n was new to the term of grief and she wished she had been better prepared for it. it was the one year anniversary of the death of her beloved father and it was also the italian grand prix in monza. and she wasn't sure how to feel about it. however, there was one person in particular who was close with flynn that did know a lot about grief and what it felt like. and that was her best friend, fellow formula one driver, charles leclerc.

and because of this being the first anniversary without her dad and a grand prix happening at the same time, charles was conscious in making sure he was keeping a watchful eye on flynn. making sure that she was as okay as she could be and that if she needed anything and he means anything, that she knew he was right there to help her. however, it was clear to everyone, not just charles, that the one thing that flynn wanted more than anything was the one person that she could never bring back and see ever again. and that was the last thing she remembered shouting at her mother when the mother and daughter were arguing over flynn's wishes of returning back to racing so soon after the bereavement.

six months after the death

the shouting was endless between mother and daughter. shaking the house, for a moment or two, onlookers to the fight thought that the house would cave in on them if they continued to shout this loud. flynn and her family had just gone through the worst thing any family could go through. flynn's father henri ln had unfortunately died due to a very long and debilitating brain tumour that rendered him back into the mental state of an infant. it was devastating and whilst henri could barely communicate in his last few days, he still managed to have enough strength to communicate to his formula one driver daughter that she wasn't allowed to stop racing. even after his death, he basically forbade her to stop and if she did stop racing, he made sure to let her know that if he was able to, he'd make sure that decision would be the worst decision she could ever make before she was ready to stop driving. and if she did stop, he would find every possible way to haunt his daughter. those were his own words by the way, and some of the last words he ever spoke as well before the end of his life. and that death bed conversation that flynn and henri had was the base of the current argument between flynn and her mother helene.

it infruiated flynn that her mother couldn't understand the reason why she wanted to return back into racing so quickly after the loss of her father. henri had managed to stay alive right until the final race of the season, abu dhabi, and just before winter break started, marking the end of the season that had just gone on. meaning training for the 2024 season was about to start in bahrain and that was what helene was fuming about. that flynn could even think about going back into training so soon even though helene was certain that her team back at aston martin would be ever so understanding in regards to the bereavment and they were. however, there was no way that flynn was going to disrespect her father's literal dying wish and not race just because of this argument she was in the middle of with her mother. especially when flynn knew that helene hated that her daughter was a formula one driver and not doing a more 'feminine' job like a waitress or gymnast.

"...flynn, why don't you understand my side of this?" helene sighs, her voice sore from all the screaming as her hand brushed against her hallowed out face

"i do, mum, i really do understand your point in this argument. however, do you understand my side of this whole argument?" flynn sighed, her voice also slightly irritated from the yelling as helene shrugged her shoulders and shook her head - she really couldn't comprehend why her daughter would still want to race only six months after the death of her father

"okay fine, no i don't get it! i don't understand how you could even think about wanting to put yourself into a car after the loss of your father, flynn! so tell me, enlighten me flynn as to why you feel like it's okay for you to fly to bahrain for pre-season training after only six months after losing your father because i want to know! i want to know how you can still be a formula one driver even after everything that's happened!" helene huffed out, her voice exasperated as flynn sighed as well, her hands clenched tightly

"i know you weren't present when this happened mum, but one of the very last conversations i was blessed to have with dad, he requested that his last dying wish was for me to keep on racing, even after his death. and that if i didn't, it would be the worst mistake of my life because he knows that just because of he's dead, that shouldn't send me into early retirement. he knows that i've still got so much left in me that if i was to stop racing now that he's gone, that it would be a waste of everything i went through as a kid all for it to end just because he's dead. and i promised him, mum, i gave him my word that after he took in his last breath days later that i would keep to my word and i would keep on racing! and now, i know you've never liked the fact that this is my job, and please don't lie to me because i'll never forget how many times dad had to force you just to come to a race of mine! but when it was in regards to one of my brothers or best friends that were boys, you jumped at the chance to watch a race. as well as all the other small things you did in the way of little snide comments and hiding my simulator so i couldn't train! so i know you don't like it that your daughter is a formula one driver and you no longer have to lie to dad and pretend that you enjoy it now that he's gone, you can shout to the rooftops how much you hate it that i'm so successful in my specific job! you can whine and cry that i'm not in a job that's more 'feminine' but it's time you suck it up and you either support me wholeheartedly and come to my future races this season or you don't suck it up and you don't support me ever again from this day forwards. i say this because i am sick of you and your manipulations in trying to get me to leave my dream job and into a job that you want me to do just because it's 'safer' and because it'll make you happier!" by the end of flynn's explanation, there was no way that helene could argue with anything that her daughter said to her

it was very true that helene hated that her daughter was a formula one driver rather than in a sport that was dominated more by women than men. and don't get it twisted into helene looking out for her daughter because it's nothing like that. helene wasn't looking out for her daughter at all, whenever henri wasn't watching and flynn was about to begin sim training or anything in regards to karting or motorsport, helene would try to hide the simulator. just so flynn couldn't train and practice as if helene's sabotage would stop flynn from continuing what she really wanted to do. because it didn't, flynn would always end up finding where her mum attempted to hide her simulator and after the girl was finished with it, she'd store it in a secret cupboard in her father's office just so helene could't find it and attempt to hide it again.

sighing, helene knew she couldn't lie to her daughter especially after being exposed like this so, she didn't, "okay, flynn, you're 100% right. in everything you've just said. including your father's dying wish and i shouldn't have yelled at you for wanting to honour that. and i am also sorry at the way i've tried so hard to sabotage you and tried to continously force you into a dream job that was never yours but always mine from the beginning of this journey. when i was growing up, i had visions of what kind of mother i would be depending on whether i was getting a boy or a girl. if i was to have a boy, i always invisioned him being like his father, a motorsport racer and everything adventurous. something that father and son could bond over whilst mother and son bond over other things. if i was to have a girl, i always invisioned her being like me, an olympic gymnast--"

"--you never made the olympics, mum..." flynn sighed, interrupting her mum, exhausted at her mum's lousy excuse

"...no, i know flynn but, still! that was my biggest dream as a kid, i was a great gymnast, it was just an injury that destroyed that olympic gymnast dream for me. which was why if i was to have a little girl that i'd want her to continue that dream for me..." helene trailed off as she realised just how wrong and sour that sounded in her mouth

whilst she had these dreams and hopes for her future children, she always said that she never wanted to live vicariously through them like some parents do. and, only now did she just realise that's exactly what she had done for all of her children as they grew up. because it wasn't all of her sons that became motorsport drivers or all of her daughters that became olympic gymnasts. in fact, only one out of four of helene and henri's boys were motorsport drivers, the other three stopping after trying karting and not enjoying it, enjoying mens gymnastics better and pursuing that as their job instead. and the same happening with helene and henri's girls, only one of four girls becoming an olympic gymnast whilst the other three went into the motorsports world professionally. flynn however, the only one that continued as a driver, the other three girls going in as strategists and engineers.

and it was clear to flynn that helene finally realised just how awful and skewed those words were when she finally heard them, "...hearing yourself say those words sounds weird, doesn't it mum?" flynn asks as helene can't help but nod her head as flynn smiles out the corner of her mouth

"i'm sorry, flynn. for everything and i mean everything. you didn't deserve to be treated that way from me all because you didn't want to become an olympic gymnast but rather a formula one driver. you deserved to have support and a mother telling you that you're amazing and that you can do anything and everything you put your mind to. and quite honestly, i would love it if you'd let me go to a grand prix weekend with you. i'd love to see you race and i would also love to see your three sisters but only if you'd let me because i know in the past when you have invited me, it hasn't always ended well..." helene trailed off as that took flynn by surprise - her mum wasn't a horrible person intentionally, she just grew up differently with parents that didn't like change in regards to women playing sports alongside men and other stereotypes in regards to gender

smiling, flynn nodded her head, "i'd love it if you came to see a race, mum. and thank you very much for apologising and i also want to apologise for my part in the argument as well, i shouldn't have raised my voice and used dad as a scapegoat, it was wrong of me and i--"

