#Kinlings

[treeoxide]

for @d3stroia and myself c:

[mafiaamongstus]

Does Joris ever miss their old life? Like, the life it had before she was Joris?

W̵̱͒͊́͐-̶̛̖̠͕̩͕̤̤͂̋̍̿̎͆͐̋̏w̵̨̰̖̻̉̄͆̌̊̔͊́h̸̟̦̳̖̬̜̣̦́̓͂̀͆͆͘ǫ̸̢̺̟̼̝̣̳̀͑̎̈́̚̕ ̷̤͎͚͕͉̾̑I̶̳͖͍̹̼̾͐ ̸̝͚̻͇̮̩̲͛̿̃̂͗̎u̸̧̪̖͕̬͙͒͝s̶̙͎̳̗̬͍͊̓͗̿̎̿̌̌͗͘ě̵͎̗͉͘d̸̯̩̣͍̣͖̘̖̼̠̽̀̇͑̔̓̉̒͋ ̷̲͉̼͓̳͛̌̊̔̎̚͠t̵͔̦͓̪͈̺͊̓̾ō̶̙̘̹͚̾͗͗̍̈́͗̚͠ ̵̮͎̱̅̊̅̅͊̈́̈́͐̔̕b̴̖͎̗̹̭̫͈̂̎̈́͌e̵̫̹̙̗̖͊͐̊̈́̒̒̑͠?̴̡̳͓̳͈͑̀̈́͛̍͂̎̚

(alt text: w-who I used to be?)

Before it was Joris, it was known as Xiakh-sthri. It lived a quiet life, though a complicated one. Living in the snowplains of Polus is no easy feat, especially when the Kinling society is still reeling with the after-effects of the Spiri war.

It was hard, but Xiakh-sthri enjoyed it. It took care of a small garden, raised a pack of Rammies, and generally kept to itself.

Then came the call to join the war against humans. Xiakh-sthri, who had lost several relatives to the Spiri, closed itself up on its farm, hiding away from the war.

Years passed this way. Was it ashamed? of course. But better ashamed and alive than proud to fight and dead.

Then came the second call. That humans were not the Spiri, that they were more akin to the Kinlings, terrified of their alien aggressors and fighting to protect their way of life. And if they fought this hard against the Kinlings, how great would the humans be against the Spiri?

And so, the great assimilation began. No longer would the Kinlings attack and replace humans, instead, they would form their own identities out of the shadows of their old. The Kinlings would form a new life for themselves, protected by the humans. And when the time was right, they would be able to reveal themselves, and form a bond that would last throughout all of time and space.

Xiakh-sthri finally left its farm, setting free its pets, tearing down the fences that protected its garden. Xiakh-sthri left its home, and began making its way to its new one. It would find the human base, and it would wait for the right chance to join them.

And then, as it traveled the snowbanks under cover of a storm, it met Joris.

Brilliant, empathic, dying Joris.

Xiakh-sthri does long for the days when life was simpler. When it did not need to pretend to be a war general in a war that was no longer to be fought. When it did not have to cause itself pain to rearrange itself in order to not be discovered by the old man that threatened vivisection to the faceless Kinlings that had attacked him once.

But then, it would still be alone.

And to a species that thrives on connection, there is no worse fate.

So yes, Xiakh-sthri does miss the days before it was Joris.

But Xiakh-sthri was alone.

Joris was not alone.

Joris is not alone.

[meyveler]

swarovskinin bijuteri olup min 7-15k satislar yapmasi canimi sıkıyor. ederi olmayan seylere sirf marka diye para vermek ne biliyim.. dunya duzeninin zenginlerin iyi hissetmesi uzerine kurulu olmasi sacmalik ayrica luks bijuteri ne ya?? ya bijuteridir ya da degerli madendir pembe gtlu swarovski

[watercraver]

I JSUT GOT CALLED PATHEITIC ABD IM FLSUTERD AND WOOZTY AND CANTL THINDK STIUGHT WHAT TEH FUCk

[4ngelmutt]

Remake of this print in light of all recent events against transexuals.

I'd rather see puppy masks and leather daddies at pride than more fucking mickey mouse rainbow ears and flying tiger totebags or any of your family friendly corporate merch while they quite literally use the money you just gave them to kill us. Instead of giving your money to them, invest in actual family-friendly queer activities for children.

Protect drag queens story times, support your local queer children's book illustrators, support local gay youth groups, bands, etc, and push to keep inclusive sex education in schools.

Instead of fucking whining and joining the cishet conservative propaganda screaming perverts!!" At your fellow queers help us make so many safe queer spaces that the only option for kids and youth to celebrate their pride won't be just the one measly parade they grant us out of pity in june. Fight for more spaces instead of making the few ones we have more tight.

