#and how hes part of the hive mind and then I was like

[ratindividual]

As someone with a mild disability to the knee and can't walk very long without feeling pain all through the leg and hip, people saying Viktor's own is a flaw and need to be cured asap because it's painful kinda misses the point of it all.

When Jayce said this:

He's not saying Viktor shouldn't have tried to find a cure to the pain or any ailment, he is saying Viktor was not flawed because he is disabled, which is what Viktor think.

"[...] what you thought were weaknesses." this is important to note, Jayce here doesn't share the same sentiment, he does not think it as a weakness, but part of a whole package that comes with someone (in that case, Viktor) Jayce took him like he was, and adored him.

A weakness is something you need to destroy before it gets to you, and sometimes, you will do unspeakable things to achieve it.

Viktor was never broken, imperfections make who he is, and by definition, makes every human.

Perfection does not exist, it is our emotions, our contradictions, our differences that make it incredible, human being are messy by design, we are a collectivity of incredibly diverse people and deserve respect!

It is not a flaw, it's a condition he lives with, which makes him singular, and that same disability constructed who he is, too: his drive, his mind, his resilience, his care and utter empathy for others, which are traits that Jayce admire most of it all!!! He says it himself:

It is his heart, his humanity, everything that Viktor think as a nuisance, that Jayce wants to preserve. He loves him for it, instead of despite it, and he finds him beautiful, both physically and mentally, it was never a question for him!

His unwavering compassion to push further, his ambitions, because he loves him. Jayce is an emotional, empathetic man, he values connection above all, and he understands.

He's saying Viktor has always been perfect to him because of it all. We humans are flawed, this is the inevitability of being conscious and alive.

Which is why this, this is very important:

Jayce knows Viktor, at this point, had lost his way. Empathy cannot work under the false prism of selflessness if it makes you believe that choice is an illusion, thus making it for others.

Jayce believes in choices, and knows that the people Viktor saves are, by proxy, unable to have any agency over their own fate, which is exactly the most important theme going on with Viktor throughout all two seasons. Viktor wants to take back control over his own self, while simultaneously pushing this on others who need help too.

I am convinced Jayce would have been more than fine with Viktor tweaking himself because he wants it, he was on board in season 1, he actually made the change himself in a misguided attempt to save the man he loves at the start of season 2. (which is very interesting, considering his feelings made him do something he himself sanctions such as resurrecting his soulmate, I love his contradictions so much)

He understands the desperation, the want to have a better life. But he doesn't want it to strip other's people individuality and Viktor's own sense of self, ripping his heart out for the sake of flawlessness.

He knows, too, the price of the perfect world Viktor wants to create. An endless loop of loneliness, mourning a man that is but a shell of himself, conscious through the hive but not him. His essence gone. A cross too heavy to bear.

And yet, Jayce never stopped loved him, never stopped fighting for him to understand how much he values him and respects him, worshiping the literal ground under his feet!!

Even in his godly form, he is head over heels for him!!! Look at how Viktor looks!! While talking face to face with this Eldritch incarnation, he remembers how Viktor used to look down memory lane, and it was still as majestic and grandiose, even!

It's why he confesses in the first place. He is in love with him through it all. His body changed, but it is still Viktor. He loves him wholly, every part of him! No matter where it takes them, no matter what he looks like.

Jayce loves Viktor with everything he has and no matter what comes their way. An unwavering, tangible loyalty.

[u6is]

"and i will still see it until i die, you're the loss of my life"

part 3

—kylian mbappé x reader: fluff / angst

You sighed heavily, your eyes scanning the mountain of paperwork piled on your desk. Your hotel was a hive of activity, but you felt utterly alone in your little corner. The neon lights above cast a harsh glow over your face, highlighting the dark circles under your eyes. You had been working late again, trying to bury yourself in work to escape the constant barrage of Ben's calls.

"I’ll wait for you. Can we still talk about this?"

Your phone buzzes constantly with calls and messages from him.

Ben returned to Germany, settling back into the house you both share. Meanwhile, you're stuck in Madrid for another month, buried under the demands of your job.

But Ben wasn't making it easy. Each ring of your phone was a painful reminder of the life you had shared together, of the promises that had been broken and the future that was now a fading dream. You picked it up again, his name lighting up the screen, and for a brief moment, you contemplated answering. Yet, you knew what he would say. The same pleading, the same apologies, the same desperate attempts to convince you that you could still make it to the altar.

The room was suffocating, the lingering heat of a Madrid summer night pressing against the thick walls of the historic building. You pushed the scattered papers aside and stepped onto the small balcony, where the street below was still alive with the hum of late-night revelers and distant music. The city’s nocturnal symphony was a welcome distraction, muffling the silence that had settled so heavily in your heart. You leaned over the cool wrought-iron railing, the warm night breeze brushing against your skin, and wondered why you had ever believed a wedding was the right path for you.

When Kylian saw you that night, you were all he could think about. After years spent trying to bury the memories of you, it felt like he was right back where he started.

He was consumed with the urge to reach out, searching desperately for a way to connect. But when every attempt failed, all he could do was stare at his phone, his fingers hesitating over the screen. Yet, no matter how much he wanted to, he just couldn’t bring himself to make the call.

On the football pitch, his mind wanders during practice, replaying moments of your shared past. The coach’s whistle pierces through his thoughts, a sharp reminder of his responsibilities. With a sigh, he refocuses, pushing his body to its limits, sweat soaking his shirt as he sprints across the field. Yet, no matter how fast he runs or how intense the training gets, the image of your smile remains, etched in the corner of his vision.

One call, just one, could it really stir anything?

He thought quietly to himself.

When the coach finally calls for a break, Kylian retreats to the locker room, his heart pounding from more than just exertion.

The locker room is alive with the sounds of water bottles being opened and the murmur of teammates sharing their frustrations and jokes. The scent of sweat and freshly cut grass lingers in the air, a reminder of the hours of practice that have kept his thoughts at bay.

He pulls out his phone, the digital screen a stark contrast to the dusty football boots and worn-out pads surrounding him. The weight of his decision presses down on him as he stares at your name saved in his contacts. His thumb hovers over the button, the urge to hear your voice warring with the fear of disrupting your life.

Your morning slips away in a blur of clients and endless consultations. For a brief moment, you pause, taking a deep breath to clear your mind.

As the meeting came to an end, your client expressed his thanks, mentioning he'd reach out again soon. On your way back to the hotel, you glanced at your phone and found a series of missed calls and messages from Ben, along with one call from an unknown number.

After several rings, you didn’t answer. The silence hit Kylian hard, and he couldn’t help but feel like a fool. Of course, you wouldn’t pick up. You’d probably erased his number by now, not wanting anything to do with him.

He made his way back to training, still stung by the rejection, trying to push you out of his mind. But the pain fueled his determination. He trained relentlessly, pushing himself harder than ever as if he had nothing left to lose.

After the training, Kylian steps into the cool evening, the crisp air feels refreshing on his damp skin. He starts his car, the engine purring to life as he sits for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. The headlights cast a warm glow onto the quiet street outside the training complex, and he can't help but feel a sense of melancholy wash over him. He puts the car in gear and starts the journey home, his eyes scanning the sidewalks out of habit more than hope.

As he turns a corner, he sees a flash of something that makes his heart skip a beat. A familiar silhouette, the unmistakable tilt of your head as you laugh at something said across the dinner table. His foot slams on the brake, bringing the car to a jolting stop. You're there, in the glow of a restaurant's outdoor lights, a soft smile playing on your lips as you lift a fork to your mouth. Time seems to slow as he watches you, the world around him fading into a blur.

Kylian sits frozen, the engine idling, his thoughts racing.

Is it really you?

He tells himself it's just his imagination playing tricks, but the longer he looks, the more convinced he becomes.

You're dressed in a way that reminds him of a date you had years ago—elegant yet casual, your hair falling in loose waves around your face. The sight of you is like a sucker punch to the gut, a rush of memories and emotions he wasn't ready to face.

Taking a deep breath, he steadies himself before deciding to approach. He reaches for his jacket in the backseat, not wanting to draw attention from the people nearby. Parking the car, he walks toward the restaurant, each step feeling heavier than the last. The sounds of conversation and the clinking of silverware spill out onto the street, blending with the distant hum of city traffic.

As he draws closer, you glance up, and your eyes meet. For a split second, everything around them seems to fade, leaving just the two of them in the quiet.

You look surprised, but not in a negative way. A flicker of recognition crosses your face, and your smile softens as you tilt your head, a silent question in your eyes. Kylian’s heart races, the years of distance between you both suddenly feeling like nothing. Though he's dressed casually in his jacket and hoodie, people still recognize him. After all, he is Kylian Mbappé, the world’s best football player.

The murmur of the restaurant's patrons grows louder as they recognize him. His jacket, emblazoned with the logo of his football team, has caught their attention. The whispers start, a low buzz that quickly escalates into a crescendo of excitement. He's not just any guest; he's the star player, the one who's made headlines and stolen the hearts of fans across the city. He tries to shrink into the shadows, to become invisible, but it's too late. The spotlight has found him.

You, however, remain unfazed by the sudden attention. You stand up from your chair, graceful as always, and gesture towards a more secluded spot in the corner. Kylian's feet move on autopilot, carrying him away from the curious stares and pointing fingers.

In the corner, away from the crowd, his gaze never strays from yours. The intimacy between you both is unmistakable, standing in sharp contrast to the bustling public space around you.

"Kylian, what are you doing here?" you finally ask, your voice a soft melody that resonates through the cacophony of the restaurant.

He clears his throat, his eyes darting around the room before settling on yours again.

"I could ask you the same thing," he says with a nervous laugh.

"It's just... I saw you from the street, and I had to make sure it was really you." His hand reaches out, almost touching your arm before retreating, as if he's unsure of his own actions.

"No, actually, I saw you first at the bar," he said, his eyes locking with yours, a quiet longing in his gaze. "I just chose not to approach." He held your stare, as if words alone couldn’t express the weight of what lingered between you, his gaze soft yet filled with unspoken years.

You study him, your gaze softening.

"It's been a long time," you reply, the warmth in your voice tempering the coolness of the evening air. The silence that follows is filled with the clinking of glasses and distant laughter, a stark contrast to the tumult in his mind.

Kylian nods, his throat constricting with the weight of words left unsaid.

"I tried calling," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper, raw and vulnerable. "But you didn’t answer, so..."

So it was him, the mysterious number from this morning.

You had ignored it, thinking it was just Ben trying to get under your skin with another unfamiliar number.

"I didn’t recognize the number," you explain softly, your voice laced with a quiet apology. "I’ve been caught up with work... you know how it gets."

Kylian nods again, his gaze steady yet searching, as though trying to unravel the emotions hidden deep within you. "Yeah," he whispers, his hand brushing the back of his neck, nerves clear in his every movement.

"I understand. I just... I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had to see you." His words hang in the air, heavy with longing, making the space between you both feel somehow smaller, more charged.

You swallow hard, your eyes flickering over his face, memorizing every line and curve as if it's the first time you've seen him in years.

"It's good to see you, Ky," you murmur, the formality of your words betrayed by the gentle smile playing on your lips.

He takes a step closer, closing the distance between you. "Is it?" he asks, hope threaded through his voice. "I mean, really good?"

You nod, the corners of your eyes crinkling slightly. "Yeah," you say, your voice stronger this time. "It's really good."

Kylian's shoulders relax, the tension draining from his body. "Can we talk?"