"--flynn, you have nothing to apologise for, including your part of the argument because i was the one that started it, you just finished it and you finished it in the correct way. you were telling the truth the entire time whereas i was not. i was only saying the things that i was manipulated into believing were gospel. in the same way i was manipulated by my own mother, i manipulated you and i never meant to do that. i was manipulated into finding formula one or any motorsport to be too dangerous and not something i find amazing. because growing up, i loved watching formula one, it was something i did with my own father and grandfather every single race weekend. but it wasn't until the loss of my grandfather that my mum finally felt like she was able to truly say how she felt about it. saying that it was destroying my brain and that i shouldn't be enjoying a sport that's only meant for boys...after that, i never watched a grand prix after that until i met your dad..." helene trailed off as flynn relaxed and she just listened to her mother explain how she too was manipulated by her own mother

"...when i met your dad, he was a rally driver at the time and it was then, when i finally left mum and dad's place that dad and i, alongside your father, would start to watch races again without my mum ever finding out. then, she found out after our wedding and once again, forbade me from even thinking and talking about motorsports. so when you and the kids were growing up and going karting, that's why your dad sometimes had to force me to attend, especially when it was one of your races, because my mum made me believe that i hated the sport with a passion when really it was her own genderphobic view of women shouldn't be watching and consuming male-dominated sports," helene huffed as flynn shook her head in shock - never realising just how awful her own grandmother was, no wonder why she and her siblings never saw her

present day

thankfully after that argument six months after the loss of henri, helene and flynn forgave one another. and since then, the mother-daughter relationship had never been better. and just like they agreed on, helene accompained her daughter for the first three races of the season before she had to fly back to her hometown for work. since helene was an anaesthetist at her local hospital, she could only get so many days off from work. thankfully she had more than three days off but she wanted to make sure she could still make it to their hometown race as well as the last race of the season at abu dhabi. and because of that, helene and flynn were apart from each other on the one-year anniversary of henri's death.

but, just because helene couldn't be with her daughter physically, didn't mean she still couldn't look after her. so, that was why charles was keeping an eye on flynn the entire race weekend. helene had very sweetly asked the monegasque to keep a watchful eye on flynn. since it was the one year anniversary of henri's death and a race weekend all crammed into the one and she wanted to make sure that flynn could handle it all. and of course, charles was happy to assist his best friend's mother's request especially when he knew why helene had asked him specifically. it wasn't new that charles and the leclerc family had also gone through tragedy which included the devastating death of charles' father, herve leclerc, in 2017. so, helene felt comfortable knowing that if flynn did want to race on her father's one-year anniversary, that she at least had someone alongside her that understood her pain and her grief.

similar to basically every driver on the grid, charles and flynn grew up together. the l.n's and the leclerc's were tightknit friends, alongside the bianchi's and gasly's that those four families did everything together. but charles and flynn were inseperable. where charles was, flynn was never too far behind and where flynn was, charles was never too far behind. arthur & lorenzo leclerc and pierre gasly included in that mix as well. so when the news came out about the deaths of jules, herve and henri, it was devastating to those four families. however, the only positive that came out of those devastations were that the families didn't grow apart from one another, they grew closer and more tightknit. and that was what helene knew that her daughter needed this weekend. flynn needed to feel that feeling.

the entire weekend leading up to the race, flynn was feeling pumped up and excited. the season for her so far had been going amazingly well. whilst the aston martin had been working splendidly for her and giving her podiums and points, it hadn't been doing the same for her teammate, lance. and now that they were at the italian grand prix, all flynn and her team at aston martin wanted was a win. whether that was with lance or flynn, they just wanted a win. however, because lance hadn't been getting podiums and in the points like flynn had, they let both drivers know that for this race weekend, flynn was the priority because she had the bigger gap and the biggest chance of getting that podium/win. and, when talked about, lance had no arguments and argued that if anyone deserved to win the monza grand prix this year that it was flynn. everyone on the grid knew about henri's one-year death annviersary being during the race in monza and every single driver in every single team had the same argument as lance did. not that they were all just gonna give up and not fight for a win, if it all came down to who had the fastest car and got first place, every single driver on that grid wanted it to be flynn.

and, from what it looked like, it seemed as though everyone was getting their wish. flynn and her aston martin were flying through the monza circuit like a lightening bolt, she was driving so fast. the gap between first and second was astonishing that by this point, there was no way the current world champion and current second place driver, max verstappen, was going to match that let alone close the gap between him and flynn. so, he didn't and neither did third place driver, lando norris. charles leclerc and carlos sainz only just missing the podium with fourth and fifth places respectfully.

however, the second the girl got the radio call that she was in first place and won her first ever grand prix, it didn't give her the same joy she imagined it would have. maybe driving a grand prix on her father's anniversary wasn't the best idea for future races. parking her car in the parc femme in front of the first place placard suddenly felt strange to her. sure, it wasn't the first time she had ever won a race in motorsport, she was a formula renault champion but, this was the first time she had won in formula one. the big big leagues and it was on the one day that was the worst day of her life one whole year ago.

"...well done baby girl, flynn, that is first place! what an amazing race you had today, we are so proud of you for your maiden win in formula one at team 19! and i am absolutely certain that your father is smiling down on his baby girl right now! you can now do your slow lap to first place! once again, that is first place, flynn!" davide, flynn's radio engineer crackles over her car radio as the girl can barely crack a smile

"grazie davide! grazie ragazzi, it truly was a fantastic race and, happy to finally get my maiden win here at monza!" flynn tries to sound upbeat but when she doesn't, no one crucifies her since they all knew why she wasn't

by the end of the race, she's so exhausted and grief-stricken that she can barely get out of her car before she collapses next to her car. but, thankfully lando and max were right next to her immediately so she didn't completely collapse to the floor next to her car. max and lando helping her take off her helmet and balaclava, flynn's eyes fill with tears. she had never been treated so carefully and with love by any other teammates like she had with her f1 grid.

"...congratulations schatje! you just won your first ever race!" max's voice was soft, not loud and joyful like it usually was when they podium together and flynn appreciated that

hugging max back before pulling away, lando wrapped his arms around the girl as she, like she did with max, burrowed her head into lando's shoulder. she really didn't want to cry during this race but she couldn't help the tears that welled in her waterline and she hadn't even weighed herself or gone through any of the pre-race interviews or the cooldown room or the podium or press conference. lando comforted her to the best of his abilities but he knew he was way out of his wheelhouse and if only charles was able to be here with them.

however, flynn and lando couldn't hug forever so, finally they pulled out of the hug and got themselves weighed before being interviewed before having to leave for the cooldown room and podium ceremony.

"...walking over to us is our winner of the monza grand prix, aston martin's flynn l.n! flynn, i can only imagine what you've been going through this week only for it to be doubled by getting your maiden win so, please, how do you feel?" nico rosberg is her interviewer as flynn tries to crack a small smile for the former mercedes driver

"hello nico and thank you so much, umm, yeah, this weekend...this weekend has been a whirlwind of emotions for me and the family for sure! but, i'm just satisfied that me and team 19 were able to pull out a win for aston martin but also a maiden win for me which is also pretty monumental as well," flynn smiled, her teeth grited when she felt herself getting emotional as nico could only smile softly

"we all know that unfortunately, a year ago today you lost your beloved dad, henri and now, you've just gone out and won your first ever grand prix on his anniversary. do you feel as though you had your dad with you since we all know what a talented rally driver he was," nico questioned as flynn couldn't help the smile again, she loved talking about her father and every single interviewer this week had been so respectful in regards to mentions of her father

"yes, losing our dad was devastating and, the fact that it's already been a year is mindblowing, time has gone by so quickly yet so slowly at the same time it feels like it just happened yesterday. and, i fully believe that my dad is with me in everything i do, not just formula one but, he is definitely a stronger presence when i'm in the car on the track for sure. and yeah, my dad was a rally driver for the longest time and, it's only been very recently that me and my brothers and sisters have seen the videos that are online of him rally driving. so, yeah, it's been very cool seeing how well he is in a car only for him to have four of his daughters in the motorsport world, one of them a driver and the other three engineers and strategists!" flynn took in a shaky breath as she felt her wall she had built up to finish the grand prix weekend begin to crumble - nico noticing and letting her leave so she could "celebrate"

"that's beautiful, flynn! well, once again, big congratulations to you and the fantastic race you just had and, i'll let you go and celebrate in the cooldown room before the podium ceremony!" nico finishes as flynn smiles, her eyes thanking the former driver as nico discreetly gives her a wink as she walks away - max the next driver to be interviewed