#gayart #queerart #queercollage #collageart #kinkbelongsatpride #kink #lgbtkink #lgbt

#gayliberation #queerrights

#transart #transwriter

[poemvolia]

keşke bu kadar kırılgan olmasaydım. nefretin duygusuyla büyütselerdi beni. kinle büyüseydim, derimi kalınlaştırırdım belki. keşke, büyürken biri gelip deseydi "bu dünya güçlü olanın, kalın derili olanın yeri." o zaman bu kadar ince olmazdı kabuğum. herkes gibi unutmayı, umursamamayı öğrenirdim. böyle olmazdı. kırılmaya, incinmeye yazgılı, doğanın kuralıymışım gibi.

[duygusalhikayem]

keşke bu kadar kırılgan olmasaydım. nefretin duygusuyla büyütselerdi beni. kinle büyüseydim, derimi kalınlaştırırdım belki. keşke, büyürken biri gelip deseydi "bu dünya güçlü olanın, kalın derili olanın yeri." o zaman bu kadar ince olmazdı kabuğum. herkes gibi unutmayı, umursamamayı öğrenirdim. böyle olmazdı. kırılmaya, incinmeye yazgılı, doğanın kuralıymışım gibi.

HİÇKİMSENİN

HİÇBİRŞEYİ

UZAK DURUN❗️❗️❗️

[mafiaamongstus]

Character Information: Joris

Name: Joris

Rank: Commander

Designation: Teal

Gender: Nonbinary (She/They/It)

Affiliation: The Government?

Current Status: Stationed on the Mira Colony of Olia

Personality:

Even from a young age, Joris has been obsessed with space. Born during the prime era of Space Travel, everybody knew that Joris would be among the stars during their adult life, so it came at no surprise when they shipped out to Albion Military Base. And serving with the Government did little to dampen her interests. Had their skills not been what they are, they likely would have been written up several times for dismantling the meteor blasters and reassembling them. However, each time came with improvements, and no little boost to their ego. 

War is not without its marks though, and the war did change Joris. Although she still loves space, she finds it hard to be at rest. Others have noted she grows twitchy in large crowds, and some nights she can be found wandering about, staring at the stars. 

Story:

Joris was born an only child to an older couple. As a child, she was introduced to the space program through a special VR field trip, and quickly fell in love with the cosmos. Every year on her birthday, her parents would take them on a trip to the Stickmin Resort and Casino, allowing them to spend a week surrounded by that which she loved most.

As she grew, studying engineering and programming, Joris easily could have become a researcher, signing on with a company to study the stars. Instead however, they decided to join the military, requesting only that they be stationed offworld. 

Joris was initially stationed on Albion, developing weaponry for the soldiers to use. However, when the war started and it became all hands on deck, she was transferred to Polus. They performed constant adjustments to the blasters on-base; and they did everything she could to make sure the living quarters were as comfortable as possible.

And had things progressed as normal, perhaps in a few years when the war ended they would have retired from the military and gone into a more civilian career. Or she could have moved to the Stickmin Resort, joining its new Permanent Housing plan in exchange for helping keep the station running. 

But things ever so rarely go as we want.

And one night, General Joris was caught off base during a heavy snowfall. She was injured, weak, and dying. And that is how the Imposter found her. 

But there was something…different, about this Imposter. It…showed compassion for her. It tried to treat their wound, though it had definite struggles. It spoke with her, revealing that the Imposters were shifting into a new phase. One where they weren’t fighting anymore. Where they would integrate with society, hiding from them forever. 

It revealed that the Imposters were a war ravaged race. Torn apart by a race called the Spiree, the Imposters (or, as it called them, the Kinlings) had only known war for generations. Even after the Spiree shifted to peacekeeping instead of warmongering, the Kinglings lived in fear. They survived by replacing other beings and taking their place. It was pure survival. 

And during the war, the Kinlings had believed that the humans were just the same as the Spiree of old. 

But then a miraculous thing happened. One of the Kinlings had made it to Earth. And they had revealed to the rest of the species that the humans were just as afraid as the Kinlings were. They were done fighting. They were going to stop killing and replacing, and instead, they were going to craft new forms for themselves, integrating into humanity without replacing its members. They were going to hide, for how could they inflict the same pain they had received?

And Joris, dying in the snowbank, realized that she wanted this future that the Kinling spoke of. And although the creature could have been lying, they wanted to believe. They had always loved space and the stars and everything that the galaxy held. Was it so hard to believe that the aliens might want peace too?