You understood that distraction was your only refuge, a way to silence the heartache that consumed you.

Your fiancé—now ex-fiancé—had betrayed you for someone he barely knew, a fleeting encounter in a bar. Kylian, once your world, now seemed like a lifeline. You needed this. You needed him.

You glance back at the restaurant, your dinner growing cold on the plate. A moment of hesitation lingers, but the yearning in his gaze is impossible to resist. With a slight nod, you surrender to the unspoken plea in his eyes.

The two of you walk down the sidewalk, the cobblestones cool and slightly damp underfoot. The streetlamps cast a warm, flickering light, casting shadows that dance along the ancient brick walls of the buildings. Kylian's hand brushes yours, and you feel a spark, a ghost of the electricity that used to sizzle between you.

You find yourself in a small, secluded park, surrounded by the whispers of the night. The rustle of leaves and the occasional laugh from a group passing by the street create a serene backdrop for your conversation. You sit on a bench, the metal cold and slightly damp from the evening dew, and face each other.

"So, what have you been up to?" Kylian asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of the love that once burned between you.

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "Work, mostly. I got promoted, and it's been... intense. How about you?"

Kylian's gaze drifts to the ground, his thumb tracing a pattern on the bench's armrest. "Football," he says simply. "It's been my life, as you know."

You nod, a hint of sadness in your eyes. "I've seen the headlines," you reply. "You've become quite the legend around here."

He shrugs, a bit embarrassed by the praise.

Kylian found himself reflecting,

All this time, an unseen thread had been weaving us together.

A single golden strand had always connected him to you.

The conversation flows easily, despite the years that have passed. You speak of friends you’ve kept in touch with, the places you’ve traveled, and the quiet moments that have made up the fabric of your life since he’s been gone. Kylian listens intently, nodding along, his eyes never leaving yours. He tells you about the games he’s played, the goals he’s scored, and the teammates that have become like family.

As the night stretches on, the atmosphere grows heavier with an unspoken tension. But you push it aside, deciding to end the evening before the familiar scent of Kylian's cologne overwhelms you once more.

"It's getting late," you finally murmur, reluctance coating your voice like dew on the leaves above you. Kylian nods, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he's afraid that if he looks away, you might vanish like a mirage.

He stands up, brushing off the dampness that's seeped into his pants from the bench. "Yeah, we should get going." His voice is thick with something unsaid, a hint of sadness that you both feel acute as the chill in the air.

You follow suit, the cool metal of the bench leaving a pattern on the back of your legs. "It was good seeing you, Ky."

He nods, his eyes searching yours. "It was more than good," he says earnestly. "I've missed you."

The confession hangs in the air, stark and raw. You bite your lower lip, unsure of how to respond. "I've missed you too," you finally admit. The words are out before you can stop them, and they feel like a declaration of war against the walls you've built around your heart.

Kylian's eyes light up, a spark of hope igniting in their depths. He takes a step closer, his hand reaching for yours. "Can I see you again?" he asks, his voice a soft plea.

You hesitate, feeling the warmth of his touch, the comfort of his presence. The world around you seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you standing in the quiet embrace of the night.

"I'll think about it, Ky," you murmur, your voice a soft whisper that's barely audible over the distant sounds of the city. The words feel like a promise and a barricade all at once, a bridge built over the chasm that has grown between you.

—

I'll think about it, Ky.

But then, a single call from him the next morning, here you are, standing by his side, hands brushing against the array of bread. He asked you for suggestions on the best snack the city has to offer, and somehow, here you both are, wrapped in the comfort of your favourite pastry shop.

As you walk beside him on the sidewalk toward his car, a smile tugs at your lips, watching him juggle bags of pastries in both hands. He says it's for the staff at training, but you can't help but think it’s a little gesture wrapped in sweetness. Before he heads off, Kylian turns to you with that familiar spark in his eyes and asks,

"When are you finished with work? I was thinking… maybe dinner at my place?"

You pause, feeling the gravity of the moment. The last time you were in his home was when your world was simpler, wrapped in the warmth of love and hope. Now, you're not sure what to expect. "What time works for you?" you reply, feeling cautiously optimistic.

"How about 7?" he suggests, the hope in his voice palpable. "I'll cook, I promise it won’t just be pastries," he jokes, flashing that grin—the one that used to melt you every time. You smile, nodding, knowing that’s the kind of smile he loves to see.

Everything was just as you remembered about Kylian. Nothing had changed. The glamorous house. The same him.

As you stepped inside, he greeted you at the door. "You live here alone?" you asked, taking in the surroundings.

"Non, je vis avec mon père." (No, I live with my dad.)

"But, he's in Paris handling some work matters," he replied, surprised that his voice didn’t waver. You were here, in his home, in Madrid. He still couldn't believe it.

You follow the scent of garlic and herbs into the kitchen, he's now busy at the stove, a look of intense concentration on his face. He glances over his shoulder, catching you watching him, and a flush spreads across his cheeks. "It's not much, but it's all I know how to make," he says with a self-deprecating smile.

You lean against the counter, watching him move around the kitchen with surprising ease, his muscles flexing under the fabric of his t-shirt as he stirs the pot.

The meal is simple but delicious—pasta with a homemade tomato sauce that tastes of summer days spent together, and a side salad that's somehow both light and filling. You sit at the dinner table, and find yourself lost in the easy rhythm of your conversation, the same banter that once filled the quiet moments of your youth.

As you share the wine, the space between you fills with unspoken emotions. His eyes stay on you as you recount a story about Ben, the way he betrayed you for someone he barely knew, a fleeting moment in a bar. It all makes sense now, why you were at that bar the night Kylian first saw you.

You were supposed to marry another, a thought that quietly shatters his heart.

But he can't shake the thought—how could anyone ever treat you like you weren't enough? What an absolute fool.

But then it hits him: he chose his career over you. The memory still haunts him, the way he said he couldn’t risk it all for you. What a fool he was, no better than that guy, Ben.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, the words barely audible. His sudden apology catches you completely off guard.

He exhales deeply, his eyes fixed on the table. "You deserve better than someone like us," he says, his voice heavy with emotion. "Not Ben, and definitely, not me." The words spill out like a confession, a release of the guilt he's carried for so many years.

"Do you remember when I told you I couldn't see a future with you?" you asked, a small, sad laugh escaping your lips.

"I walked away, thinking that was the answer..." You looked at him, your eyes gentle, as though the words you’d kept locked away for so long were finally finding their way out.

"After you, I needed something to hold onto, something that felt real. And Ben... he gave me that illusion. He made me forget, even if just for a while, the truth of who he was." A soft smile flickered across your face.

"I never realized how desperate I must have looked, walking away from you, carrying a heart full of love meant for you. I was scared that my love, overflowing for you, had no place to go."

Your breath hitched as the weight of it all settled in.

The kitchen was suddenly too quiet, the clink of silverware against plates the only sound echoing through the space. Kylian took a sip of his wine, the taste suddenly bitter in his mouth. He knew he had to say something, to explain, to apologize, but the words were trapped behind the wall of regret he had built.

Of course, Kylian remembered. How could he not?

The words, "I don't even know who you are anymore," still echoed in his mind, cutting deeper than he let on.

That night, he was too lost—lost in the haze of substances that dulled his pain but fractured his clarity. He didn’t even recognize himself anymore, let alone expect you to.

But the worst part? He was so consumed by the fear of losing you that he couldn’t see what he was doing to you. His desperation bled into his words, into his actions, into the broken version of himself he kept trying to piece together. He didn’t realize that while he was trying to hold on, he was pushing you away. He didn’t see how much he frightened you—not just with his words, but with the person he had become.

You reached across the table, your hand covering his. "Ky," you said softly, "it's not your fault. We were young and scared."

Kylian's gaze snapped to yours, the pain in his eyes making your heart ache. Without a word, he stood up, coming around the table to you. He pulled you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you like a blanket. For a moment, the world outside his arms ceased to exist, and all that remained was the steady beat of his heart against yours.

You leaned into him, letting his familiar scent wash over you. His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, the same way he used to when you were upset. It was as though time had folded in on itself, bringing you back to a simpler time when his touch could banish all your fears.

"Je suis désolé", (I'm sorry) he whispered again, his voice muffled against your hair.

"Please," his voice broke through the silence, soft yet desperate, as he gently cupped your face in his hands. His eyes, so full of longing, seemed to plead with you, not just with words, but with every part of him. There was a vulnerability there, raw and unguarded as if he were begging for a chance to undo the hurt.

"Have we broken too much to ever fix it?" he whispered, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause, suspended in the quiet plea of his heart.

"I’m not here in Madrid to fix things," you said softly, the weight of your words hanging between you.

"I’m here for work, and I’ll only be here for a month, Kylian."

The truth felt heavy, but it was necessary, honest, and simple, as it should have been all along.

"Telling you this is enough."

You met his gaze, steady and sincere, your heart laid bare.

He pleaded with a quiet urgency, his words trembling as they left his lips.

For the remaining days of your time in Madrid, he wanted nothing more than to be with you.

He wasn’t asking for forever, just a little more time, a chance to feel your love once more. He insisted, as if he could convince you that these fleeting moments were worth everything.

Once your work here was finished, he said, it would be over.

He would move on, slip back into the rhythm of his life, never to bother you again.

But until then, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you slip away, not when the very idea of life without you seemed unbearable.

All he wanted, in those last few days, was to be with you, to make up for the lost time, to make your presence the one thing he could hold onto before it all ended.

—

Just until I leave.

The days that followed were a blur of stolen moments.

Quiet dinners in his house, long car rides through the moonlit streets of Madrid, and whispered confessions that felt like secrets shared by the wind. Kylian was a different man than the one you remembered—more mature, more vulnerable, but with the same fiery passion that had once set your heart ablaze.

The city lights twinkling in the distance, and you realise how much you had missed this version of him. The way his eyes lit up with excitement as he talked about his latest match, the gentle way his fingers brushed against yours when he pointed out a new landmark, the sound of his laughter echoing through the night air.

You felt alive again, like the person you were before the weight of the world had settled on your shoulders. With Kylian, you could be free, even if it was just for a little while.

Just until I leave.

The weeks passed by in a blur of happiness and heartache. Each day felt like a gift, but with the looming shadow of your departure date, it was bittersweet. Kylian never pushed for more, never talked about the future—he just lived in the present, cherishing every second with you.

One night, the laughter echoed through Kylian's bedroom as you both lay on his bed, surrounded by the scent of his cologne and the faint smell of rain that had come in through the open balcony door. The air between you charged with the electricity of shared humor and the gentle reminder of what once was.

Kylian rolled over to his side, his eyes sparkling with mirth as he delivered another punchline. The way his body moved, the playful smile that danced on his lips—it was all so achingly familiar. You found yourself smiling, the sound of your laughter mixing with his, creating a symphony of joy that seemed to fill the room.

That smile hit him like a rush, his heartbeat quickening with every curve of your lips. He thought to himself,

If you keep smiling like that, love, I might need a second to breathe.

Yet, he couldn’t stop smiling back, captivated by the warmth of yours.

The jokes were simple, the kind that you had shared a million times before, but in this moment, they felt like the most profound words ever spoken.

As the laughter died down, Kylian reached over to play with a loose strand of your hair. His touch was feather-light, a silent question in the air. You didn’t pull away, instead allowing his fingertips to graze your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. It was as if every sensation was heightened in his presence, every moment magnified a hundredfold.