🥀

the top three, flynn, max and lando had made it to the cooldown room, watched some of the highlights of the race before they had to be called for the podium ceremony. by this point, all of the walls that flynn had built up were gone and it was only a guess to the moment that her dam breaks and it floods. flynn was on the verge of crying the entire podium ceremony and it was very clear by the look on her face that she was exhausted and that she just didn't want this win nor did she want this trophy if it meant her dad was never going to see it in his daughter's trophy cabinet. yet, she knew she couldn't just run off so she didn't. she stayed the whole time except, max and lando got the memo that it wasn't the moment to be spraying and dousing the three of them in champagne so, they didn't. they just very calmly drunk the alcoholic drink out of the bottles before all three of them gently chucked the bottles to people in their respective teams; aston martin, red bull and mclaren. and then, after the podium ceremony finished, they walked off and now it was just time for one last media thing before they could finally leave for the evening. and that last thing was the winners press conference.

and the entire time during the press conference, it was clear that flynn's mind wasn't at the press conference but elsewhere. it was clear that she didn't want to be there but had to because she knew she couldn't say she was unwell. although, the fia should allow drivers that are grieving to have the opportunity to pass on media, they didn't. they only allowed exemptions if the driver was sick and needed to visit medical for them to be exempt from media duties. so, because of that, flynn was sat in the middle of max verstappen and lando norris at the winners press conference at the italian grand prix at monza.

"...flynn, it has been mentioned a couple of times during the weekend that today is a difficult day for you and your family. if i may ask since i'm curious, what was it inside of you that made you have the strength to get into that car today and drive the way you did and achieve your maiden win?" a woman's voice came out from what was like the third row as flynn's head shot up as she found the face to the voice that had spoke up

"yeah, this whole weekend, not just today has been difficult but, especially today. it's been a year without my dad and, it feels like i'm still struggling to breathe and get up in the morning. so, to answer your question about what was it inside of me that gave me the strength to get into my car and drive all the way to my maiden win is a question i struggle to answer. because, in all honesty, i have no clue! it was truly supernatural because the entire race, i felt like i was watching myself in the car the entire time so, yeah, i have no idea what came over me to have what happened happen," she responded, her voice shaky as she placed the microphone back on the couch as max and lando watched her carefully

since charles obviously couldn't be at the press conference, he had asked max and lando to keep an eye on her whilst he went back to her hotel room and waited for her there. he knew that flynn typically stayed in her hotel room alone since her sisters who were strategists and engineers for other teams, had their own rooms on an upper floor to her. and, he knew that she wouldn't be okay on her own and he just wanted to make sure someone could take care of her considering helene couldn't be there with her.

🥀

finally, it felt like flynn could breathe. she had made it back to her hotel and was just about to grab her hotel key to unlock her room. that was until charles could sense that she had finally made it back and opened the door for her. shocking the grieving girl, flynn was spooked.

"...charlie? what...what are you doing in my hotel room?" flynn asked as she walked in before shutting the door immediately behind her

"you're not okay, flynn, you haven't been the entire day. you've not once been able to just stop working and pretending. you've been go go go the entire weekend and i think it's finally time you just let go..." charles trailed off as flynn shook her head as her hands rubbed her face

"...no, charlie, i can't do that, not right now! i still have to facetime mum and let her know how the race went and that i got my maiden win and i just need to do so many other things that i just can't right now. i need to do so much, charlie, i--"

"--no, you don't need to do so much, flynn! i'm sure helene already knows that you won your first race and she's bursting with excitement but doesn't want to overwhelm you right now so she's going to settle with a simple congratulatory text for now. there is nothing else that you need to do right now except for relax and do absolutely nothing! you even said it in the press conference that you still struggle to get up out of bed in the morning and breathe everyday. and you know what, i felt the exact same way after my dad died! it hurts losing your dad, flynn and you don't have to keep on wearing yourself thin just because you don't want to put yourself through the truth that it really has been a year and that he's never coming back..."

"...you don't have to be strong all the time, flynn. i was distraught when i won the f2 feature race days after losing my dad! and similar to you, it was as though it was a supernatural being that posessed me into winning because i simply couldn't believe that the strength i had to win that race was my own and that it was human strength! but, trust me when i tell you just how much i cried privately after that when there were no cameras watching me and i was all on my own. i cried for hours most likely because i was told by everyone around me that i didn't have to be strong all the time. so please, flynn, don't just bottle it up inside of you because you don't want to deal with it. the longer you leave it bubbling inside of you, the worse it'll be when the stick breaks..." charles was begging as flynn was struggling to stay strong all because of how true she knew charles' words were

she knew he was telling the truth. of course he was cause like he mentioned, he had been through the exact same thing as flynn. maybe not in the fact that she drove and won a race days after but it was still considered too soon by people online that flynn was driving again after only six months at the time when it was pre-season testing at bahrain.

"...charlie, please, don't do this, not right now!" flynn pleaded, trying to stay in control even though it was clear her hold was breaking

whilst charles didn't say anything to that, he didn't need to. all he had to do for flynn to just feel and grieve was just to hug her. and properly hug her. whilst lando and max were the only other two that did give the girl hugs, they were at the peak of flynn being in control of her grief and emotions. whereas right now, as charles hugged her, she was no longer in control of her emotions and the dam just broke at its seams. and flynn just cried and cried and cried. they were loud, they hit charles in his gut and they were painful. it was physically painful as each sob left flynn's body leaving her with chest and bodily pain. it felt like she was on fire as charles held her tightly as he just let her cry. whilst he did stay silent for a little while, he wasn't silent the entire time. after a while of silence, charles did begin to whisper small comforts in french to flynn which step by step began to soothe the grieving girl and lulling her into relaxation. flynn then fell asleep, silent tears that streamed down her face drying and leaving streaks showing others the story of what had just occured.

however, whilst she did sleep, it wasn't for very long. maybe only a couple of hours before she woke up to an empty bed. charles had laid himself down next to her whilst she slept in a bid of making her feel safe and secure. and when she woke up and didn't see charles next to her, she freaked out. thankfully though, it didn't take her very long to notice that there was a light on in the bathroom and she could tell that that was where he had gone. not very far and that he would be back soon. so, she fell back asleep, well, she tried to but it wasn't working since she had gotten so used to charles being next to her that it felt foreign and too cold for her to fall asleep on her own.

so, in a bid to make the time of charles being in the bathroom go by quicker, flynn picked up her phone from the bedside table in the hotel room and went straight to her instagram. since she still hadn't made an anniversary post about her dad like others in her family had done, she thought that was what she was going to do to past time whilst waiting on charles to come back so they could fall back asleep together afterwards.

liked by charlesleclerc, maxverstappen1, landonorris, helene.ln, lewishamilton, arthurleclerc, adelia.ln and 20k others

flynnln a year has passed and i still go back to the first race i ever won and remembering just how happy and proud you were of me. this maiden win at monza was for you papa, missing you forever and always 🤍

view all comments

charlesleclerc he's looking down on you with so much pride and joy, flynn 🤍

flynnln charlesleclerc thank you for saying that charlie! that means a lot 🤍

maxverstappen1 best maiden win in terms of skill for sure! henri is watching you always, flynnie 🤍

flynnln maxverstappen1 thank you maxie! love you always 🤍

landonorris love you so much flynn. henri was always the best part of every karting race growing up for sure! missing him all the time🤍

flynnln landonorris love you too lan and he definitely was! especially when he'd bring down his rally car and show it to us 🤍

helene.ln your father absolutely adored you, flynn! you were for sure the apple of his eye, all of his kids were 🤍

flynnln helene.ln and we adored him, mum! and he was the apple of our eye as well 🤍

lewishamilton what an incredible race flynn! you fought valiantly and won like a champion

flynnln lewishamilton thank you lewis! that means so much coming from you, especially in regards to how your race panned out

arthurleclerc we are all so proud of you, flynn! no one will ever win in monza the way you just did today 🤍

flynnln arthurleclerc aw, thank you thuthur! you are a sweetheart 🤍

adelia.ln proudest big sister in the world! dad is always proud of you flynnie, win or lose, he's still screaming the loudest no matter the result 🤍

flynnln adelia.ln awe, thank you adelia! best sister in the world! and yes, i think i could hear him screaming when i crossed the chequered flag 🤍

fin

holy balls this was insane guys! so, i had already had the version before this one written but then i didn't like it, scrapped it entirely and then rewrote it into this masterpiece all in the same day! i think that was why i had writer's block, i didn't like the way i originally wrote it all that time ago when i first got the request so i scrapped it and started all over again! so to the anon that requested this, once again, i apologise for the time it's taken to have this come out but, i hope you love this as much as i did rewriting it after learning that i hated the original version!