In her final act, Joris granted the Kinling permission to replace her. Those last few hours she spent retelling the alien every bit of her life she could think of. They gave it the passwords to her devices, the codes it would need to know. She told them about her family, her friends, and her dreams.

And when she died, the Kinling buried Joris and swore to honor her memory, to live the life that Joris would have wanted. 

It was tested when it returned to base. Standard protocol for anyone who had been outside alone for an extended period of time. But thanks to the information given, she passed and was welcomed back inside. They tore themselves into Joris’s life work, studying and practicing until they could do anything Joris had once done, and beyond.

When the war ended, Joris was afraid to travel to Earth. All she had known was space and the stars and freedom. How could it go to a home where it had never known? Beside that, the real Joris’s parents had died years before it had replaced Joris, and without the structure of the military, Joris feared they might be discovered. 

And so, Joris remained in the military. Although it has considered several times trying to pitch colonization to the government it now serves, fear has held it back. 

Joris enjoyed the companionship of the friends of the real Joris, and was saddened to hear when several of them had died while on earth. As they were promoted to Commander, Joris decided to finally take that leap. They approached the higher ranks with their idea of colonizing Mira, the original home planet of the Kinlings (not that any of them knew that), now that the war had ended. Her request was approved, and she named the colony Olia, after the Commander that had taught her so much about humanity. 

Most of the Olia colony are also Kinlings, though there is a good number of humans present. The goal is to slowly introduce humanity to the idea that the Kinlings no longer which to fight them. Though perhaps…under a different name. After all, the Kinlings are far from the only alien species to possess shapeshifting abilities, and humanity never did call the Kinlings anything but Imposter. 

[hisboslugu]

en güzel beraberlik seninle olmak diyorum, nasıl en korkunç yalnızlık sensiz olmaksa. biraz önce buradaydın. aradan geçen zaman henüz kokunu bile dağıtamadı. oturduğun koltukta ağırlığının izi duruyor. dokunduğun her yerde sıcaklığın var, baktığın her şeyde aydınlığın. gittin mi? ben şimdi yalnız mıyım? duvarlar üzerime yıkılıyor, yüzümde parçalanıyor aynalar, resim çerçeveleri. tarifi mümkün olmayan bir boşluk içindeyim. gözlerim kapıda, belki yine gelirsin diyorum. uzaktan ayak sesleri geliyor. sen değilsin gelen, biliyorum ama yine de bir ümit var içimde vazgeçemediğim. bir sigara yakıyorum ve seni arıyorum dumanın havada çizdiği şekillerde. sonra ne yapacağını bilmeyen ellerime bakıyorum bir zaman. ellerim hala ayrılırken ellerine temas etmenin hazzı içinde şaşkın ve kararsız. oysa o ellerle şimdi şiirler yazabilirim senin için, sana yokluğumun dayanılmazlığını anlatabilirim. zaman hayli ilerledi. evine varmış olmalısın. kulağım telefon sesinde. beni aramanı bekliyorum. telefonun her çalışında umutla uzanıyor ellerim ahizeye. oysa hep bir başkası çıkıyor karşıma. kahroluyorum. senden başkasının varlığına değil, sesine bile tahammülüm yok artık. ağır dayanılmaz saatler geçiyor. nihayet senin sesin telefonda. beni anlayan, o özlemli kısık sesin. "nasılsın?" derken bile yüreğimi heyecanla dolduran, kanımı tutuşturan sesini işitmenin sevinci sarıyor her yerimi. hiç bitmesin istiyorum konuşmamız. senden başka bir şey düşündüğüm yok, dünya umurumda değil. konuşuyor, konuşuyoruz ve "allahaısmarladık." diyorsun. sana düşündüklerimi söyleyemiyorum. "ne olur, yine gel ve hiç gitme artık." diyemiyorum. boğazıma bir şeyler düğümleniyor. ellerimde soğuk, hissiz bir aletle yapayalnız kalıyorum. biraz önce sesini bana ileten telefon düşmanım şimdi. hırsla ve kinle bakıyorum bir zaman. sonra sevdiğin bir plağı çalmak geliyor aklıma. birden seviniyorum. her şeye rağmen yine seninleyim, ne iyi. beşinci senfoniyi dinliyorum. odayı orkestranın güçlü, tanrısal sesi dolduruyor. hiç ayrılmadığımıza ve ayrılmayacağımıza inanıyorum. yüzyılların ardından bir beethoven sesleniyor, isyan ediyor zamana ve sonra bir başka plakta schumann ağlıyor, ben ağlıyorum, uzaklarda sen ağlıyorsun. aşkın ve sanatın ölümsüzlüğüne bir kere daha inanıyorum. artık seni sevdiğime pişman değilim.

on sekizinci m.