“I can’t promise I’ll be okay without you,” Kylian said, his voice thick with emotion. Your heart gave a painful tug, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of his confession heavy in the air.

Before you could respond, his hand reached up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb gently brushing away a tear that had escaped unnoticed.

He kissed you. It was a kiss that held the weight of years of longing, regret, and unspoken words. A kiss that seemed to span the chasm of time that had grown between you, bridging the gap with a fierce, all-consuming heat. His lips were soft, yet demanding, moving over yours with a passion that left you breathless.

As his kiss lingered, the mattress shifted beneath you as he positioned himself, the gentle weight of his body pressing you into the bed. You could feel the heat of his skin, the rapid pulse at his throat, and the soft sigh that escaped his lips as he found the perfect spot to rest his head against yours. His hands, now familiar with your contours, moved with a gentle confidence that was both comforting and exhilarating.

His touch lingered, tender and longing, as if trying to stitch the wounds neither of you dared to name. Your bodies moved together, a silent plea for connection until exhaustion finally claimed him.

The world outside the bedroom walls faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled in a dance of love and comfort.

As you lie beside him, his breathing steady and his face serene in sleep, you can’t help but stare.

In the quietest moments, when the world pauses, and your breath stills, you feel it:

A weight that lingers not in flesh, but in the heart’s deepest chambers, Kylian.

Ben offered you a gift wrapped in sincerity, a sanctuary built on steady hands and whispers, but now you understand. It was something real.

Not perfect, not consuming, but real.

And for a while, you held onto it, a lifeboat in the storm of your undoing.

But Kylian?

He was the storm, the sun, and the shadow all at once. His presence was a symphony of fleeting grace.

His absence? A silence that never stopped ringing.

The loss of him is etched in your bones, a memory that floods your soul when least expected. He wasn’t just a lover; he was the dream that woke you, the scar you’ll carry until the end of your days.

And as you close your eyes, decades from now, your breath frail, your body surrendering to the stars,

It won’t be Ben’s steady hand you’ll see.

It won’t be the promise of what was safe or whole.

It will be Kylian— The loss of your life.

The one you couldn’t hold, but couldn’t let go.

The remaining days in Madrid were a whirlwind of emotions—each moment with Kylian feeling like a precious jewel that you didn’t want to let slip through your fingers. Yet, the clock ticked on, reminding you of the inevitable. You tried to ignore it, to lose yourself in the comfort of his embrace and the sweetness of his kisses, but the reality remained, steadfast and unyielding.

—

The final day of your stay in Madrid arrived, and with it, the weight of goodbye loomed like an unspoken specter.

Just before leaving, Kylian placed something in your pocket. You felt the soft pressure of it—a faded, worn piece of paper, its edges frayed like an old keepsake. The warmth of your pocket seemed to merge with its delicate surface, as if it carried a small piece of him inside.

You glanced up, confusion flickering in your eyes, but he met you with a bittersweet smile.

"A reminder," he murmured, his voice low, "for when you're on the plane."

As the plane soared into the sky, the hum of the engines became a dull background to the ache in your chest. You settled into your seat, your hand instinctively reaching into your pocket.

There, nestled between the fabric, was a portrait of you—a moment he captured long ago in the Maldives, where the sun kissed your skin, and his voice, trembling with sincerity, first whispered "I love you."

You turned the picture, your heart catching in your chest. In his graceful handwriting, the words he left behind carried a melancholy truth,

"Tu portes mon cœur." (You carry my heart)

A quiet sob caught in your throat. In that single phrase, the weight of a love you could no longer hold wrapped around your chest.

He had given you his heart, and now you were left to carry it alone.

And now, you find yourself lost once more, cradling all the love you still hold for Kylian. It overflows, boundless and aching, yet you have no place to lay it down, no arms to catch its weight. You wonder, in the silence of your heart, where this love belongs now—it has nowhere left to go.

fleabag reference!

note: i apologize if it felt rushed. I’ve been focused on my upcoming exams, and I just wanted to finish this. i decided to remove the smut because it wasn’t necessary for the story... i feel like i didn’t give them the ending they truly deserved, but i promise i'll do better with the next fic 🫶🏼🫀

[upsideoutinsidedown]

Kissing under the cut because I needed to get this scene out of my head

Lips on lips, mouth on mouth. Will’s hands cup Mike’s face as he guides him, deepening the kiss, parting his lips to welcome a tongue against his. He sucks and nips and feels Mike’s appreciation as he lets out a pleasing note from the back of his throat. Hips on hips, chest to chest, Mike wraps his arms around him like they need to further lessen the distance between them.

It's a good kiss. A damn good kiss. Will would be lying if he said he hadn't imagined it before (or often). He really would like it if he could appreciate it. In another world, another time, maybe, but here and now?

He's horrified.

"God, Will," Mike whispers, reverent. He's trying to catch his breath, having not paced his breathing as naturally. "Where the hell'd you learn to kiss like that?"

"I don't know," Will says.

Mike laughs, kiss-drunk and happy, sounding freer than he's ever been. "You'll just have to teach me."

He leans down for another kiss, but Will pushes him back.

"I don't know, Mike," he repeats, and Mike must've heard the fear in his voice because the levity disappears in an instant. "I've never kissed anyone."

So why the fuck does he have memories of doing exactly that?

[mimiruku]

I say 'peculiarities' as if I don't mean toddler Miruku is a contemptuous hater. He isn't impolite, but he loathes being around people so much that it has him seriously ill. ( literal ) ⸻ a quick way to have him denouncing your right to exist would be touching him without his explicit permission, which is to say he dislikes 99% of the population because most people do not respect a child's boundary.

Deep down inside, Miruku hasn't actually grown from this, just that he tolerates & allows himself to enjoy the pain of flareups. ( love is sacrifice, this is what he learned very earlier on but he wants to possess love enough to go through with it )

[msdrproffangirlmd]

Season of the Witch stuff:

Me: *wants to smooch Immaru right on his chitin-y little shell just because I know he’d hate it*

Also me: *wants to hug him and hold him and tell him that his boss will be back alive soon, that he doesn’t have to be “Mr. Badass lucent hive retainer commander” for much longer, and that no matter how afraid he truly is, and how much he expresses it in his snarky little comments and mean-spirited remarks, my guardian will protect him*

[scarecrowmax]

rewatching stranger things right, the scene where the demogorgon is drooling into jonathan's mouth is so disgusting like enough gets in there that he chokes on it a bit and sputters to spit it out after it gets off of him and i think it would have been cool to make a bit of a thing out of both byers bros getting contaminated by the upside down.

like imagine jonathan gets the spider sense for the upside down too but ignores it because he doesn't realize that's what it is, he just thinks it's his advanced "i lived with an abusive asshole sense" not upside down related, and he doesn't get it in s2 at first because he and nancy are gone for a chunk of the big lead up and then when he has it he chalks it up to being concerned for will and being freaked by the whole situation

then in s3 he's trying to brush it off as just being skeeved out by the rats and figures it out as he kills his boss because when he drops before he goops out it disappears but the second the goop starts reforming it's back

and then s4 it comes back as they're driving into hawkins again and he knows suddenly just how bad it is without having seen any of the cracks yet. he and will just meet eyes through the rear view mirror and know how bad it is

[forgetriestowrite]

Allura got me thinking about M9 again

she said they have a "resilience to [the weave mind's] strengths" which is true but I haven't truly thought about HOW true it is, I was too busy screaming MIGHTY NEIN VOX MACHINA over and over in my head

but like... they really are the best people to take down a hostile hive mind

not only have they literally done that before, but Beau fought off the mind-controlling hold of a demon that had kept her wife captive for years

Then Yasha broke that hold on herself

Jester literally believed so hard in an archfae that she turned him into a deity, and she made friends with an ACTUAL HAG in order to get her friend's curse broken, and it WORKED

Fjord started the campaign in a soul-eating pact with a demigod and ended it as a champion of the Wildmother, which was jumpstarted by him doing the most insane thing he could have done to break Ukotoa's control

Caleb's whole journey was self-love and healing and learning to accept the dark parts of his past and use them for good

Veth not only helped him with that, but also spent the whole campaign working on herself so she could be the person her husband and son knew her to be

Caduceus found a way to bring Kingsley back even though it should have been impossible, because he saw how much his friends wanted it, and he knew what happened to Molly and Lucien was unfair

And to top it all off, they found out one of their own had been manipulated and abused his entire teenage and technically also his adult life, and proceeded to find the person responsible and bully him relentlessly ("I hope someone will mourn you when you are gone" is still the rawest line in cr history), then beat his ass and eventually kill him

these people have shown time and time again that they will not tolerate any kind of authoritative control, especially if it hurts one of them. They refuse to buy into it, and they will destroy anyone who even tries to manipulate someone else.

There is no one else who can go to the moon and completely dismantle their oligarchy. I don't know if there is anyone else who would be willing to do it.

[rockrosethistle]

If there's one thing TGWDLM fans are gonna do, it's think about the implications. And the implications of the opening number are crazy.

So. We know that the show isn't completely chronological since the opening number takes place before the meteor hits. So that song is a sort of "flash forward" moment. But when you think about it, we don't really know how far in the future it takes place.

What we do know is that by the time it's happening, Emma is infected. She has a little solo in it singing about how Paul is pining over a barista

And we know that this is meant to be an infected Emma specifically. Lauren had other characters in the show, if they wanted to avoid the Emma implication they would've just dressed her as one of those.

So we know this is meant to be Emma.

And Emma isn't infected until the very end of the show. She's dragged off stage during the credits. So since she's infected in the opening number, we know the number takes place after the events of the show.

Another important detail is that Paul is infected before Emma. He's the one that passes it on to her.

So back to the opening number, Emma is infected. Which means by just following a simple timeline, Paul must also be infected. He should be singing and dancing, right?

But that's not what happens. Paul misses his entrance.

If Paul is infected, then there's no reason he should be missing his entrance. Furthermore, if he's a part of a hive mind, there's no reason other members of the same hive mind shouldn't know where he is. They are literally all connected by one brain, and yet both Mr. Davidson and Bill express they have no clue where he went.

What I'm saying is that Paul is not infected. He was infected (again, we know that because Emma is infected and he was infected before her) but now he's not anymore.

I'm saying there's a way out of the hive, and Paul found it. That's the only explanation that makes sense given the facts of the situation. Sometime after the events of tgwdlm, Paul is able not only to break out the hive mind, but to hide from it.

And if he broke out, others could do the same. Maybe even Emma.

Edit because a countertheory has emerged: Yes it's possible that everyone is infected the entire time and the show itself is just Pokey replaying the events for the fun of it. But it seems unlikely to me. First of all, each of the Lords in Black has a distinct personality. They all are evil, but within that they seems to fall somewhere on a spectrum of "silly billy" to "prick." For example, Tinky is more of a silly billy. He toys with humans without much of a motive and more for just shits and giggles. But in every instance, Pokey's more on the extreme side of prick.

He's one of the few with an actual motive behind what he does. In Yellowjacket, it's confirmed that Pokotho hates the sound of anyone's voice except for his own. The events of TGWDLM don't happen because Pokey is bored, they happen because he is executing a plan. So I don't think that he would just have them play out their little scenario just to entertain him, especially just one small island? I just feel like he'd be more focused on world domination.

If the theory is that all this is happening after Pokey's already taken over the whole world, no one was successful in stopping him, then yes it's plausible, but still weird. There are a strange amount of things in that show you just think an eldritch god wouldn't include.