©⠀amberjazmyn's original work. do not translate or steal any of my fics. 2024

[lumosinlove]

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

(cw in tags if you wish)

Five: Sirius

Athens, Greece

Sirius wasn’t reckless. He thought before he did—probably too much sometimes. He kept himself in line. Maybe it was a product of a strict upbringing. A smack on the cheek or hand at one wrong move. He used to think it was what made him so good for the agency. Salazar liked strict. They liked obedient. James, therefore, hadn’t quite made sense to Sirius as a candidate, at least not in the beginning. Not until he showed Sirius that it wasn’t just about following orders. It was about heart, too. Camaraderie. Remus had shown him that, too. Still, Sirius couldn’t always shake that rule-following kid.

But if Remus was on the rooftops getting shot at by Jack Archer, who had just been holding a gun to Logan and Finn’s heads, all bets were off.

Jack was smart though. He took Sirius right through the now bustling Christmas market. Small children strapped the the chests of fathers. Women in groups laughing and catching up over coffee. Carolers by a central fountain. Sirius caught glimpses of alarmed eyes as he ran, always keeping the back of Jack’s head just in sight. He tried not to add to the mess on the street, narrowly avoiding the cart Jack had carelessly rolled into his path. He sprinted past the pissed vendor. He knew he should hide his gun. Lights blurred beside him and the sun came out from behind a cloud, then went again. His feet pounded the pavement. The streets narrowed. Jack stumbled on the stones in front of a cafe, sending cups shattering to the cobblestones and making a shop owner run out and shout at him. For a second, Sirius thought he was going to catch up. He swiped forward at the fabric of Jack’s shirt, but Jack rolled and then was up on his feet again. Sirius lunged. He didn’t care who was watching. He didn’t care if they saw his gun. His arms wrapped around Jack’s waist and they both hit the cobblestones hard, rolling into another table. Sirius felt something hot splash against his neck, something sharp dig into the skin of his wrist.

Jack was up again in a moment, using a hard kick to Sirius’ ribs to knock the wind out of him. Sirius gasped, coughing as he scrambled up from the ground and away from the alarmed onlookers. He yanked the shard of ceramic out of his arm. Jack slipped around a bend in the street—but this was one Sirius recognized. He’d chased Remus—or the ghost of Remus—right into this corner.

When he held his gun up on Jack, Jack’s hands were around the bars of the very gate Sirius had run into their first day here.

“Dead end, Archer,” Sirius said. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

Jack at least knew when he’d been caught. His shoulders moved quickly, breathing hard as he rested his forehead against the gate.

“Did you know?” Sirius could hardly say the words. “Did you know they were alive?”

“Sirius—”

“Get the fuck down,” Sirius said, striding closer until they were both hidden in the alleyway. He risked a glance behind him. “On your knees.”

Jack went, knocking the damp hair out of his face with a jerk of his head. Sirius could see both of their breath fogging between them. “We didn’t know. Not until Leo found Remus.”

“And you want them dead.”

Jack’s mouth formed a thin line.

Sirius didn’t have time for this. His mind kept skipping back, trying to figure out who had been shooting from the roof. RemusRemusRemus.

“Why?” Sirius asked. “Why do you want them dead? They’re our own, what changed? And I swear to God, answer me, or I’ll bring you to James.”

James was sweet. James was funny. James was relaxed and kind and easy-going.

James could also get information out of anyone. He was their top interrogator, had been since the academy. How do you do it? Sirius had once asked. Sirius had never liked seeing terrified faces up close. James had gotten a sad, faraway look on his face. I pretend they have Lily. And Harry. And then I don’t feel so guilty. I just want them to talk. I make them talk.

Jack seemed to have heard the rumors because he paled. “Listen. This is Salazar. You’re here to find them and bring them in. That’s all I’m here for, too.”

Sirius thought briefly of telling Jack about Logan’s memory, but Remus’ careful hazel eyes filled his mind. Unsure. Untrusting.

“Why pull the gun?”

Jack’s eyebrow arched. “Tremblay was holding a gun on his own husband. Who, by the way…” Jack made a scornful sound. “Should not be here.”

It was Sirius’ turn to stay silent. It was a sensible response, but that didn’t mean Sirius believed him.

“What,” Jack laughed a little. “You think we wouldn’t know?”

“I couldn’t stop him.”

“Liar.”

“That makes two of us, then,” Sirius said. “Why are you here?”

“Is he turned?” Jack asked in a hushed voice, eyes dark. “Is Lupin?”

“Turned where? By who?”

Jack shook his head slowly. “Liar.”

“I’m not.” Sirius swallowed over a dry throat. At least, not entirely. Pascal. Pascal, whoever he was.

“You don’t want to get on our bad side, Black,” Jack said. His hand twitched, maybe towards a knife, and Sirius stretched his gun forward. Jack’s smile was tight. “I think Tremblay’s enough proof of that.”

Sirius stared at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

Jack opened his mouth to answer, but stopped as though his words had frozen in his mouth. He snapped his lips shut, then a strained cough escaped. A twitch went through his body, almost like a pulse of electricity, and he sat back against his heels. Sirius hesitated, watching Jack blink fast at the cobblestones before raising his eyes to Sirius.

“Who the hell are you?” Jack asked, eyes darting between the two guns. He scrambled backwards, the gate rattling when it hit his back. “What the hell?”

Sirius froze. He clicked the safety off on his own gun. “Don’t bullshit me, Archer.”

Jack blinked at him, eyes unfocused. “I…”

Another twitch, a strange pulse through his body. Jack gasped. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose. He swayed where he was, and his hands went to his head. “Ah—” Sirius watched his face screw up in pain. Jack stared up at him. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Jack—” Sirius began to say, but then Jack fell against the pavement, as suddenly as if someone had pushed him, with a harsh thud.

Sirius felt something cold squeeze around his throat. Dread, maybe. Adrenaline. Slowly, he lowered the guns, tucking one into his belt and swinging the other behind him, doing a quick scan of what little of the street he could see. He raised it up towards the roofs, then crouched in front of Jack.

His eyes were open, lips parted, blood quickly drying on his skin. He was dead.

“Jesus,” Sirius whispered. “Jesus, fuck—” His hand went for his radio, and then he paused. It was Salazar’s radio.

If anyone had told Sirius just a week ago that that would make him pause, he would have laughed.

Sirius checked Jack’s pulse—nothing—and then cursed as he heaved his body up against the wall as best he could. There was no point in trying to move him, not with the city waking up. Someone would have to find him like this. Sirius turned Jack’s collar up, closed his eyes, and took the wires off of him. He took his knives—all the ones he could feel anyway—and the second, small gun he found tucked into his boot.

He walked in the opposite direction of the cafes, towards the still mostly sleeping residential streets. There had been no blood, not that much anyway, but Sirius checked his hands and front before calling out to a man sweeping the steps in front of his house with a cigarette between his teeth.

The man didn’t put up much of a fight, just handed Sirius his cellphone before waving him off and going back to the chore.

The line picked up immediately.

“Lion den,” Sirius said into the tone. It was their secure line. If Salazar knew about it, they’d be dead, but Finn’s tracker wasn’t the first illegal backup Leo had set up. James hadn’t seen the point, hadn’t seen what they’d ever have to hide any comms, but Leo had insisted. Now, Sirius was glad. After Archer and Remus and Logan, he didn’t know who to trust. A headache was building at the back of his skull.

“We’re not at the house,” Leo said instead of hello. “After Archer, I didn’t think we should go back there.”

“He’s dead,” Sirius said.

He heard Leo’s sharp inhale. “Sirius—”

“It wasn’t me,” Sirius said. “We were running, I got him. And then he didn’t recognize me all of a sudden. A minute later, he was dead.”

Sirius’ heart was going so hard he had to press a hand there. The sweeping man didn’t even look up. The gray light hurt his eyes.

“Where are you?” Sirius asked. “Leo. Are you all together?”

“He’s dead?” Leo asked. “But—how? And what do you mean he didn’t recognize you?”