[intihardenemeleri]

en güzel beraberlik seninle olmak diyorum, nasıl en korkunç yalnızlık sensiz olmaksa… biraz önce buradaydın. aradan geçen zaman henüz kokunu bile dağıtamadı. oturduğun koltukta ağırlığının izi duruyor. dokunduğun her yerde sıcaklığın var, baktığın her şeyde aydınlığın. gittin mi? ben şimdi yalnız mıyım? duvarlar üzerime yıkılıyor, yüzümde parçalanıyor aynalar, resim çerçeveleri. tarifi mümkün olmayan bir boşluk içindeyim. gözlerim kapıda, belki yine gelirsin diyorum. uzaktan ayak sesleri geliyor. sen değilsin gelen biliyorum, ama yine de bir ümit var içimde vazgeçemediğim. bir sigara yakıyorum ve seni arıyorum dumanın havada çizdiği şekillerde. sonra ne yapacağını bilemeyen ellerime bakıyorum bir zaman. ellerim hâlâ ayrılırken ellerine temas etmenin hazzı içinde şaşkın ve kararsız. oysa, o ellerle şimdi şiirler yazabilirim senin için, sana yokluğunun dayanılmazlığını anlatabilirim. zaman hayli ilerledi. evine varmış olmalısın. kulağım telefon sesinde. beni aramanı bekliyorum. telefonun her çalışında umutla uzanıyor ellerim ahizeye. oysa hep bir başkası çıkıyor karşıma. kahroluyorum. senden başkasının varlığına değil, sesine bile tahammülüm yok artık. ağır dayanılmaz saatler geçiyor. nihayet senin sesin telefonda. beni anlayan, o özlemli kısık sesin. “nasılsın?” derken bile yüreğimi heyecanla dolduran, kanımı tutuşturan sesini işitmenin sevinci sarıyor her yerimi. hiç bitmesin istiyorum konuşmamız. senden başka bir şey düşündüğüm yok, dünya umurumda değil. konuşuyor konuşuyoruz ve “allahaısmarladık.” diyorsun. sana düşündüklerimi söyleyemiyorum. “ne olur, yine gel ve hiç gitme artık.” diyemiyorum. boğazıma bir şeyler düğümleniyor. ellerimde soğuk, hissiz bir aletle yapayalnız kalıyorum… sesin yerine çıldırtan bir uğultu kulaklarımda. biraz önce sesini bana ileten telefon düşmanım şimdi. hırsla ve kinle bakıyorum bir zaman. sonra sevdiğin bir plağı çalmak geliyor aklıma. birden seviniyorum. her şeye rağmen yine seninleyim, ne iyi… beşinci senfoniyi dinliyorum. odayı orkestranın güçlü, tanrısal sesi dolduruyor. hiç ayrılmadığımıza ve ayrılmayacağımıza inanıyorum. yüzyılların ardından bir beethoven sesleniyor, isyan ediyor zamana. ve sonra bir başka plakta schumann ağlıyor, ben ağlıyorum, uzaklarda sen ağlıyorsun. aşkın ve sanatın ölümsüzlüğüne bir kere daha inanıyorum. artık seni sevdiğime pişman değilim.

[greyscloud]

i suppose this is a term coining post.

here are some polymind terms i’ve come up w, if there’s any questions lmk !

lings:

sexling: a mind based off sex and / or kink (it is neutral in nature but its job can determine whether its neg or positive)

kinling: a mind based off your kin (i wasn’t actually the first person to come up w this, i found other people using the same term)

spinling: a mind based off your special interest (autistic version of the fixling)

blankling: a “mind” that is somehow, no mind. i don’t think this type of mind would work if you have a central mind as i assume that mind would be the default, w a blankling its that there’s literally no one there to fill the body, there’s nothing stimulating enough to activate any part of the mind so you’re just in an ultimate neutral zone & just going though the motions. this happens mostly when i’m very drained at the end of the day but just stay up usually on my phone or watching something & there’s just. nada. a blankling would at most be able to have a job, type, and name. it is too blank to have any other defining characteristics. the name is just something you assign to refer to it. this includes not having empathy, emotions, not too many meaningful thoughts

disling: a mind centered around your disabilities or disorders. it may be just a version of you that has 1 of the disorders or disabilities you have as a whole, or it can be that disability or disorder as an entire being

illing: a mind that is centered around your chronic illnesses and works the same as a disling.