Edit 2: New evidence has emerged???

The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals is loosely based off of Invasion of The Body Snatchers. Paul's last name is even a nod to the main character, Matthew. At the end of the film, Matthew survives, and continues living among the infected, pretending to be one of them. And wouldn't that be just such a fun little parallel...

Obviously it doesn't prove anything but the source material doesn't lie folks.

[xxanaduwrites]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a residue series installment ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

sweet talkin’

main hive 🐝 | next part here: honey, are you comin’?

✎ elementary-teacher!reader (miss.honey) x biker!benny 🏍️

summary: in which “uncle benny” picks up johnny’s girls from school and finds some honey along the way ;)

warnings: not much of anything besides talks of danger & some side eyes from on-lookers. an absolute fluff cake of a piece really. enjoy! x

author’s note: ngl there is some inaccuracies. i fully made up locations & such. never been to chicago or illinois even, but maybe someday :)

word count: 2.8k

💌 requests are open, send ‘em honey 💋

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You remember it like it was yesterday, the very first time you met Benny Cross. Ironically, it was one of those sticky sweet days in June, just before the start of summer ‘65. The Chicago heat was hard to beat in the cramped little classroom you worked in on Phipps Avenue. Your third graders were all flushed faces with curly cues frizzing about, and their red little cheeks burned in exhaustion. It was no surprise that you lost their ears to the tsk tsk tsk of sprinklers swirling about on the school grounds. Even though the principal was against it, you were rather relieved to see your students running about the wet grass come dismissal.

It was a lovely reprieve, truly to be out of the shoe box you worked in at the end of the day. Sure, the heat hadn’t let up. It was awfully sweltering passing clammy hand to clammy hand to their designated pick up person. But you loved being a teacher. Moreseo you loved those sweet turned up smiles that graced those baby faces of your students as they chatted about their after school plans. Heading down to the local pool or picking up a firecracker pop at the corner store was such a sweet treat. It made you miss being that young again, finding hidden treasures through the little bits of life.

You moved like clockwork during dismissal, attentive as you made small talk with parents and hugged your students goodbye. The pick of the cycle was usually smooth on your part. You knew who tended to be retrieved right away and who was left hanging, so it took you by a hint of surprise when you found yourself still hand in hand with Mr. and Mrs. Davis’s little girls.

You knew the Davis’s well — as well as anyone could holding residence in the quaint village of McCook, Illinois. Mr. Davis and his wife Betty were perishoners at the local church you frequented with your Ma and Pa. St. Caron’s on the corner of Rose and Dawn. You’d see them all together in their Sunday best, the kids in puff pastry kind-of dresses packed together in a pew with their Ma, while their Pa was mulling about in his pressed suit and tie. There was no trace of the Vandals you’d come to know, the Johnny that would be amplified under that some-what imposterous clean cut demeanor. You’d see him solemn as ever ushering pew to pew with the collections basket for the poor and at communion during the mass.

Yet, if you had to name one thing that complimented Johnny to Mr. Davis, it had to be his consistency with being on time. Never once was he ever late to church. 12pm sharp he’d be looking at his watch, waitin’ for the priest and deacon to do their thang. The same applied for his children and their respected school schedule.

It took you a moment to remember the note from the office that was sent up in the afternoon. In your defense, mastering concentration in this heat proved almost impossible. Until it wasn’t. You could see the lovely writing of the secretary with that neat cursive of hers in the back of your mind, reminding you that the Davis girls would be picked up by their Uncle Benny come dismissal.

That would explain it, you thought. But would it really? Fathoming a member of Mr. Davis’s family not being as meticulous as him? You momentarily wondered how the man would react to such a thing as being late. You were sure it wasn’t in his vocabulary by any means.

Your fingers, engulfing the petite ones of the Davis girls, squeezed their hands reassuringly. “M’sure your Uncle Benny will be here any moment.” Neither of them said anything as you glanced between the two flanked at your sides, little eyelashes blinking up at you without a care in the world. And here you thought they would be just as anal-retentive as their father.

They weren’t.

Since the school yard was becoming less compact with people, and the principal put an end to the fun with the sprinklers, you figured some chit-chat wouldn't hurt to keep them occupied. “You girls have any fun afternoon plans?”

The Davis girl on the right, taller, darker hair, lookin’ far too much like her father — a carbon copy if you will — spoke up then. “Yes! Uncle Benny is takin’ us to a picnic. Gonna see Daddy race his bike, Miss. Honey.”

A bike race, huh? You couldn’t remember seeing anything in the McCook weekly papers ‘bout an upcoming cycling event. But, hey maybe you happened to miss it on your skim of the thing, when your Pa just so happened to put it down for a second durin’ dinner.

“Well, ain’t that sweet!” You chirped, smiling brightly at the girls with genuine excitement in your eyes. “Sure it’ll be tons of fun.”

“S’not when Daddy gets all muddy.” The smaller girl, the one that looked more like her mother. Lighter hair and lighter eyes said. Her tiny face contorted into a grimace.

Muddy? Weren’t cycling races on the roads?

Surely the town would block off the streets like they did for those celebratory parades. The little one was probably exaggerating.

“Aw,” you hummed, a frown dousing your features. “M’sure your Pa is just real dedicated, y’know?” You tried to bring out the bright side for your student. “S’like when you buy a fresh book and worry about those pages dentin’. Y’won’t know if you like it if you don’t read it, right?” The girls nodded. “Dentin’ the pages just goes to show all that love you had for that book while readin’ it.”

“I guess…” The Davis girl shrugged, tiny fingers wrapping about the strap of her pretty pink backpack. Seemingly, she wasn’t as impressed as her sister to the right.

You were gonna change the subject. Gonna start chatting ‘bout something else, when a twist of tiers against the pavement sent a squeak across the air. Your mother-hen instincts kicked in instantly, protective hands pulling the girls behind you without a second thought. All heads turned simultaneously to the intrusion on the road, expecting the worst. Expecting a crash of sorts. But no, there was no crash, just a slick car pulling abruptly up against the sidewalk and jerking to a startling stop. One that could only be equated to the driver going far above the speed limit in a school zone.

It went quiet. Far too quiet as the lot of remaining faculty, students, and parents alike kept their eyes peeled back sharply at the reckless driver. Funnily enough the attentive stares of onlookers could have very well been just as bad as those witnessing an actual crash.

You weren’t any better than the rest, collecting snap shot after snap shot like a roll of consecutive film. You could still hear the engine cutting out, the door swinging open and closing with a solid flick of his wrist. A wrist that would do far worse to you in the bedroom. Far worse in the eyes of your religious upbringing, but would feel too holy to you to be considered a sin.

You only caught a glance of him for a second until his back was facing towards you, thick white letters staking his claim with a skull and crossbones for the Chicago Vandals on his cut down vest.

You’d heard a thing or two about those motorcycle men. Your father ranting and raving about the disturbances near route 95 and police chases. But never, had you ever seen one of them in the flesh up close and personal. A shrill of unprecedented delight shot up your spine at the colorful sight, no longer reserved to those blurry black and white paper cuttings.

Stopping in his tracks, you figured his car must have broken down or somethin’ – but no. He was putting out his cigarette with his worn down boot before making his way over to you, and oh he had his eye on you alright.

A relative unease wahed across the school yard, harder than the obvious heat wave as he sauntered across without a care in the world. As if dozens of heads weren’t makin’ disgusted faces and whispering about. Yet a clear intimidation set over them, people stepping out of the way without a word as if he was a Bible figure. Like Moses parting the red sea.

“Uncle Benny!” One of them chirped. Who you didn’t know, couldn’t know with the sudden flush creeping against your cheeks. Your heart dropped to your stomach once you realized who it was and that the man himself with dirty blonde scruff, calloused fingers, and a black inked layer over a honey toned canvas was makin’ a beeline to you. A beeline to you and the girls.

It was the taller Davis girl that must have called out his name, cause suddenly she was pulling you and her sister forward to meet Benny half way. You almost tripped down the stairs within the broken bubble of her excitement. Barely having a moment’s notice to collect yourself, you found your pristine baby pink ballet flats toe to toe with some scruffed up biker boots that had seen better days. You managed a breath before you looked up and boy were you glad you did.

The wind was practically knocked clean out of you when you were caught face to face with the Benny Cross. It wasn’t because you were scared of him — no. You were more taken aback with how pretty he was. How his deeply set ocean eyes managed to speak volumes without saying a word.

And suddenly, on the front steps of Phipps Avenue School you felt seen. More seen than you had ever felt in your life. He wasn’t the only one sticking out like the sorest of thumbs. So were you with your baby pink tank to match your shoes with your signature embroidered denim overall dress. Hair up and out of your face, loose honey curls frizzing about. Your kitsch tastes and unpolished attire were rather baffling for the picturesque depiction gracing the magazines your Ma read at the salon.

Some would say you were lost somewhere in Neverland. Lots of your fellow teachers would crack jokes here and there ‘bout it too. Sure, on a bad day a jab or two could get to you — but hey you liked what you liked and you weren’t gonna change that. Not for anybody. Not even for your Ma or Pa who grimaced at your bedazzled pins wedged into your messy curls during Sunday mass.

So Benny, well who were you to judge him?

“Hi, you must be Uncle Benny,” you greeted the brood of a man in front of you, flexing a sweet-like-honey smile that was just oh-so-you. You let go of the Johnny look-a-likes hand then, allowing her to wrap her small self around Benny’s leg in pure delight to see him as you outstretched your hand in a shake. To your dismay, he didn’t take it. Instead, his free hand that wasn’t mushing up Johnny’s girls dark locks as he patted her head fished for his pack of Marlboro reds in his vest pocket. That didn’t stop you from introducing yourself though. “I’m Miss. Honey.”

He gave you once over, eyes tracing you from head to toe before the edge of his lip tweaked up in a sly smile. “Honey, huh?” He mused, that deep set voice of his, thick and smokey sweetin’ up something deep inside you.

Dropping your hand back down against your dress, the material felt rather rough on your clammy skin. “Yuh-huh.” You nodded, that tight smile of yours making your eyes twitch just a bit.

A fresh cigarette materialized between his teeth then, unlit. A strange courtesy you found rather charming on the midst of educational grounds. “Hm,” he hummed, the narrow cylinder vibrating against his lips as his eyes devoured you a second time. Yet, you figured he was more unimpressed. Most were anyways.

“Benny! Benny! Can we go see Daddy now?” The girl wrapped around his leg yanked his belt loop with a small finger. The little one was still at your side, hand in hand with you. It was kind of amusin’ how different the two were. It was simple figuring out who was the bigger Daddy’s girl of the two.

“In a ‘inute, sweet-art,” he mumbled, that cigarette of his disrupting any fully coherent sentence from spillin’ out. “C’mere ‘ittle one,” he motioned to the shorter girl who was rather uninterested in leaving. In the midst of your conversation, she managed to keep her hand raised, keeping herself conjoined to you as she sat down on the bottom step in complete and utter protest.

“Don’t wanna.” She pouted down at her bunny tied saddle shoes that matched her pretty little pick-tails.

In a sense, you couldn’t blame her. Now it was all adding up. What was really going on. This wasn’t just some run of the mill village cycling marathon. This was a Vandals bike race.