“I don’t know, I thought he was fucking with me, because maybe he knew Logan—but how would he know Logan couldn’t remember? I…” Sirius pressed at his eyes. It was as though someone was shining a spotlight right in his eyes. It ached. “I don’t know, Le. Where are you? Where are you?”

“Sirius,” Leo said. “I can’t find—I can’t find you.”

“What?”

“I can’t find you—Jesus, here, I’m dropping this number our coordinates—but Sirius, your tracker’s offline.”

Sirius felt the phone vibrate with the incoming text. He looked, memorizing quickly. It would disappear entirely in a minute, erasing itself.

“He didn’t recognize you?” Leo asked. “He didn’t…”

“Leo,” Sirius said, and then dropped to a knee. God, his very bones ached. His skull.

“Oh God,” Leo said faintly, and then, a little farther away from the phone, he shouted. “James!”

Sirius ducked away from the gray light. The cold wind. His head was killing him. “Fuck.”

“Eh!” The man stopped sweeping, looking at him. He said something fast in Greek, but Sirius was hopeless to translate just then.

“Sirius,” Leo said, voice closer now. “You’re tracker. Cut it out right now.”

“What?” Sirius asked.

“Cut out your tracker right now,” Leo shouted. “You said Jack forgot and then he was dead, there’s nothing that would cause that except—” Leo cut off with a short cry.

“Leo?” Sirius said.

He heard Finn’s voice in the background. Leo! Oh my God—

Then Leo’s. Cut it out, Finn. Right there, remember, feel it? Finn, stop fucking staring, do it, do it, it’s going to kill me and James—

“Finish?” the man asked him, alarmed. He was holding out his hand for his phone, but didn’t look like he wanted to get much closer to Sirius. “Hey, finish? Finish?”

“Help,” Sirius said. “Please—” He pulled the Greek out but he didn’t know how. Autopilot, maybe. “Sir, please may I use your bathroom? It’s life or death.”

The man began to shake his head, but Sirius didn’t have time—he shouldn’t have even asked. The man shouted as Sirius hauled himself up and stumbled past him. He shouldered through the small, wooden door and found himself in a living room—tidy and smelling of cinnamon and coffee. It connected right with the kitchen, not unlike their safe house. The dim lamp by the sofa stung his eyes, glaring as if it were a sun. Sirius blinked hard, looking for something sharp, anything.

“Hey!” The man tried to grab his shoulder, but Sirius shook him off easily. There was a knife, small, laying beside a sliced lemon. Sirius grabbed it and all but fell against the sink. A small vase on the window sill above slipped and shattered into the basin.

The man’s protests was no more than a ringing in Sirius’ ear as he groped at the back of his own neck. What the hell are you doing? Are you insane? Are you sick? Hey, my wife and children will be back soon, come on, brother, don’t scare them. Put the knife down, put the knife down—

There. Sirius felt the bump. Was he imagining that it was hot to the touch? It didn’t matter.

He didn’t even feel the pain of the blade. His adrenaline was so high that it felt like nothing at all. Butter. A slip. Only the red on his hands let him know that he had succeeded. That, and the small, pill-like chip clutched between his fingers.

The pain evaporated and Sirius drew in a ragged breath.

No sooner had he dropped the tracker into the sink than did it let out a high-pitched sound and crack itself in half.

His hearing returned. He blinked his vision back to normal. He worked the pressure out of his jaw. The tracker released a thin trail of smoke.

Sirius, he tested. Sirius Black. He knew himself. He knew the coordinates.

When he turned, breathing hard and sweating, he grabbed an old, dirty looking cloth and pressed it to his neck. It didn’t look like anyone would miss it. The man was simply staring at him, eyes darting between his face and the device in the sink.

“Thank you.” Sirius breathed the words out. Greek, or at least half way there. “I am sorry. I am sorry.”

Without another word, Sirius raced out the door.

+++

The coordinates were an abandoned building right on the coast. Sirius could smell the salt. The cold air was made colder by damp. He had stopped the bleeding of his neck and turned up his collar to keep the rag in place. Everything felt wet and slippery now. Recent rain on the rocks beneath his feet as he walked up an old pathway.

There was nothing inside, it was merely a somewhat reasonable roof of their heads. Shelter, nothing more. Just broken down boards and stone walls now.

To anyone else, it looked empty.

Sirius whistled two notes.

Two notes returned from his left where the sea and horizon bled into each other, framed by a still standing window. It could have been a painting. A TV.

James appeared in front of it, wild hair haloed by the light.

“Fuck,” James said, and then they were hugging. Sirius face ended up near a slightly pink bandage on James’ neck, and he sighed his relief all over again.

“Fuck me, we had a bomb in our head the whole time, Si.” James reached up and brushed the bandage with light fingers. “Just an average day on the job.” His eyes went to Sirius’ neck. “What did you do it with?”

“Fucking kitchen knife, man. You?”

James’ laugh was shaky. “One of my daggers on Leo and I. Finn did it. Think he’s a little freaked, but he did it.”

“Oh Jesus, I should have…” Sirius shook his head. He had his own and he had Jack’s. “Didn’t have to traumatize this…God, never mind. I fucking broke into someone’s house.”

James laughed again, but he looked pale. “It’ll be fine. I was so scared I didn’t even feel it.”

“Same.”

James raised his eyebrows. “Jack?”

“I left him,” Sirius said. “Took everything off him. People will think…I don’t know. But there’s nothing to lead back to Salazar or us.”

James nodded, taking that in. “Salazar’ll be looking for us now that they can’t find us.”

Sirius nodded. “I know… I know they will. We have to move.” They began walking towards the sea window. “How did you end up here? Where are the others?”

“Finn and Leo are with Logan.”

Logan. God, Sirius hadn’t forgotten, of course he hadn’t forgotten, but what a strange thing to hear. After all these months, just a simple Finn and Leo are with Logan.

No sooner had James said it than did the Leo appear. He had an identical bandage to James and held one out to Sirius, along with an alcohol packet.

“Clean that,” Leo said.

Sirius tossed the bloody rag away. “Did yours smoke, too?”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “The second I started to get a headache—Finn said that’s what happened to Logan, too. Said he fell down in pain. But…” Leo frowned in the way he did when he was thinking something over, when something was so entirely perplexing to him that he was sure to pull an all nighter. Sirius had seen him many times after those. Blond hair a mess, coffee mugs lined up besides the water and the electrolyte packets.

“Where…” Sirius began to say. He’d only gotten a glimpse of Logan and it was beginning to feel more like a dream. His slack face. There had been blood? Hadn’t there?

Leo moved aside, revealing a half-collapsed hallway. No, it was more like an nave. Sirius looked up and realized that the remnant of a vaulted ceiling remained, stone and precarious. This had been a church.

Wind whistled through, a high note off the sea, when Sirius saw them. Finn and Logan were at the other end, a corner mostly intact and protected from the cold. Finn was awake, staring down at Logan’s face like he couldn’t stand to look away, not even for a moment. Logan was—asleep?

“Knocked out.” Leo filled in his thoughts. “Finn said he remembered him in the alley, but he’s been out ever since.”

“And his tracker?”

“It’s gone,” Leo said. “I checked.”

“But if Salazar wanted him dead…”

Leo nodded, already there. “Then whoever took it out probably saved his life."

“But he can’t remember us,” Sirius said.

Leo rubbed a hand through his hair, then pressed his fingers to his mouth, thinking. There was blood beneath his nails still, a crust of red even smeared along his jaw. Sirius had the sudden urge to wipe it away for him.

“You said Jack forgot who you were a second before he was killed,” Leo said. “I’m guessing—and this is only a guess—that this is some sort of…kill code put into place in Salazar’s tracker hardware. A memory wipe in case we get captured, and then a kill switch if there’s no hope or if we might crack and tell all.”

“Jesus,” James whispered.

“I’m guessing whoever took out Logan’s didn’t do it in time to prevent the memory wipe. And that’s calling it real close, I don’t know…”

Remus. Sirius could hardly breathe. If he hadn’t seen that footage for himself, he’d be on his knees all over again, desperate and afraid.

“Can you reverse it?” James asked. He was chewing on a thumbnail, looking down the hall. “God, please say you can Leo.”

Leo let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know.” He looked down the stone archways towards Finn. As the three of them watched, Finn reached out a hand and brushed Logan’s hair back from his eyes gently. “I don’t know.”

[whumperofworlds]

A kids' show/movie: For kids! Meet all these colorful characters and have adventures with them!