extra:

cover up: when a mind is too private, personal, or is only mainly activated around specific people but still wants to interact socially so you create a “persona” or a “cover up” to hind its true identity allowing it to still interact

blankslate: blankslate is technically a job, it’s to go w blankling. usually only a blankling will have the blankslate job, but you could technically create an OC that has no lore or personality to it or pick a random animal to have a visual of the mind & a name to give it and assign it blankslate. so it is possible for a blankslate to be something other than a blankling, it just needs to lack personality.

jobs:

packmate: specially w your partner and related to this flag

cheerbear: happiness, joy, good stuffs ! inspired from cheer bear from care bears

tiny: regressed version of yourself. usually to regain childhood

harm reducer: reducing ed & sh & such alike

groundskeeper: the keeper of grief & dysphoria. w grief referring to yourself, like loss of culture, never being able to develope a skill further etc

grave yard: the sponge of grief & dysphoria. the one who feels the emotions.

academic keeper: school related (or job related). mind who is active during class or work related situations

doctor: keeping info on your disorders, disabilities, or chronic illness’ or feelings towards them

teacher: role model like figure that shares knowledge (usually related to spinlings). basically professional yapper

shutter: outward shut down, usually because of feeling unsafe, attacked, going into an episode, or feeling like you upset someone so you shut down and just sort of. try to go invisible

cloud: deals w dissociation (day dreaming, zoning out, derealization, depersonalization) etc

obsidian: negative emotions sponge, soaks up all of the negative emotions. usually sad ones. similar to worry stone in the link below but more of sad, depressed, lonely, even jealousy

moth: forced *or* less enthusiastic socialization. meant to be the opposite of butterfly

[steviewashere]

Love, Rest Your Head

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Canon Typical Injuries Tags: Pre-Season 4, Aftermath of Starcourt Mall, Aftermath of Torture, Season 4, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Steve Harrington, Major Character Injury, Established Relationship, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Head Trauma, Mentions of Vomiting, Self Sacrificing Steve Harrington, Mentions of Major Character Death (In Reference to Hopper), Foreshadowing, Ambiguous Ending

💕—————💕 The news was pure devastation. Overhead shots of the Starcourt Mall burning. Flames engulfing the building on all sides, swallowing it up until it sat a collapsed, ashen mess. There was no structure. No semblance to any kind of store that was inside. Just dust. Blackened walls. Melted floor tiles.

Eddie sat on the edge of the couch cushion, left hand tucked harshly under his thigh, chomping down on his right hand’s fingernails. There was a metallic tang on his tongue, but he couldn’t get himself to stop. Not even when the raw, exposed parts of his skin bared themself as a tender ache in his mouth’s warmth. Nothing could stop him. In between bites, there were moments where he was holding his breath. Gasping for it when push eventually came to shove. At least it was air he was choking on, not bile.

His uncle was stoic in his recliner in the corner. Until, with the quietest and gruffest voice Eddie’s ever heard, Wayne said, “Your boy. He’s in the parking lot. Has to be.”

“What if he isn’t?” Eddie barely mustered. “What if—What if he’s not there in the parking lot with all those ambulances? What if Steve’s stuck in the debris and he can’t get out and nobody can hear him and then he doesn’t come home and I never—“ He was back to choking on his breath. Sipping at the smallest pockets of air he could manage.

Wayne didn’t answer. The promises that could be made in this moment, every single one of them could be a fallacy.

Then, the news reporter read out those who suffered in the fire. That crisped with the building. Ones that couldn’t be recovered. Ones that were found, yet only identifiable by the licenses in their pockets.

Jenna Kinling Parker Smith Tony Roberts Billy Hargrove…

Eddie bit his fingers harder at that last name. Maybe they didn’t run in the same circles or maybe they weren’t friends. But Billy was still a young dude. He had a life ahead of him. They had classes together. What if…What if…What if, rings loudly in Eddie’s head.

Except, Steve isn’t listed. Neither is his new friend, Robin. They aren’t…They weren’t found in the rubble. They weren’t believed to be in it either. And, as if on cue, the trailer’s phone begins to ring. Eddie is up and out of his seat before he has a chance to miss a single ring.

“Munson residence, Eddie speaking,” he answers hastily.

On the other end is the wet, nasally, raspy breathing of another person. The deeper the breaths, the more he can make out it’s somebody masculine. Their intakes are interrupted by small sniffles. Short bursting whimpers that come from sure pain, not pleasure.

“Hello?” Eddie speaks quietly.

The person gasps. Sobbing around the words, “Eddie…Eddie, I need help.” Steve.