Any other teacher would have probably made a stink, called the parents in for a sit down with the principal over infiltrating their kids in a biker environment infused with criminal records. But, you weren’t like that — no. Especially when you’d see a child’s eyes light up with so much delight. It was clear that Mr. Davis’s look-a-like was really proud of her father. Who could blame her? Respected throughout the community, a family man who put his all into a trucking' job.

A picnic with some bike racin’ wouldn’t be so bad, right?

Not with Mr. Davis involved.

So, you gave the benefit of the doubt. Sure, it could have been for all those reasons that were swarming about your head, but in actuality your heart was working double time over your mind. The image of the Davis girl clinging to Benny’s leg had teddy bear written all over it, giving you all the sweet talkin’ you’d need. Ironically enough, in due time that soft side of him would turn into plushy lovin’ reserved just for you.

“Lemme,” you mouthed to Benny before getting down to the little one’s level. Flattening out your skirt you took a seat next to her and rested both hands over her own in her lap. “Remember when we were talkin’ about a good book? Dentin’ the pages?” The girl nodded, but didn’t meet your eye. Instead, Benny doing the opposite, his eyes practically grilled onto your peripheral vision. “Well, sometimes if we are too protective of it. Too keen on keeping it all in tack, we’ll never learn not to and we’ll just be more and more disappointed when we come across a little crack we never created in the first place. We may not like it, but it’s there, and there is so much love there.” You squeeze the little girl’s hand. “Just like your old man racin’. You may not like it, but he does, and that’s quite alright. You know why?”

“Why?” She looked up at you then, little doe eyes attentive as ever, clinging onto your every word. It was times like this that reminded you why you were a teacher.

“‘Cause you love him, no matter what” You replied, tilting your head ever-so subtly to observe her reaction.

And oh did Benny love you. He didn’t know it then. Couldn’t fully compartmentalize it until later. Yet, unbeknownst to you, it was one of the first of what would become many of Benny's thoughts on how damn good of a teacher you were, how fine of a wife you’d make, and how sweet of a mother you’d be.

Thankfully, your words must have resonated with the little girl. It only took a moment for those delightful dimples of hers to grace those little features before her lips turned up in a sweet smile. “We gotta go Uncle Benny!” The girl declared suddenly, standing up straight with a whole new attitude. You were glad to supply the optimism. That’s what you were all about. That was the lesson you hoped to instill to your students the most.

You couldn’t help but smile yourself, feeling like a warm blanket was being draped over your shoulders soundly. Not uncomfortable. Not contributing to the intolerable heat wave. You’d only been in your second year of teaching, but hey — small victories like this made it worth it. Made you proud of yourself, even if you couldn’t find such gratitude from others.

Little did you know, Benny — he was so fuckin’ proud. Proud to see you spreading such honey-coated wisdom to a youngin’. And there on the steep steps of Phipps Avenue school as the little one wrapped her arms around you and thanked you profusely before grabbing Benny’s hand and heading to Johnny’s car, he found his mission.

You were gonna be his wife.

He was sure of it.

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this was so much fun to write! i hope you liked it :) i’m thinking of also including some honey interviews curtesy of danny ! stay tuned for “from the hive” 🎙️🐝

also to note, my requests are open for any miss honey x benny cross works + any convos about these two in general. don’t be shy honey, i’m all for yapping in the asks.

+ don’t forget to comment if you’d like be added to “da bee hive” (my version of da tag list)

smoochies. all da love xanadu 💋

da bee hive 🐝🍯:

@nervousnerdwitch

@sunnbib

@rose-deathman

@austinbsblog

@thegabbyh

@jihyowrrld

@bellesdreamyprofile

@superemobitch

@m00npjm

@imusicaddict

@astrogrande

@alana4610

@cynic-spirit

@mariaenchanted

[river-of-wine]

I know I’ve mentioned this plenty of times before but I’m still kind of annoyed by how the fanbase just kind of completely declawed the four lords and placed the entirety of the responsibility for their wrongdoings on Mother Miranda.

The Baker family are great, I love them, they’re an incredible unit of antagonists who are intended to be very sympathetic, at least for the most part. Jack and Marguerite in particular have lost all control over their minds and their bodies, turning into extremely violent murderers and cannibals who threaten and attack their own family, kill anyone unfortunate enough to come across them and, especially in Marguerite’s case, lose complete autonomy over their own bodies. Marguerite turns into a walking bug hive who’s only purpose is to feed her family and birth her new children. Jack is an unstoppable murderous force of patriarchal violence who has so much fun chasing down and harming his victims, which in the Daughters DLC includes even his own daughter. The exception to this is obviously Lucas, who has been cured of his infection and his acting of his own free will. All of this is caused by Eveline, everything Jack and Marguerite do controlled by her, and yet Eveline is just as sympathetic as the rest of them. She’s a ten year old girl. Even Jack, who has watched his family and their victims suffer because of her infection, doesn’t seem to hold any of it against her. She just wants a family of her own, after all. It’s a complex and tragic situation.

The four lords, while I suppose being similar in structure, are not the Baker family. Not in dynamic, not in character, not in the kind of tragedy that they embody. I could talk for a while about just how completely different they are, but I don’t know if I really need to.

The Baker family are so tragic because they were just innocent bystanders trying to help a woman and a little girl they found in a shipwreck out in a storm. That’s the only reason they ended up in the situation that they were in. While the lords have similar origins, being victims of Mother Miranda’s experiments to bring her daughter Eva back, an important distinction between them is that in the case of the lords, all four of them are still acting of their own free will. Yes, Mother Miranda has undeniable power over them. She leads the cult they are part of, she has control over the village, she is their superior. However, I really dislike when every negative action by the lords is pushed onto her, as if the lords are not all grown adults who are for the most part acting independently of her.

With Alcina, she is the head of her own extremely brutal crimes. I think a lot of people have forgotten quite how horrifying the situations of the maidens are, possibly due to the prevalence shipping between Alcina and the maidens, and though we have minimal information what we do know is very frightening. Alcina uses her work force like livestock, draining them for their blood in a cellar full of horrific torture devices, and leaves their corpses to shamble around, armed and ready to attack any unwanted guests that have slipped out of the daughter’s clutches so that Alcina still doesn’t have to do her own dirty work, given how highly above everyone but Mother Miranda she appears to view herself as. While yes, Alcina does need human blood to survive, her methods are brutal, and none of this has been enforced upon her by Mother Miranda. Similarly to Jack on occasion, she takes a great deal of pleasure in hurting and attacking Ethan as he runs from her. Additionally, everything she does to Ethan is against Mother Miranda’s request. While yes, it is retaliation after he killed Bela, the part I often see people leave out is that Alcina is equally as upset that he entered her property and was attempting to steal from her, and she isn’t just after him to kill him.

Alcina has also been an active participant in aiding Mother Miranda with at least one experiment, considering that I’d how she got her daughters. While I’m sure her strong admiration for Mother Miranda and Mother Miranda’s power over her has absolutely had an affect in this, that’s not something I’ll deny, Alcina is still a grown woman and in her written entries about this shows no qualms about her participation in this. Her general attitude towards others, using young women as a good source and turning men into scarecrows, also leads me to believe that she does not exactly care who gets hurt or taken advantage of when it comes to her and Mother Miranda’s personal endeavours.

Donna and Moreau are the two more sympathetic people within the four lords, but they are not innocent. To start with Moreau, he’s desperate for Mother Miranda’s approval, as well as the other lords. He’s insecure and lonely, and he’s doing what he has been instructed by Mother Miranda when it comes to protecting the flask. However, he does also take quite a bit of joy in trapping Ethan in the reservoir and swimming after him with the intention to eat and kill him. Moreau though, given his conditions and circumstances, is the one I think is the least to blame for what he does.

Donna is hard to discuss because we know so little about her. Her parents are dead, as well as whoever Claudia was to her, she communicates through Angie and she can cause those who enter her house to hallucinate. According to Mother Miranda, Donna is severely mentally ill and that is what has made her an unfit vessel. I think a lot of people took this to mean that Donna is unaware of what she is doing, that the hallucinations she is showing Ethan are frightening, but after having been a fan of this game for years I just can’t agree with that anymore. Donna intentionally lures Ethan into her house with visions of his supposedly dead wife. Donna is going after fears she likely knows Ethan has, making him relive Mia’s death, take apart a mannequin of her, listen to her voice panic over something being horribly wrong with Rose, all building towards the horrifying baby that chases him through the house. There is no way Donna doesn’t understand how what she is showing Ethan is distressing, especially when you consider that, given how she can make herself appear and disappear at will within Ethan’s vision and that Angie is sitting in the hallways stationary and unspeaking, Donna was likely close by Ethan at all times and could see and hear his frightened reactions to what she was intentionally showing him.

Donna’s death is upsetting, but Ethan was not just chasing her down and killing her. Donna was attacking him, or at least she was controlling her dolls to do so. It’s still a hallucination, but Ethan doesn’t know that. When faced with a threat that is keeping you trapped and trying to end your life, you will likely try to get away or try to fight back, as Donna is doing to Ethan after he starts to attack her and Ethan is doing to Donna when he thinks his life is still in danger. I would also like to remind everybody that Donna communicates through Angie. What Angie is saying, that’s Donna. Angie doesn’t talk or move once she’s dead, it is Donna who controls her.

Lastly, Heisenberg. I think Heisenberg is the one of the four most entrenched in headcanons. Headcanons are fine, I am never in this post trying to suggest they aren’t, but my issue comes in when people use them to try and change the canon of the game. For example, it’s fine to believe that Heisenberg was experimented on by Mother Miranda as a child, but that isn’t canon. It’s fine to believe that Heisenberg mourned the deaths of his siblings, but that isn’t canon. The opposite is, with Heisenberg not viewing the cult as an actual family and being very openly mean to all three other lords, even Donna and Moreau who seemingly haven’t done anything to slight him. While his goal of killing another Miranda is a very understandable and sympathetic one given what she has done to him, using a six month old baby as a weapon and trying to bring her father into the mix only to try to get him killed when he denies him is not. I cannot overstate quite how little Heisenberg actually cared for Ethan and Rose’s safety when it came to his goal, and given that we are playing as Ethan, Rose is the priority.

Heisenberg has built an army of corpses he has presumably stolen and desecrated. This is kind of fucked up actually, and done completely independently of Mother Miranda. He also puts Ethan through a very dangerous lycan gauntlet before he even reaches the factory, which makes it even stranger to me that people seem to interpret Heisenberg’s deal as something that would have benefitted both him and Ethan and as if he ever had Ethan’s safety in mind.

All four of the lords have tragic aspects to them and there are definitely reasons to sympathise with all four. They’re victims of Mother Miranda, who knows they will all be killed. She wants them to be, giving her less to deal with by the time she has Eva back. They never meant anything to her. Not Alcina or Moreau, who were desperate for her attention. Not Donna, suffering from her unspecified but apparently severe mental illness. Not Heisenberg, who was seemingly her favourite creation. However, all of them are grown adults who do their own bad things independently of her.

And it’s fine to still like them. It’s fine for them to be your favourite character. It’s fine to have happy or nice headcanons about them or want to kiss them or be their friend or to want them to have survived. It’s fine to like characters who do shitty things. It’s to be expected in a game series like Resident Evil. It’s a horror game series. People are going to do bad things.