Also a kids show/movie: This character gets kidnapped and tortured for days. Another one nearly drowns in sludge. And the villain dies a horrible death that even the main characters realized they fucked up.

[3-2-whump]

The Auction Floor: Thomas Costa’s POV

Hi all,

In exchange for a chapter on the current timeline (a chapter I am still working on/fixing up before it is posted), I am posting a prequel chapter. Any and all prequel chapters will be found under 'Eternal, part 0.' They won't have nav arrows, but they will have an explanation to when in the story they take place, and a link to the masterlist to read more. Hope this system works for everyone!

This chapter happens slightly before, concurrently, and a little after The Auction Floor

TW/CW: death of a minor character (briefly mentioned), institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, nonconsensual nudity (nonsexual), minor whump (at time of story), creepy/intimate whumper(s) (sort of a multiple whimpers situation), manhandling (nonsexual) (towards the end)

Mob boss Luciano Antonio Costa – Boss Tony - had died, leaving mafia to his grandson, Thomas, to control. The newly-appointed heir didn’t look much like a typical Italian mob boss. With his blonde hair, steely blue eyes, and freckled fair skin, he hardly even looked Italian. However, the old boss never had any legitimate male heirs to pass the helm of leadership to, having only one daughter before his wife died. Although he begrudgingly accepted his daughter’s marriage to Tom’s father, an inconsequential gangster from the Irish mob, he had always intended to pass the family business onto his surviving grandson.

“I’m so sorry for your loss” began to lose its meaning after the fourth well-meaning chump, and unfortunately, Grandpa Tony’s funeral had a good turnout. “That was a beautiful eulogy,” one of many nameless faces sniffled. “You two must have been very close,” they’d said to him. Were we ever close, though? Thomas wanted to ask, remembering only the time they last fought. It may as well have been a lifetime ago when he was a teenager who turned his back on the family to try and live a straight life, but the guilt hung over him like a curse no matter how hard he had tried to run away from his fate as the next boss of the Costas. It was always about what he wanted me to be, not what I wanted. Never once was it ever about what I wanted to do with my life, he bitterly remembered. Even now, it was all about Grandpa Tony’s wants, as he accepted his role in leading the Costas. He cast a baleful glance at the casket as it slowly disappeared beneath the earth.You won, old man.

His underboss and a few of the capos, men that he had grown up with and who now supported him in running the large criminal organization, caught on to their new boss’ sour mood. Admittedly, it wasn’t hard to notice how intensely he scowled at the freshly filled-in grave. They suggested celebrating Thomas’ ascension to head of the family with drinks and a night out, but their idea of a night out was attending a black-market auction and maxing out the organization’s funds on frivolous shit. Powerful drugs, illicit weapons, plundered antiques, and –dear god, did Jaime just buy an arowana?! Thomas looked over the side of his whiskey glass disapprovingly.

He glanced over at a corner of the auction house that seemed to gather a large crowd. He shrugged and decided to join them to see the display. The crowd surrounded an entire floor-to-ceiling wall of glass, behind which stood people from all around the world, each divided into their own little compartments within the glass wall, each of them completely naked. The way they were displayed in those little glass tanks was oddly reminiscent of how fish were displayed at a pet store.

Get a pet, people had said to him. It’ll be good for you, they said, help lift your spirits, they said, if you’re responsible for keeping one little thing alive, maybe you’ll be more motivated to take care of yourself, they said. Surely those people had meant a cat or a dog or a python, and probably not an actual human being. Although, Thomas remembered the people giving him that advice were part of the major crime families of the city, too. Perhaps this was what they meant all along?

Regardless of what those people meant, it was a whole different thing to actually commit to owning a person. He’d never seriously considered it before, but now he found himself thoughtfully observing the merchandise behind the glass. Though there were a few people who were obviously adults, most of them were teens, and most them were girls, though there were a couple boys, too.

Whichever one he’d pick, they would have to be relatively attractive, if he was going to have to bear looking at them at the end of every day. He eyed a glass cell with a stunning blonde girl futilely trying to cover herself with her hands and ignore the gazes directed within her cell. Thomas pushed past the crowd and moved on; pretty girls like that would be swiped up immediately, so it wouldn’t even be worth the trouble to place a bid. The next cell held a freckled boy who leaned into the glass, fogging it up with his breath and writing ‘HELP ME’ over and over again with his finger. Thomas passed on that one, too. One by one he would find something wrong with the human assets behind the glass cases. Too shy, too desperate, not my type, that one just stares ahead and doesn’t even move…

He finally stopped around the last few cells, where a crowd had dissipated from in front of a glass cell with discontented murmurs. Inside that one crouched a small boy, knobby knees drawn to bony chest, thin, tan arms wrapped around his shins, and a head of messy dark hair resting on top his knees. The boy dared to look up from his hiding place. Loose, unruly waves of hair and thick, dark eyelashes nearly covered his expressive dark brown eyes. Those eyes hid nothing as they shone with fear. Thomas gripped the whiskey in his hand a little tighter. The child cut a striking image inside the glass prison, reminding him of a time and a place and an incidence he never liked to think about for long-

To his misfortune, his subordinates caught him staring. “Got your eye on the little slave, Tommy-Boy?” Luca asked as he sauntered up to him.

“Don’t call him that.” Even if that was technically what he would be, the whole concept still took a while for him to get used to. “I just think he’s cute is all,” he mumbled into his glass, draining it of the rest of the whiskey while he tried to convince himself the pink in his cheeks was only from the drink.

“Why don’t you place a bid?” Thomas whipped around to see Jaime lurking behind him. When did he get here? His eyes traveled down to the large picnic cooler on wheels, supposedly where Jaime’s new fish was. “Boss Tony, God rest his soul, left you quite the inheritance, I’m sure you can afford him,” Jamie snickered. He pointed to the sign above the glass cell, where the serial number and QR code were displayed prominently. “142225,” he read.

“Doesn’t he kind of remind you of-”

“You shut up. Right now,” Thomas warned.

“We’ll shut up once you place a bid, now come on! At least look up the little slave!”

Thomas sighed and whipped out his phone; the sooner he scanned the QR Code with the app the black market had made him download, the sooner his underlings would shut the hell up. A profile popped up on his phone screen, the men crowding comically around him to read over his shoulder. 142225 had been collected in Pakistan, was 5’1”, and weighed barely 90 lbs. at the last weigh-in.

“They like to starve the kids here,” Luca explained nonchalantly. “Makes it easier to control them.” Thomas glanced briefly at the thin boy inside the glass, frowning a little as he let that unsettling fact sink in. He quickly scrolled past the blood type, known allergies, and other information he deemed irrelevant to hover his thumb over the ‘PLACE A BID’ button.

“Well, go on, you know you want to!”

“He looks easy enough to take care of, and easy on the eyes, too!”

“We saw how enviously you stared at Matteo’s pet at the last New Year’s party, won’t it be nice to finally have one of your own?”

 Eventually, their peer-pressure resulted in the new mob boss placing a bid, becoming $30k poorer, filling out some ridiculous form about any last-minute body mods he may want, and waiting until the end of the night to collect his new slave and go home. His companions had left hours ago, and every other buyer had gotten their slave already, so it was just him waiting alone in an emptying warehouse, trying to make small talk with one of the event coordinators.

“So, does he have a name?”

She didn’t even look up from her tablet. “He’s named whatever you want to name him.”

“Where is he from? Besides the collection point, where’s he actually from?”

“We don’t know.”

“How old is he?”

“We don’t know.”

Thomas barely suppressed a groan. “Is there anything you do know?” he ground out impatiently.

“Yeah. He looks even cuter when he cries.” The woman smirked over her tablet, looking over Thomas’ right shoulder. “He’s here.”

Thomas turned around to see the boy, now clothed in a white T-shirt and bluish gray sweatpants. He kept his eyes downcast and his hands folded in front of him. “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy looked up briefly before dropping his gaze back to his bare feet. “Khaled,” he replied, voice timid and heavily accented, “but you may call me whatever you want, sir.”

Khaled. He silently rolled the name around on his tongue as if savoring an exotic sweet. Khaled. Thomas cast what he hoped was a reassuring smile, not that Khaled saw it with his gaze fixed to the floor. “Luckily for you, I like your name.” He strode decisively toward the exit, gently placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder to direct him. “Come with me, Khaled.”