“I’ll help, sweetheart,” he promises immediately. “What do you need? I—Uncle Wayne is here, too. We can help. We can—“

“‘M at the mall. And it’s all charred and…and gone. And I think I—I left your birthday present in Scoops and I’m sorry that I—My head hurts, Eds. It hurts and I’m bleeding and the paramed—they think…Billy’s dead and I watched him die and it scared me and—I don’t like him, I don’t like him at all but he looked sad and he looked…He’s dead, Eddie. I watched somebody die, Eddie,” Steve rambles. His words are heavily slurred. Barely breaking by his breath. Almost swirled by puke. 

Before Eddie has the chance to interrupt, Steve is continuing. “I protected Robin from getting hurt,” he says seriously, gravely. But his next words are tiny, as if Eddie was listening to a child, not his eighteen year old boyfriend. “You’re going to be mad at me.”

“Why?” He asks. Shakes his head though, and asks instead, “Where should I pick you up? Does Robin have a ride home?”

“I got beat up again,” Steve barrels on. “’T’s really bad, Eds. Everything is ringing. Makin’ me nauseous.” His breaths grow heavier as if he’s ready to retch on his sneakers.

Eddie prepares himself to hear it all, because he knows it’ll happen. Knows it like the back of his hand, unfortunately. From how many other times Steve’s been concussed. Yet, he doesn’t care, saying, “I’ll take care of you here at home, but I need you to tell me where I need to pick you up. Does Robin need a ride?”

Steve mumbles, “She already left. Hugged her and everythin’. Rob—Robin’s safe. I protected her from getting hurt. They were going to hurt her, Eds. It would’ve been my fault for getting her involved.”

The words crawl under Eddie’s skin like spiders. He wants to scratch at himself, get them out of his head. Get away from how small each word is that comes from Steve’s mouth. He wants to find out who ‘They’ are and kill them. Wants to rip this world apart for making Steve sound so…horrified. But he just calmly asks, “Where are you, Steve? Where at the mall are you?”

“Front,” Steve mutters, “at the payphone. The one with all the gum on the back. It’s gross, Eds. I feel gross. Smell like—I’m sorry.”

Eddie just swallows harshly. Doesn’t know why Steve’s apologizing. But he’s scared shitless, that’s for sure. He grabs for his car keys on the dining table. “I’m going to hang up, Stevie. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

The last thing he hears is Steve coughing and retching up his lungs. Spiders work their way into his veins.

——— Sure enough, Steve’s by the payphone. Sitting with his knees up to his chest. Leaning against the thin pole of the phone. Inches away from whatever lunch he had last. Doesn’t look like much. Eddie just thought Steve was busy with work and relaxing at home. Though…Eddie’s starting to piece together that maybe Steve never left work. Like he’s been here way too long.

Steve shivers where he grasps to himself and Eddie approaches with great caution.

He crouches down to Steve’s level, keeps his hands to himself, and speaks softly. “Steve, it’s Eddie. I brought you a jacket. And some water. I’ve got crackers. You ready to go home?”

With his one good eye, Steve looks to him. Blood caked around his nose and mouth and chin. Eyebrow split, though covered with a butterfly bandage. His left eye is swollen shut and a deep, concerning purple. A part of Eddie almost wants to ask who left Steve here like this. To sit by himself and hold to his elbows. But, a stronger part of him cares too much about making sure Steve gets home.

Slowly, Steve reaches out his right hand and grasps at Eddie’s left wrist. Thumb harsh over his pulse point. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Without any fanfare or warning, Steve’s eyes fill with tears. Streaming down his face in sluggish lines. “I was stupid and got in trouble again and now I’m all…I’m all broken and ugly and I smell really bad and you’re gonna have to stay awake with me because I’m not allowed to sleep and I—“

“Baby,” Eddie whispers lowly, “Steve, I’m just glad that you’re alive. I’d rather look after you all beaten up and bloody than…Well, y’know.”

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” Steve meekly asks.

“Do you want me to be mad at you?”

With great force, Steve shakes his head. Hissing and hiccuping at the pain that surges through him. “It hurts so bad,” he whimpers. “I just—They were going to hurt Robin and—and the kids. I couldn’t let them do that and now I—“

Eddie gently shushes him. “You don’t need to explain yourself right now, okay, sweetheart? We’ll talk about it when you’re better.”

“What if I never talk about it?”

He shrugs. Wraps his free hand over Steve’s where it still grips him. “Then you don’t talk about it,” he whispers. “Let me take you home, though? Give you the food and water I brought. Warm you up and change your clothes. Can clean your face,” Eddie lists. He cups the injured side of Steve’s face with a tentative hand, barely touching his swollen skin. “Clean this all up and brush your hair. Let you sleep.”

“I can’t sleep for long,” Steve reminds him.

“Wake you up every few hours, that’s fine. I don’t have school tomorrow, we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“‘M’kay,” Steve agrees quietly. He’s drooping in Eddie’s hold. Exhaustion quickly swamping him. “Sorry if I throw up in the car.”