I just find it so boring when people take away all their bite. What makes a character like Lady Dimitrescu so fun it’s that she’s completely over the top. She’s campy and ridiculous, her castle layout makes no sense, she’s got three kids made of swarms of flies dressed like a set of goth triplets, she’s a lesbian who’s castle is full of naked statues of women, she turns into a big dragon and laughs maniacally while flying around and trying to eat you. She’s evil and it’s fun. It’s the same with Heisenberg. He’s a campy show off with a fun voice and a massive hammer he never actually uses. He can control metal. He looks like a cowboy. He pronounced Miranda in a funny way. He talks to you over an intercom while trying to get you killed. They’re fun and evil and they fight over who gets to kill Ethan like they’re two little kids. It’s absurd.

What makes a character like Donna so scary is that she’s silently working in the shadows, unassuming at a first glance and unseen for most of the time in her house. She is the least threatening of the four upon first glance, and yet she has undeniably the most frightening part of the game. Pretending as if Donna is completely unaware of what she is doing and babying her like she is an incapable child waters her down completely and takes away from the effectiveness of her character.

Villain characters are great! They’re very often the highlight of the story they are in, and they aren’t real! The four lords especially are often so completely exaggerated in what they do as well. It’s fine to like villains! It doesn’t make you bad! Characters can be bad people and you can still like them!

It’s just frustrating seeing a group of very fun and exciting villains, all designed with different aspects of horror, all over the top and campy and stupid and fun, all doing their own set of fucked up things, watered down to a set of poor innocent victims who have never done any wrong ever. If you want Jack and Marguerite, take Jack and Marguerite. Lady Dimitrescu loves killing and eating women and Karl Heisenberg turns corpses into soldiers. They’re bad people and they do comically exaggerated bad things. If you can’t stomach liking a character like that, horror is probably not the genre for you. Unless it’s Resident Evil 7, I suppose, but apparently tall women aren’t hot when it’s Marguerite Baker crawling on the walls.

[dropsnectar]

Pollen and Potions: Bee-men x afab!reader

PART SEVEN

NSFW

You woke up alone. 

The cot was warm under where you had laid but the spots beside you remained cool. You reached your mind out through your bonds, experimenting. You could tell that Rena was somewhere nearby, emotions calm and smug. Lyith seemed to be outside of the hive, worry fretting itself in iridescent specks in your minds eye. That was another thing you noticed. Your minds eye was a little more present, like you were looking in two worlds at once.

You pull yourself up and start looking for Rena, tipetoing down the tunnel hall. You don't stop until you make it to the huge open room, filled with about twenty or thirty bee-men of varying appearances, colors and sizes. You could taste magic in the room, now what you recognized to be the mana of the hive, pulsing through the air. 

Everything smelled fresh and sweet, and something about the place, despite having no windows, felt refreshing and calming to you. You glance around looking for Rena, nodding and waving to Bee-men you have met before. They are all exuberant today, buzzing about you happily and greeting you with the customary hand squeeze or forehead bump. There is such a lightness about them, unlike you've seen in them before. 

You come to the corner of the room where there is another tunnel, brightly light by cool glowing orbs. The familiar orbs had been all about the area, expanded light and cool air. You welcomed the feeling, as you couldn't imagine how hot and humid the hive would be without them. You felt a sudden pulse of magic from the tunnel, and an increase in the scent of sweet honey. 

You come to a room where maybe six or seven Bee-men are working. Their are pots as large as people spanning the walls, several of which the Bee-men are working with. They all seem to be holding onto a string of magic rope tying them together as they sing out in a noise that is equal part bug and human. Surprisingly, it is a comforting, pleasant noise.

 You watch, as the thread seems to pulse wide, like a snake who is swallowing and digesting a mouse, slowly moving from one Bee-men, to one pot to another. You watch as one Bee-man, unconnected to this rope of magic, brings a jar of pollen with him, keeping pace and messaging the bulge.

 On his neck is a large block of obsidian, tied with twine. He is chanting, a dark green, almost black magic working from his hands. You recognize the cute little nose and brown hair. Haven.

“If you watch closely, you will notice that young Haven is using a type of magic we call Kvasir.” A hand is on your elbow and you turn to see Elder Bisou. 

“The magic is neither personal, nor Shared Magic. He… i do not know the word in your terms. He calls on the Kvas of old, our first ancestors, and they lend him the ability to bake the pollen's life into something we can layer into our magic. Much like salt is to humans. It is a hard skill that takes many hours. He must not falter his breath or devotion, lest he have to start all over again.”

You blinked, surprised your favorite gossip had such a vital role. Though in some ways it made sense. Haven had such a way with words, he could spin an enthralling story over the most minute of details. He really was a good orator. And apparently a Bee like Priest? You wondered what Bee-men afterlife looked like. 

Elder Bisou however, had more to say.

“After the nectar is fed through our magic and blessed by the Kvas, it is to be fermented for three days out in the sun, and then portioned and dried until it is the proper consistency. Of course, we dry the honey with our wings, and that too is considered a blessing from the wind.”

Elder Bisou was all but chanting, a preacher on his pulpit, relaying the word of his Gods.

“The nectar is of earth and water, the Kvasir, a blessing of spirit, the Sun and the wind to ferment, a transformation that fortifies our bodies, our mana, our souls. We are one with all in the gathering, in the making, in the consuming. We have not forgotten our roots, young witch.”

His eyes were like steel as he met your gaze. “Though I hear you are much more now. It is a miracle. I thank you for saving the lives of two of our children. And your efforts to save our hive in the ways you can.” He paused here, as if their was more he wanted to say, something that made his chest stick out, the graying fur their puffing.

“Lyith and Rena shall have much to explain to you I am sure. Even if they are terrible drones, leaving you alone in your most vulnerable time. More rest will do you well.”

He turned around, about to leave you, but you put a hand to his shoulder, excitement filling your chest as you remembered.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about your gardens! You see, I have this theory about the magic in the soil! I think its because of the beast men leaving. Well more specifically their… um. Waste. You guys have a treaty with the wolfmen a few miles out from here, right? I was thinking that maybe we could. Idk ask for their… fertilizer and see how that effects the ecosystem?”

Elder Bisou gave you tired eyes. “While I appreciate your passion, this is already a thought we have entertained. The issue is that we have no way of funding this “transaction”. Waste is not an easy thing to transport, or a topic welcome in embassy meetings. We only receive groceries through you humans from charity. I do not see any… kindness around the wolfmen shoveling their ‘shit’ into our backyards. I am sorry to disappoint you.”

He said it kindly but it felt like a slap in the face. You hadn't meant to open your mind to his emotions but you could feel them now, a sort of… disdain? The sort of smugness an adult holds in their throat while explaining to a child why they can't have a puppy. 

It occurred to you that this old Bee-man was a politician. And your well meaning intentions might have seemed like a slap in the face to his intelligence. Maybe. Something else seemed to be afoot here, as there was more complexity to this. You didn't need to taste his emotions in the air to know that.

You were feeling kind of dizzy.  Elder Bisou had left but you had leaned against the far wall. You could feel the bee-mens emotions without them throwing them at you, but it drained you. When your gaze focused again you noticed that the Bee-men in the room were trying their hardest to continue to sing and magic their honey, but their eyes still rested on you. Even Haven, who was supposed to be in communion with the holy of his ancestors, had eyes on you as he rubbed and chanted. 

Shame filled your heart. You had butted into a necessary and sacred process without any care. You wobbled up and out of the tunnel, hoping you had not done any harm.

Rena was on you in seconds. 

“What are you doing in there! You should have stayed in the infirmary, I was looking all over for you.” Worry, with a blood like tang filled the connection of your bond. You couldn't quite understand the emotions there, but there was pain in it. Like she had been hurt.

“Are you okay?”

“No! My Queen decides to go gallivanting around the hive before I can even tell her she is very vulnerable right now. Look at you, already stressing your mana.” She uses her hands to dust your shoulders and clothes of dirt from the floor of the hall, the only place in the hive with it, as the floors everywhere else were covered in what could only be linoleum like beeswax. 

“Where's Lyith?” You venture, feeling his own worry and a rush, as if he was flying fast, in your mind. 

“Hes getting you human food! All we have is honey here, and from what I can't tell, its not conducive to a healthy human diet.” She pulls your whole body into her arms and buzzes you off back to what you now knew as the infirmary. 

She had a small cup that steamed in one of her many hands. She set you down on the cot, leaning you so your back was braced by the wall, then covered you in several of the room's blankets before tucking the cup into your hand. You suddenly realized you were ravenous. 

You carefully sipped on the liquid. It was sweet. Hot water and honey, and possibly a little fruit juice glided itself upon your tongue. You smiled over at Rena, your heart full as she fussed over you, picking at your hair and braiding what she could. 

“So whats this about me being vulnerable?”

Rena continued braiding, her eyes not leaving your hair.

“I don’t want to say too much until Lyith gets here. But I’m sure you’ve noticed some changes by now. Your body is very weak because your mana is growing.”

“Is that why I can hear everyone's emotions so clearly?” You grimaced. You still had a bit of a headache. At least it only happens when you talk to someone. 

“That's part of it. You're so tense, come here.” She pulled you into her lap and started messaging the tight spots in your neck, another hand gently rocking on the skin between your shoulders. You shivered, as a wave of tingles worked down your spine.

“We were hoping you’d let us keep you here for a few days so we can watch you. Until everything gets figured out.” Her voice was even but you could tell their was anxiety in the pit of her stomach. She was pushing it down though. You continued to let her wrestle your muscles into soft, relaxed flesh. She sighed in satisfaction.

“Y/n!!!” A happy voice interrupted your quiet peace. It was Haven, the small brown drone vibrating with excitement as he flew towards you. Rena acted immediately, pulling you further into her lap and crushing you to her with the wall of her arms.

“Its the middle of the day, you should be working.” Her tone was gruff.

“We are on break!” He replied, before giving her and indignant eyebrow quirk. He then pushed his full attention to you and sat on the cot. 

“Congratulations on your recent mating! It was about time, with how much those two hung off you!” His words were hollow, as you were hit hard by Haven’s intense curiosity and hope. It almost choked you as you scrambled to adjust your mind's eye. 

“We are busy Haven. And you are stressing her out. She’s still adjusting.”

“So it IS true, you can feel us!” Haven must have been concentrating his mind at you, because you were met with a tsunami of emotions. His pleasure was palpable, a variety of reds. His fondness was warm and smelled of vanilla, as well as something else you couldn’t quite understand, mixed with the hope. A hunger?

“Get out. Now.” Rena stood up, carrying you up with her before pushing Haven off the bed.

“Whats going on here?” Lyith’s tone was hard, it echoed through the infirmary.

“I just wanted to know if she had made a decision yet! Besides, we are friends, right?” He looked at you hopefully. You sighed.

“Haven, I’m not really sure what's going on, but maybe you could come back later? I think I’m out of the loop here.” You realized then that all the talking and emotions had started to make you shake. 

Haven noticed too and looked somber. His voice then turned delicately light, and he organized his face. 

“Maybe we can talk tomorrow. See you guys!” He gave you one last look and then walked out the door. Lyiths eyes followed him. He didn’t seem upset, like Rena did, but you could feel that Lyith seemed torn. Noticing your touch on his mind his eyes met yours, and a loving smile blazed across his golden features.

“You need to eat.” He brought you a plate. It was a tuna sandwich and an apple. Your stomach roared to life, and you grabbed the plate out of Lyith’s hands, tearing through the fish and bread. You ate the whole sandwich in 10 seconds and tore into the apple. Rena relaxed her grip around you and nuzzled her nose into your hair, muscles relaxing. 