In the nearly three-hour car ride back to Thomas’ home, the mob boss learned three things about his new purchase. Firstly, Khaled was shy, only speaking when spoken to and even then, using as few words as possible. Also, Khaled probably didn’t speak much English; how much of this was because he was shy, and how much of this was because he literally couldn’t understand him? And –finally, -Khaled could run. Since the moment the car parked, Khaled dashed out and sprinted into the street. He nearly got hit by a truck before Thomas could chase after him, pull him back, and drag him inside the apartment building. The scene of a grown man dragging a distressed kid who was screaming bloody murder probably shocked some residents, but fortunately the doorman was part of the Costas and did not bat an eye.

“It is too damn early for this!” Thomas complained to himself as he practically threw Khaled into the awaiting elevator. “Do you want to be leashed up like a dog, you little shit?! Cause that’s what’s going to happen if you keep trying to run away!”

“Let go of me, please!” the boy cried, his voice brittle and panicked like a scared, caged animal as he tried to twist out of the punishing grip on his arm.

“Like hell I’m letting you go, not after maxing out my personal credit card on you and pulling an all-nighter for the first time since Kandahar!” He violently jammed the buttons that would take them to the top floor of the high rise.

Soon the elevator dinged, doors swooshing open as they reached the floor of his penthouse. “Come on!” Thomas continued to drag the boy through the hallway, ignoring him begging in that endearing accent of his. Khaled’s complaints all but ceased as soon as he opened the door to his penthouse and let the boy step inside. His eyes widened, sparkling in awe, and his jaw dropped as he let out a reverent “whoa” that transcended any language barrier.

The living room to the penthouse itself was light and spacious, with large floor-to-ceiling windows that let in plenty of natural light, and minimalist décor to accent the living room. A large L-shaped couch dominated the living room and looked over the expansive rooftop and the cityscape beyond it. The rest of the room terminated sharply into a dining area with a large oak table and a wood-floored kitchen with two large granite countertops. An imposingly large door –the door to Thomas’ bedroom, -stood closed to the left of the living room. A hallway to the right branched off into an office on one side, and a guest bathroom opposite. A small staircase right outside the laundry room led to a storage loft spanning above the entrance. Thomas toed off his shoes at the door. Khaled, who wasn’t wearing any shoes, hesitantly walked in. Tom frowned when he noticed the dirty footprints left behind on his beige rug.“Would you like a bath, Khaled?” he suggested. The fact that Khaled didn’t reply made him again wonder how much English he truly understood. We can work on that. He sighed in exasperation as he gripped the boy’s arm and dragged him off to the guest bathroom. Once inside, Thomas deposited him at the entrance and turned on the lights and the fan. He got the shower head running next. Khaled stood silently watching him by the door as he tested the water’s temperature with his hand a few times. He nodded in satisfaction as the water finally reached an agreeable temperature. “Come on in,” he beckoned. Khaled inched closer to the bath tub. “Can I take off your clothes?” he asked. The boy blinked, then shook his head as he quickly took off the shirt himself. The drab sweatpants soon followed, and he quickly stepped into the shower. Thomas drew the curtain to prevent water from spilling and to give him a shred of privacy. As the boy showered, he soon realized Khaled had nothing to wear but that depressing little t-shirt and sweatpants. He took them to the laundry room and chucked them in the hamper, making a mental note to buy some clothes for Khaled as soon as possible. Cute as the small naked boy was, he was still a minor, and Tom didn’t need any extra distractions while he was adjusting to his new role as Boss of the Costa Family.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Rupture

(Masterlist)

(Content: starvation, captivity, violence mention, trafficking mention, death mention, “gay” as an insult, fear, minor emeto)

=======================

They’d locked him in his room again. Delta was getting the sickest sense of déjà vu. He was glad the tap was still running and that he’d been stashing food, because the first three days they’d forgotten to feed him. Maybe it was understandable. The Thorn had descended into chaos, presumably. Simon didn’t even come see him, probably in a total tizzy over his ever-dwindling job security. Delta had been locked up alone for a week now. When he’d first been thrown in here, he’d still been splattered with Paris’s blood.

He turned the fan on, letting the cold air wash over him. It helped to calm him down. 

The only access he had to the outside world was with the laptop. Everyone online knew. There had been grainy footage posted of the assassination attempt. Everyone thought it was Nezu. In truth, the Thales bloodlust ran deep — and it ran in different directions. There could have been any number of mercenaries who were carrying out their business against the imperial line. But there was no denying that Paris’s death would certainly be convenient for the general.

Paris’s actual condition was uncertain. He wasn’t dead yet, not officially. But Delta had seen the spot where the arrow pierced him. They were probably just keeping him on ice. He could already see how this would play out. Paris would die. The next person to inherit Δ-107 would be Nezu, who had already made his intentions with Delta very clear. He’d put his brain in a jar, if he was feeling merciful. And even if by some miracle he did not end up in Nezu’s court, the odds still weren’t good. If everyone had really found out about the first “escape attempt”, whoever it was would likely kill or maim him. So that was that.

Delta was sick of Empire. Any lingering loyalty he might’ve had to it would die with Paris. This place was a cesspool collapsing in on itself. He felt disgusted and ashamed to have ever been part of it.

There was no one to betray now, no one to punish him, no one to anger and no one to disappoint. He took a deep breath, sorting through the directory once more. There was nothing to lose. He was dead anyway.

ndhakdvsnnd: EMPIREfile2ndQ.zip (574 MB) ndhakdvsnnd: enjoy guys

His laptop almost exploded.

=============

He had to shut the computer down. In part because it was overheating to the point of burning, but in part because the attention scared him. He forced himself to read for a few hours before opening the machine back up. There were thousands of replies to the thread.

chat is this real

FAKE AND GAY

check 92. that would explain all the lights in the sky by scandia.

empire is cooked

We are not doing this shit again 

lol did the hera trafficking conspiracy just get canonized 

I used to work accounting at Empire. this is the same code they used, sooooo 

Nice knowing you OP

Delta reread that last response carefully. He checked his VPN settings, making sure he was still somewhat protected. It was on. He looked briefly through his post history to see if there was anything there that might hint at his identity. But he’d been careful. Before Lemuria, he’d never even acknowledged anything relating to Empire publicly.

His inbox was full. He went through, deleting every single stranger that had messaged him “real?”

There were some people he did recognize, though. A girl he’d been messaging on the programming board was pinging him again. They’d only had a few conversations before, but they tended to run long. She was always nice to him. He trusted her to be cool about it.

katkittykat: whoaaaahhhhh where did u find this :0

katkittykat: u have been practicing ur leet haxx skills !!!!

katkittykat: u set ur proxy up right  ?? theyre gonna try and swat u

katkittykat: dw its a rite of passage :3

ndhakdvsnnd: yes the vpn works. i dont know what that means.

katkittykat: its just an expression 

katkittykat: u should b careful tho im gonna send u smth

ndhakdvsnnd: okay

katkittykat: :P

He clicked the link she’d sent. It was a guide she had clearly made herself, written in the same cheery pink text. It contained instructions for how to finish encrypting the browser and ways to brick anyone who came looking for him. It was a bit above his level, but she must have believed he was capable of it. Besides, he had nothing better to do. It took him the rest of the night to set up. She was still online when he finished.

ndhakdvsnnd: okay i did it

katkittykat: yay!!! are u planning on uploading more

ndhakdvsnnd: i dont know if i will have time

katkittykat: ur not gonna tell me ur source right  ??