Eddie gently hefts them up off the ground, leads them towards the van, and gets Steve situated in his passenger seat. He murmurs, as he buckles Steve in, “I can clean up. But I’ll leave the window rolled down. I’ll drive slow. Do you want the jacket?”

Steve shakes his head softly. His eyes are closed and the rest of him is very still to his seat. As if moving anything physically pains him. It probably does, based on what Eddie’s able to see. “I don’t want to be reminded of the heat,” he state quietly.

“Okay,” Eddie whispers. He leans up into Steve’s space, presses a short kiss to his temple, and cranks the passenger window down. “Just lean towards the window a little. Rest. I’ve got you, baby.”

The car ride is incredibly slow, it makes Eddie antsy. But out of the corner of his eye, he notices Steve tensing at every gradual rumble and deep pothole. It makes Eddie want to just get out and push the van. He slides a hand off of the steering wheel and goes to grab Steve’s left wrist, but he jolts away. Head colliding solidly with the window frame.

“Don’t,” Steve bites. “Don’t touch me there,” he whispers.

Eddie swallows down the sudden rise of bile in his throat. “Okay, Steve,” he murmurs right back. “Do you…you need me to pull off for a second? Give you a break from the bumpy road?” Steve gives a slow and tentative nod.

He pulls to the shoulder, parks in silence, and just sits in the driver’s seat. Face forward, eyeing beyond the windshield. He’d turn on the radio, try to fill the gap between their bodies, but knows that the noise would be too much. Instead, he listens in on Steve’s audible deep breaths. Like he’s trying to ground himself to the carseat or maybe veer away from puking out the window. Eddie wants to touch and soothe, like he normally would during Steve’s concussions. But…he can’t. There are tears percolating in the corners of his eyes.

“You need water?” Eddie quietly asks.

“Please,” Steve mutters lowly. His voice is crackling and snotty wet.

Eddie moves slowly between the front seats, grabs an unopened bottle of water, and uncaps it. He leans across the center console to find a straw in the glove box. Plops it in the bottle and offers it up for Steve to take. “Slow sips,” Eddie states, “don’t need to make yourself sicker.” Steve angles his body away from the window, leans forward slightly, and takes the straw between his lips. Each swallow of water looks like he’s trying to consume rocks. His tongue working slowly, hesitantly against the straw. Testing it. “You’re doing a good job,” Eddie can only praise.

When Steve pops off the straw, it’s with a gasping breath. Catching and falling and catching again. He lolls his head on the seat, looking over to Eddie. Chest moving up and down with shallow, croaking shakes of air. “We can go,” he rasps, “I wanna sleep.”

The water bottle goes to the cup holders. And Eddie does what he’s told. Crawling slowly back home. Taking small pauses to check in with Steve, help him drink water, nibble on some crackers, rub his back when he hurls out the car window.

But when they make it back home, they move in complete and utter silence. Through the front door and to the couch. Wayne ogles the two of them, fear present in his eyes. His mouth hangs open, suckled dry of all words he could ever think to say. Eddie makes him grab a bowl of warm water and a rag.

And they just exist in silence.

In fear, Eddie now realizes, of whatever happened to Steve.

Because they’re not stupid. This wasn’t a fire. There was something else. Something more…disastrous. Dastardly. But Eddie places the bowl on the coffee table, sits on Steve’s right on the cushions, and turns them towards each other.

“Alright, I’ve gotta clean the blood off of your face, Stevie,” he encroaches their silence. “I’m going to be really careful. I’ll go slow. But I need you to tell me when you need a break, okay?” Steve blinks groggily at him. His eyes are dilated beyond belief. Eddie’s nauseous just looking at them. These aren’t the eyes he fell in love with.

These eyes are like terror in existential form.

Steve nods, though. He places a shaking hand on Eddie’s left knee. Doesn’t tighten it, doesn’t pet the fabric under his hand, just rests it there. As if he’s searching for an anchor.

Eddie wets the wash rag with the warm water. Raises it to Steve’s chin. “If this hurts, you need to tell me. Here we go.” The rag stains pink and crimson as soon as it touches Steve’s skin. He hates how hard he has to press just to work the blood off, but it’s dried to him. It’s coming off in flakes, Eddie sees the particles fall to Steve’s dirtied uniform. As he works the rag over Steve’s face, he can’t help but notice how stained and red the uniform is, too.