Lyith took Haven's place on the cot and opened his arms. Rena wouldn’t let you move. The two of them in the room, you started to feel at peace. But there was a conversation that needed to happen, and it had to happen soon.

“So, I’m your.. Queen now huh? What does that mean exactly?”  Lyith exchanged glances with Rena. 

“Well, it’s a lot like being married. Rena and I have sworn to love and protect you for the rest of our lives. And you accepted us into your mind, heart and body, fortifying us.” He crawled forward so he could take hold of your hand, caressing the curves of your fingers.

“Exiled Bee-men often survive dying by Queen Bonding with someone who has compatible pheromones. Thats how we are able to share our emotions. But you’re experiencing more then that right?”

You nodded slowly. “I could kind of tell where you guys were at.”

“And you were able to hear Heaven's emotions without him sharing them with you. You were able to pick up his pheromones and read them, despite not having a bond.”

“A Queenbond to another species is something that takes several weeks of mating to take. Not to mention, when you were healing Lyith, your magic should have only temporarily stabilized his magic. Instead you healed all the damage that he had accumulated from enacting magic without a Queen. Even if he had bonded to a normal Queen, he would not have been able to fully use his mana again.”

“You’re mana is turning into something like a true Queen. We don’t understand it.”

Your heart started pounding hard in your chest. You took stock. Did you feel any different? No. You were tired, but you were still you. Your mind went back to all the Bee-men who’s been eyeing you in the hall. The Joy, the hope, Haven’s hunger.

“The rest of the hive… they..,”

“No. Little One, there are two hives now. Ours and theirs. They are letting us stay here now in hopes of you becoming their Queen. That you would heal them all, and stop their inevitable walk towards death.”

The stakes are so high. 

You felt sick. You had only meant to save Lyith, but the whole hive?

You had wanted to help them, sure, but they wanted you to give your whole life away to them? You wanted to save them, but this might just be too much. 

“I’d have to give up my human life. And I’d have to become some baby making factory.”

“A Queen IS the mother of the hive, but she is so much more. She is also the heart. Like you are our hearts now.” Lyith leaned forward and the three of you were in a full embrace.

“We aren’t asking you to do anything you don’t want to. You don’t have to become their Queen if you don’t want to. But either way, we need to stay here for a few days. If you move your body too much, it might affect your mana and make you sick. Its possible that the stress of it could even kill you.”

Lyith pulled away and kneeled onto the floor so he could rest his head on your lap. His eyes didn’t leave you. Rena continued. “We are not able to hate you anymore, little one. We will not judge you if it's too much to ask. After all, another Queen could find her way to the hive.”

Twenty years.

 Your eyes started to water. You wanted to weep for them, for these Bee-men. For Lyith and Rena and Haven and everyone you had met here. You suddenly felt so young and small. You sat there and cried for what felt like an hour. It was all too much.

When you stopped you were bone tired. You tugged on your bonds between Rena and Lyith, and their minds consumed yours. Their pain for you, their worry, but also their love filled your mind. It was a balm to you. It was so intimate, this feeling of being one with them, but you had to admit you loved it. You loved them. 

You felt a wet warmth rubbing on your thigh. You looked down to see Lyith, his eyes big and round as he kitten licked your pants. You got goosebumps. You watched him for a second, the warmth flooding your cheeks.

“Lyith…”

“I think you’ve had a really stressful day, my Queen.” Lyith’s tone was innocence itself, but he continued to lick long stripes, causing a wet patch. You swallowed.

Seeing you not pull away, he shimmied his head up to the zipper of your pants and pulled it down with his teeth.  He then licked between the zipper, once, twice, three times. His hands snaked up to the top of your pants. Rena, seeing where this was going, pulled you out of her arms. 

She motioned Lyith off you and laid you down near the edge of the cot. She tossed Lyith a pillow. He rolled you over gently and positioned the pillow under you. Your entire face started to heat at the thought of how easy this was for them. Heavy arousal from both sides filled your mind, making you feel sensitive all over. Rena took hold of one of your thighs and pulled it closer to her side on the left. She started to reach over and message the skin of your chest as she pulled your chin to kiss her. 

Her breath was hot and her lips soft. The fluff of her chest felt good against your belly, as she had pushed up your shirt. Her tongue played hopscotch with yours, moving over and under, as if to tease you more. You whined at her as you felt Lyith kissing a slow trail on your inner thighs. His hand pulled your puffy lips apart, and he blew cool air onto it. The tension in your stomach wound deeper, waiting. 

He started licking wide flat lines from your entrance up your vulva. He took breaks, kissing and licking at your labia, before working his way slowly back to your clit, sucking. The texture made you groan, as he took his time. You don’t know how he did it, maybe he had practice, maybe he--fuck. 

He moaned into you, letting you know of his own pleasure as he humped the edge of the mattress. You ached for him, as Rena nibbled and sucked on your neck. You are writhing under them now. From Lyith, from Rena, from the utter devotion the were laying in waves upon your mind. It made your core boil, their emotions coating your consciousness with the blanket of their devotion. Despite the fact that they were the ones playing your body like some kind of instrument, you were the one with the power here. The one making them so crazy all they wanted to do was make you come one more time, scream out one more time. 

“You're our universe, my Queen. Won’t you come for us, just a little bit?” Rena whispered in your ear. Despite her words, Lyiths mouth was the center of your universe right now, building you to a peak so high, you weren’t sure where it would go. Then he sang into you, a high pitched needy note, and the tension broke. Your body was pleasure and stars filled your eyes.

You were panting when you looked over at Lyith, who was staring at you with the same adoration one would give a puppy who successfully carried out a trick. His mouth was glistening.

Seeing you watch him, he dragged his long black tongue around his mouth and swallowed. 

“Are you feeling more relaxed now?” He asked with some amusement. You pouted at him, then pulled yourself up. 

You patted the seat to your right, giving him a heated stare. He obeyed with poise. You could see his dick, long and as golden as his face, with a darkening brown near his tip. It held ridges on several points and was glistening, covered in his precum.

You looked back to Lyith, giving him an innocent expression as you dragged your finger around the bumps of his dick. The skin was smooth and slippery, but it gave a little under your touch. You pulled yourself out of Rena’s arms and off the cot. You plopped down on the spot between his legs, lining your face up with his dick. 

Lyith was completely taken off gaurd, eyes wide, then rolling back into his head as you took the tip into your mouth. Huh. Even his precum had a sweetness to it that you quite liked. You tried to swallow down more of it without chocking, causing him to gasp and shudder over you. When you looked up, his eyes were soft and glazed, mouth open. He didn;t hold back his moans as you continued to lick and suck his dick. You traced the ridges of it with your tongue and pumped him with your free hand. He was quite large.

He keened and gasped, letting out whiny thank yous and sputters. When you glanced over at Rena, you saw her with her own hands on her cock, her eyes never leaving your mouth as you worked Lyith down to babbles. Eventually it was too much for him and he came, beautifully blond lashes fluttering as he shot his load down your throat. You coughed and let go of him immediately, not used to how much fluid was coming out of him. You almost swore you swallowed down something small and squishy? Like a boba ball, but you were probably imagining it. There was just so much cum. 

“Was that.. Good?” You asked sheepishly. All he could do was nod at you as he laid back in the cot. It had seemed like at some point Rena had gotten off too. The room was full of panting and you took your place in the middle of your lovers, sated and happy.

“So… do you guys have showers in this place?”

Guys I would love some criticism for my smut. I've written so much lately that they all just kind of blend together. I will probably come back and edit this entire part at some point, but for now, here it is in all its unedited glory! And yes, at some point Lyith will have his turn inside reader, but for now, he will have to make do with being one of readers favorite sweets~ I hope you liked it! And yes, their will be more parts and more smut.

PART EIGHT

[lackablazeical]

[Part 1 - Joel / Part 2 - Joey / Part 3 - Kathrine]

I'm ashamed to say I've never actually watched any of Sausage's eps for empires, I'm pretty sure the only content of his I saw was Joey interacting with the Church of the Blood Sheep I think???? But bc of that, this design was so hard 😩 I went with his king skin tho cus I feel it's the most recognizable

I went almost entirely just European, specifically like the royal paintings where they have very wide shoulders. I wanted him to be very square and broad, that he looks strong and immovable.

But, when you look closer, you realize how impractical and bulky he actually is, which hints at how he's egotistical and too prideful for his own good. His only armor/weapons are iron, and everything else is gold, also leaning into that idea.

For the rest of everything, I just leaned into the lore of blood. Every animal except the Blood Sheep can 'give blood', either to the Sheep or to Sausage if he needs a regen. I fought with the idea of sausage not having blood of his own but idk, I kinda want him to just so he can offer to the Blood Sheep

BTW the Blood Sheep constantly pours blood from its soaked wool, it acts like water in the kingdom. And the dogs are a hive mind, connected by blood frfr (I think that's how all blood-related people would be in mythland? Tho maybe it'd also be smthn that requires the Blood Sheep idk)

Since I’ve shown speedpaints in other ones I’ll show his here too fr ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

[son1c]

in a fit of what i can only describe as "pure madness," i wrote this entire thing from 12AM to 4AM last night. it's for 10verse. it's related to these drawings. i hope you like it

RETURN TO SENDER

Plants roared in the great forest of Boscage Maze. Not literally, of course. They didn't have mouths. But as vines whipped and branches slashed, sending a flurry of poisonous leaves exploding in every direction, one could be fooled.

Sonic and his friends-who-weren't-his-friends had to be mindful of jagged wooden teeth as they reached down from the treetops to snap at them. While passing by one such monster, Whirley nearly lost an ear, but was saved by Windthrow. It was hard work navigating the dangerous forest, but between Sonic's spindashes and Thorn Rose's hammer, they managed to bash their way through the foliage and into the deepest part of the Boscage.

This made the plants angry. Since they'd connected with a mind greater than their own, they'd learned how to feel. And now, the hive buzzed with its collective rage as it convulsed its million limbs.

Thorns shot out from the brush like arrows. Prim had to fold in her wings and drop down to avoid becoming Swiss cheese. Although, maybe that would've been preferable to the dirt and bugs crawling on the forest floor. She stuck her tongue out in distaste.

But it was too late to turn back now.

The heart of the Boscage was just up ahead--that much was obvious to Sonic. Sure, it was just as green as the rest of the forest, but the way the vines weaved around each other, creating a tangled nest of knotted foliage gave it away. That, and the sickly light of the Green Prism Shard leaking through the cracks.

With the killer plants hot on their trail, Sonic motioned for everyone to stop. Wasting no time, he curled into a ball and slammed into the wall of snarled vines at top speed. His sharp quills sliced through the plants with some trouble--because they were so thick--but his will was stronger than their defenses. After successfully sawing a door through the vines, he stood and turned back toward his companions.

"Did someone call a gardener?" he quipped with a wink.

Everyone rolled their eyes.

"Tough crowd," Sonic muttered.

But then the vines began to squirm. Realizing they were already starting to regrow, everyone hurried through the gap Sonic had created. It closed behind them shortly after.

Gnarly gulped. "You don't think they're gonna eat us, do ya? The a-a-aliens?"

Thorn Rose slammed the handle of her hammer down in front of her, making Gnarly jump. "We're as good as eaten if we don't fight back!" she snapped. "The Green needs our help. Without it, we're all alien food."

Gnarly grimaced, but didn't argue.