ndhakdvsnnd: no

katkittykat: lololol i didnt think so

katkittykat: b safe pls <3

B safe. It was a little late for that. Delta looked through the Empire portal again. It had only been a few hours, but he was happy to see that the leak hadn’t yet been acknowledged. A little flash of fear ran through his mind. He thought about what it would be like when it did eventually get caught. He reminded himself that he was already doomed – and doomed was a binary state. Though logical, it was not a very comforting line of reasoning. He stood up and calmly walked to the bathroom, dry-heaving into the sink. His body knew exactly how to feel about it. It turned itself inside out in protest.

~~~

Tags: @catnykit @indigoviolet311 @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @defire @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump

[typically-untypical]

The Last Experiment

I wrote this for this years @tss-storytime! It is also a sequel to one of my most popular fics, The Logical Exception.

Read the whole story here on Ao3, but have a taste of the first chapter!

Also please check out this post for @starsinger 's art work!

CW: This first chapter does mention blood and injury

Chapter 1 - Aftermath - Isolation

Typically, Logan was a very literal person. Most of the time, exact language was a better way to express his thoughts. Sometimes, words weren’t enough. Literally, Logan could pull oxygen into his lungs. Literally, the world hadn’t changed it’s gravitational pull, yet he couldn’t breath, and the world was heavy. 

Roman’s blood was on the pavement.

Small droplets outlined the path to their home, their safe place, yet Logan couldn’t seem to care. All that mattered was getting Roman to safety. He had been downed. He lay unconscious in Remus’ arms. It was Logan’s fault. His brother had stepped in the way. He had protected Logan and now his life was in danger. A hospital would have been closer, but they couldn’t risk it. They couldn’t risk what doctors would do with a powered person. 

Instead, they had to risk Roman. 

“Pat, I need you!” Remus shouted after kicking open the door. Logan hadn’t even been able to help, he wasn’t strong enough to carry Roman. His leg was still unstable. Remus had had to step in. He had held Roman the entire way, briefly using his powers to conjure something similar to a horse. Remus had gotten them all to safety. He had conjured two ‘horses’ and guilt flooded Logan knowing Remus had still been thinking about him even with Roman injured in his arms. He hadn’t trusted Logan to take care of himself, and Logan couldn’t blame him.

The house smelt of paprika. It should have comforted Logan, the smell of Patton’s cooking was the smell of home. 

Instead, his eyes tracked Remus, watching as he placed Roman on the couch and Patton’s healing warmth lit up the room. Logan was thankful he had purchased a house where the front door walked into the living room. More than once Patton had had to help them after patrol. Typically it was minor bruising, or a few scrapes that healed in barely any time at all. This injury…. This time….

Logan swallowed, his throat tight as he continued trying to breathe. Color was returning to Roman’s face. His breathing evened out and he groaned in his unconsciousness. Relief flooded Logan’s senses. Roman would be fine. 

Roman would have been fine if Logan wasn’t a failure. He couldn’t rest. This was his fault. If he rested for even a moment it might happen again. Turning from the living room, Logan walked to a door that connected to a second house. He had bought a duplex, able to get both houses to give the six of them more living space. He had expended the resources he had. He had spent all of the money he had saved trying to make sure the six of them would be safe and comfortable. He had at least outfitted the house with security. Logan had thought of everything, everything but his own ineptitude. 

Once through to the other house, Logan turned right to a coat closet, slipping behind the long peacoats into a hidden door. He stripped off his visor, hands shaking, and plugged it into the charging base. He had to work harder. He had to fight to protect them. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. He knew that.

His hands were shaking.

“Welcome back Sherlock, shall I start the post patrol protocol?” his computer called but Logan didn’t respond. He couldn’t open his mouth. The vision of Roman’s blood was burned into his brain.

Logan collapsed into the chair by his computer, he closed his eyes, feeling the tears streaming down his face. He wanted to go numb. He didn’t want to feel any of this. If he had to feel hollow from missing his powers, why couldn’t he feel hollow with this as well? For the past few months he and his brothers had been going on patrols, attempting to help those who needed help. His brothers had been against Logan joining in, telling him he needed to rest further, that his leg would keep him from being helpful, but he insisted. Logan had fought, and clamored, and worked to make himself useful to his brothers, to be what they needed and still he was the reason Roman got hurt. 

Logan clawed into his leg, nails attempting to bite into reinforced clothes. They did nothing. He didn’t feel an inkling of pain. He should at least be able to carry some of Roman’s pain. He shouldn’t be fine while Roman was unconscious on a couch. Logan wanted to slam his head into the desk, to pay for what he had done to his brother, but he knew that wouldn’t help. Self destruction wasn’t how he fixed things. Instead, he could work. It was the one thing he was good at. He would work on his visor, he would work on his strategies, he could work on the serum. 

Logan finally turned to his computer, “Irene, please start the post patrol protocol.” For a moment he hesitated before pulling up another file. This one didn’t have an automated command, and it was locked behind multiple layers of encryption. Logan hesitated as his finger hung over the enter button. He had saved his parents' research. He had recreated his own research. He wanted to make sure he could combat it if his parents ever came back, and in the darkest parts of his heart, Logan wondered.  His parents’ experiments had never been ethical, and though experimenting on himself was far more ethical, it was also dangerous. Not everyone who had asked for powers had made it out alive. Logan shouldn’t rely on something so destructive to make him useful, but if there was a chance to feel less hollow…. He knew how to use his powers. He could be useful if he had control again. He knew how to help when he could feel the world around him. 

Logan looked at the screen, at the number of scenarios he had run. Theoretically, because he had had powers before, the serum would be less deadly, but Logan had a sample size of one, and that had been a very different scenario. He could make a serum, but it would take doing a few illegal things. He had promised his brothers he would behave; he would abide by the ideals they wanted to see in the world. Logan shouldn’t risk everything he had built.

But Roman had gotten hurt.

“You slammed your way in here quite dramatically. I almost thought one of the twins had been kidnapped.” Logan jumped as he heard the voice behind him, immediately slamming the escape key on his keyboard. Everything shut down. It had been a dumb idea to begin with. Since the fight with his parents, Logan had done his best not to keep secrets from the others. He didn’t need to intentionally start something that would require lies and secrecy. He wasn’t going to use the serum.

“What do you want, Deceit?” It was hard to keep the frustrated edge out of his voice. If he wasn’t going to use the serum he had to think of something else, some other way he could prevent Roman, or any of them for that matter, from being hurt.

“It’s Janus, now, actually. I found a name that perfectly suits me. God of duality and beginnings.” Was this really the time for Janus to be expressing his name change? Roman had almost died, and Logan was spiraling. He knew that’s what was happening. He had to stop. He had to breathe. His chest puffed out as he filled his lungs with air.

“I’m happy for you, now what do you want Janus?” His voice was softer, and he slowly let the air out of his lungs. Closing his eyes, Logan counted. Virgil had taught him what to do when he spiraled, late at night when the world was quiet, his boyfriend would hold his hands and count. In the shadows Virgil was learning to be comfortable again, he would turn his focus to Logan. He would count slowly, quietly, and as Logan counted now he was able to calm his mind. Anxiety slipped away as guilt crawled its way back in. Logan had been lucky to be born with powers, but Virgil, Janus, Remy, everyone his parents had hurt had been forced to attain their powers through the worst possible means. How could Logan consider going down the same path the others had been forced to walk? How could he consider putting his life in danger like that?

“I came to check on you? After all, your brother was injured because of your idiocy. I’m sure that’s weighing on you pretty heavily.“ Janus traced along one of the training dummies at the side of the room before moving forward. He walked across the floor mat without taking his shoes off, disrespecting the space Logan had set up to let people train. Something in him tightened, each condescending foot step dropping him deeper inside of his own mind. He forgot to breathe again.

Janus turned his eyes to Logan, staring him down, and Logan had to look away.

“Is that why you ran in here? To hide from your responsibilities?”

He wasn’t hiding, he was finding a way to move forward. He was pushing himself so he wouldn’t fall apart. He was trying. Logan desperately wished he could be numb. He hated how the past few months with Patton and Virgil had started to break down the walls he had set up to protect himself. “If your sole purpose was to check on me, I am fine. However, your words suggest you came to taunt me instead. If that’s the case, please leave.” He was trying so hard. His computer was filled with strategies, planning, work outs, anything and everything he could get his hands on that might make him a better fighter, that might make him useful.

Janus didn’t seem to agree. He was staring at Logan, even without looking at him Logan could feel the burning his eyes left. Janus was judging him. He deserved to be judged.

“Pity doesn’t suit you, Logic.” He heard the other man turn, stopping his feet across the mat again as he walked away. Logan was certain if he had been looking at Janus’ face, the other man would be rolling his eyes. He was right, pity didn’t have a place here. Taking in a deep breath, Logan squared his shoulder, watching the screen. His hand hovered a moment before he clicked on information for the serum one more time. Who would it hurt if he tested this? Only himself. 

“Irene, please initiate lockdown protocol.”

He heard the door lock and Logan turned his eyes to the ceiling. He wasn’t a religious person, but hopefully if there was a divine being in the world who judged people on their actions, that being would forgive him.  

Pity didn’t suit him, but power would.

[bambiraptorx]

(gives Leo existential crisis and a nose)