It used to be something Eddie could tease Steve about. Be flirtatious and saucy about it. Talk about stupid things with. Make dumb fantasies and see if Steve will play into them. But looking at it now only makes Eddie’s chest hurt. Makes his stomach turn uneasily. Shrivels something inside of him that will never live again. But he’ll get Steve into his clothes. Get him comfortable. Maybe he’ll burn the uniform when Steve isn’t looking. Rid of it like a demon needing to be expelled.

The last bit of the blood finally comes away, flaking from Steve’s nostrils to the washcloth. Eddie places it back in the pink tinted water. And then he looks back. At Steve’s child like eyes. And his split lip. The plum like bruise around his left eye.

Eddie’s never had homicidal thoughts, but today might just be the eye opener for him.

But he continues to be gentle. Offering, “Let’s get you some of my clothes. I’ll wash your hair in the bathroom sink. Then, you can rest.” Steve just nods, allows Eddie to pull him along to the bedroom, and change him out of his clothes. Ignores the slight bruising on his ribs, where he most likely struggled or fell. Tries to not think about the red, twisting lines across Steve’s chest, arms, and wrists from where he’d been tied. Just covers Steve back up in reds and blacks and soft things. And, while Steve is looking away, throws the Scoops uniform away in a nearby waste basket.

Washing his hair is no struggle. Steve goes listless and quiet when Eddie scrubs at his scalp, carefully detangles knots that were glued together by sticky blood. He barely blinks as he watches Eddie move and go through his hair washing routine. Doesn’t protest any of what Eddie chooses to do—even when he puts too much conditioner in the ends of his hair or doesn’t do two wash throughs with the shampoo, even if he uses a hair dryer instead of a towel. Allows him, which Eddie finds a little odd. He has an inkling, though, that it may just be the gentle touch that Steve doesn’t want to mitigate.

When they’re back in bed, Eddie lays flat on the mattress. Putting space between their two bodies. His alarm is set for three hours from now, where he’ll wake Steve up and make sure his concussion symptoms either are stagnant or lessening. But for now, he just stays put. Eyes up at his ceiling, stomach turning and knotting at whatever happened today.

Whatever happened almost doesn’t matter, knowing Steve made it out alive.

But there’s a haunting to him that Eddie can’t ignore.

Right when he thinks Steve is asleep and goes to close his own eyes, does he hear the smallest of statements.

“Hopper died, too,” Steve murmurs.

“No…”

Steve nods sagely against his pillow. “Heard about it through some of the kids I babysit. Guess he…Guess I wasn’t the only one to make a sacrifice.” Eddie hears him shift, coming closer. His body warmth radiating and tight against his rigid body. There’s a hesitant palm that slithers and sits on Eddie’s chest. Where his heart beats rabidly. “Could…Could’a been me.”

Eddie places his own hand over the back of Steve’s. Presses them together firmly. His chest caving with the push. “Don’t say that,” he harshly whispers. “Don’t…Steve, I thought it was going to be you. Please don’t say that.”

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I just…That’s the only thing I could think of before you got me. How I—I almost didn’t get to see you again.”

“At least you’re with me now, right? I’m just glad that you’re alive.”

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. “I just wish I could bring myself to tell you what happened.”

“Don’t need to do that, Steve. Just rest up and get better for me, alright?”

Steve shuffles closer. His head resting on Eddie’s shoulder. He nods. “Thank you. I love you,” he sleepily murmurs.

Eddie wraps an arm around his back and squeezes him tightly. “I love you, too, love bug. Get some sleep and I’ll check on you in a bit.”

The snores are a comfort after tonight.

——— And when he looks Steve in the eyes, mere seconds before he leaves for Vecna, Eddie understands the harrowing sacrificial fear. He’ll be the one to protect Steve now. “Make him pay,” he says. But he knows, reflected in Steve’s eyes, that there is finality in his stare. His stomach turns and his hands shake, but damnit, he’ll make sure that Steve won’t be the one drowning in blood this time.

He hopes to hear snores against his shoulder tomorrow night.

If night comes.

💕—————💕

[kalbimincirpinislari]

cıvıl cıvıl içimi katran karası kinle doldurdunuz

[birnebzebrar]

hâliyle ve hedefleriyle meşgul, işiyle ve meşgalesiyle memnun, bir köşede öyle kendince uğraşıp didinen bir insanın hasetle, hırsla, kinle, kibirle işi olmaz, olmamalı da. insanın ilk yaslanacağı en sağlıklı omuz kendi sakinliği. kuyusu da girdabı da kendinde mevcut zaten.

[coriander-the-serpopard]

A few terms I've come up with, if one these one has already been coined I'll delete that part of the post

Caregiver

A polymind whose job is to be a parental figure/caregiver to younger/age regressed minds

Kinling

A mind who is based off one or more kintypes/theriotypes