Halcyon turned to face Sonic. "Your plan is unlikely to succeed," he said matter-of-factly. "However, I will allow you to attempt it. Once. In the case that it fails, I will do whatever it takes to dispose of the Black Arms."

Sonic grinned. "One shot's all I need," he said confidently.

Halcyon considered this. After a moment, he nodded.

Sonic tried not to think about how much Halcyon looked like Shadow when he did that. Not like it mattered, anyway. Because they would save Shadow. Together. Right here, right now. No matter what Halcyon thought the odds were--Sonic would beat them like he always did.

Squeezing his hands into fists to hide their slight tremor, Sonic turned to the group and said, "Let's whack some weeds!"

The forest shuddered. Prim yelped as the ground seemed to shift beneath her feet. Windthrow and Whirley growled as the vines trembled, their hackles raised in warning. Gnarly looked like he wanted to bolt, but realized he'd probably be safer with the group than on his own, so he stayed where he was. Thorn Rose, Halcyon, and Sonic shared a look.

It must be him.

It must be Shadow.

A moment later, they were proven right. In the middle of the clearing in front of them, vines slithered apart like waves of snakes to reveal a dark form wrapped in flowers and thorns: Shadow. Or, what was once Shadow. His mind had been overwhelmed by the combined might of a billion plants--the Megaflora, as Halcyon had called them. The result of Gerald Robotnik's research. They were plants mixed with Black Arms DNA, and they were hellbent on planetary conquest.

Shadow opened his eyes, but Sonic knew it wasn't really him in control. The dark hedgehog locked eyes with his rival. "Earthling," he cooed. "You have returned to us."

Sonic wanted to jump into action right then and there, but his hastiness was what had gotten them in this mess in the first place, so he forced himself to act cool. "Yeah," he said casually. "What can I say? I just couldn't stay away."

Without looking away from Sonic, Shadow said, "You brought the others."

Sonic was surprised to hear disdain in Shadow's voice. So, the plants had finally gotten the hang of emoting, huh? Well, it didn't make them any less creepy. With a wave of his hand, Sonic replied, "Don't mind them. This is about you and me."

The vines squeezed tighter around Shadow. Sonic could see the thorns dig into his fur, drawing blood. Sonic had to keep talking in order to stop himself from abandoning his plan. "I get it," he said, a little tightly. "You missed me. I'd miss me too. Thing is, I did some thinking while I was gone..."

Shadow didn't move. Didn't blink. He just stared at Sonic, listening.

It seemed as though the whole world had gone quiet. Maybe it had.

"...And, well," Sonic continued, "I changed my mind."

Finally, Shadow reacted. He leaned forward, his body moving like a puppet on strings. "Is that so?"

Sonic stepped forward. Not too fast, not too slow. Deliberately. Shadow--but really, the Megaflora--tracked his every move. Good. That was what he wanted. "Uh-huh," Sonic said. He folded his hands behind his head calmly. Then, with a lopsided smile, he added, "I wanna stay here with you."

At last, Shadow left the center of the clearing. The Megaflora had gotten better at moving his body since the last time Sonic was here, but "better" was relative, and plants were never meant to walk in the first place, so was it really any surprise that now that they could, they did so with stuttering, jerky steps?

As Sonic watched Shadow come closer, his stomach twisted uncomfortably. But he kept his eyes on him. He didn't dare look away, especially not up and over the dark hedgehog's shoulder, where Thorn Rose and Halcyon now were. No, Sonic kept his eyes on Shadow just like he said he would. Because that was the plan.

When he was directly in front of Sonic, Shadow finally stopped his scary marionette-walk. Unfortunately, he did something even scarier next: he smiled.

"Do you take us for a fool, Earthling? These eyes are not the only ones that can see."

Thorn Rose gasped as eyeball-covered, alien vines suddenly shot up from the ground and grabbed her ankles.

"Loathsome vermin," Shadow said darkly. Then, he turned his attention back toward Sonic. Now, his voice was soft. Almost sad. "If only you could have seen... but no matter."

Vines anchored Sonic's feet in place as Shadow wrapped his hands around the blue hedgehog's throat.

"Your corpse will make fine company!"

Suddenly, Halcyon shouted, "Now!"

Windthrow tackled Shadow, and his superior size sent them both tumbling to the ground in a flurry of fur and foliage. Sonic, meanwhile, instinctively touched his throat. Oh, yeah. That was going to hurt later. But there was no time for that now--he shook his shoes free from the vines before Shadow could get back up.

Everyone was on the move. While Windthrow was wrestling with Shadow, the scavengers had taken to beating back the plants attempting to stop Halcyon and Thorn Rose from cracking open the cage of vines in the heart of the forest. Halcyon had transformed his jelly arm into a saw, while Thorn Rose used her hammer to block the vines from growing back. Soon, Halcyon was able to break through to the core, and from it he pulled out the glowing Green Prism Shard.

Shadow shoved Windthrow off of him. "No!" he roared, and it was like all the plants in the world did too.

But it was too late.

Halcyon threw the Shard. At the height of the chaos, it seemed as though time slowed down. Sonic watched as the Shard began to arc through the air before reluctantly tearing his gaze away from it. He turned instead toward Shadow. Using his super speed, Sonic snatched Shadow's wrist, hauled him up, and then with his free hand, he took the one chance Halcyon had given him.

And he didn't miss.

Sonic's fingertip connected with the Shard.

A brilliant flash of light filled the forest.

When it cleared, Sonic and Shadow were gone. But the sounds of the wailing Megaflora seemed to follow them through the Void, their agonized screaming licking at Sonic's heels, lamenting, "We almost had you!"

But Sonic didn't believe in "almosts". He kept a tight grip on Shadow as the two of them careened through the Void. It was the bright blue gate of No Place that swallowed them up, and after the suffocating green of the Boscage, Sonic welcomed it.

The portal spat them out in the sky, which was frankly quite rude of it. Sonic blinked, realized the two of them were now falling down instead of horizontally, and brought Shadow--who hadn't moved since he'd touched the Shard--into his arms. With any luck, they'd land on the same small island Sonic had discovered the first time he'd come to No Place.

It felt like they fell for a long time, but it was probably only 10 seconds. Sonic's spines hit the sand first, and it knocked the wind out of him, but not in a "linebacker just punted me across a football field" kind of way. It was more like a "shopping cart just hit me unexpectedly" way. In other words, because Sonic was tough, all he really did was let out a quiet oof.

"As far as landings go," Sonic said, "I'm gonna have to give that one a 4 out of 10. Forget about style points--we're totally beached!"

Shadow didn't respond. In fact, he still hadn't moved at all.

Sonic sat up, pulling Shadow up with him. Shadow's eyes were open, but they were glassy and unfocused, staring at nothing. Frowning, Sonic said, "Hellooo? Earth to Shadow?"

When Shadow still didn't respond, Sonic's grin faded. The blue hedgehog's nose twitched before he bent his head down, pressing one ear against the Ultimate Lifeform's chest, listening for a heartbeat--which he heard immediately. "Geez, Shadow," Sonic said after lifting his head back up. "You really had me going for a second there, bud. Trying to ruin my awesome rescue by..."

Sonic trailed off. He didn't want to admit it, but he was starting to get a little nervous, and he didn't feel like making jokes anymore. He just wanted Shadow to say something--anything. Because the longer he kept quiet, the more time Sonic had to think about why that might be.

Could his rescue have actually ended in disaster? Sure, he'd saved Shadow's body, but what about his mind? Was it still trapped in Boscage with those awful weeds?

Shadow blinked.

Sonic snapped out of his thoughts. In a small voice, Sonic asked, "Shadow...?"

Slowly, so slowly they would give molasses a run for its money, Shadow's eyes moved from staring straight ahead at nothing to looking up and over at Sonic.

"...Sonic."

Sonic's face lit up with a dazzling grin. He pulled Shadow into a hug, pressing his cheek against Shadow's in a way he knew was annoying and that Shadow would hate. Except, Shadow didn't push him away. Unlike the last time he did this in the Void, Shadow stayed still and let Sonic hug him.

For a brief second, Sonic worried that he had just imagined Shadow talking, and he was actually still catatonic. But thankfully, Shadow said something else, although his voice was a little muffled by Sonic's quills.

"I'm... free?"

Sonic pulled back so he could see Shadow's face. The dark hedgehog was looking down, his normally unreadable expression clouded with confusion and... something else. He still didn't move other than to breathe, almost as though he was afraid to do so.

For the first time, Sonic let go of Shadow. With his typical cocky attitude, he flashed his rival a thumbs up. "Yup!"

Shadow's expression grew more extreme. His hands shook as they reached out to grab Sonic, and in that moment Sonic realized what else was shining in Shadow's eyes: fear.

Sonic let Shadow pull him into an embrace. "Whoa, hey," Sonic said. "It's alright! Those weeds won't be bothering you anymore, Shadow. Promise."

Sonic felt Shadow's grip around him tighten. Then, Sonic realized with growing horror that his shoulder was getting wet. Wet from tears he couldn't see. He thought about how time flowed differently between the Shatterspaces, and how while he had only been separated from Shadow for a few days, Shadow had been alone with the Megaflora for much, much longer.

Sonic squeezed his eyes shut. However, he quickly set his jaw. The guilt could wait in line with his feelings about breaking the universe. He had something more important to deal with right now: Shadow.

"Sorry I was late," Sonic said quietly. "Didn't mean to make you wait, Shadow."

Shadow didn't reply, but Sonic could feel him press his face into his shoulder. So, Sonic asked, "Not up for small talk, eh?" Because he already knew he wouldn't get an answer, he continued, "That's fine. I got you."

Sonic watched the waves lap against the shore while Shadow cried. He didn't say anything else. There was nothing more to say. It was hard not to think about how he'd almost lost him, how Sonic was almost alone with nothing but the pieces of their broken world to pick up on his own, but Sonic didn't do "almosts". He just sat in the sand and rubbed his thumbs gently against Shadow's back.

Eventually, Shadow grew still. Sonic didn't want to move him, but when he didn't respond to his prodding, he did it anyway and found that he'd fallen asleep. Sonic could've said something about how they didn't have time for power naps, they had a world to save and a multi-verse to fix, but he didn't. The truth was, he was tired too. He hadn't slept since...

Uh...

Well, he wasn't sure how long it'd been. But if Mr. Ultimate Lifeform was tired enough to sleep, then he got a free pass for a nap too. That's how it worked, right? Come to think of it, did the Megaflora even need to sleep? They were plants, so probably not. But that would mean...

Sonic looked at the bags under Shadow's eyes and winced.

Without a word, Sonic laid Shadow down in the sand. Then, Sonic laid down too. The sun was setting on the horizon, and the first stars of nighttime were becoming visible in No Place's sky. Sonic thought that they looked identical to the stars he saw in Green Hill, but quickly stopped thinking it when his heart squeezed painfully.

Wait in line with the rest, thanks.

Eventually, the steady sound of the ocean foam lulled Sonic to sleep. Now, was it a good night's sleep? Was it free of awful dreams and fitful rolling? As a matter of fact, yeah, it was. He must've been exhausted because he slept like a rock despite all the baggage weighing him down.

In fact, when the stars faded and the pink-orange sun began to drift over the horizon, it was Shadow who woke up first.

Though, it was hard to tell, because he didn't open his eyes. For several horrible, horrible seconds, he didn't remember the events of last night, and he thought he was back in Boscage Maze. So, he waited. He waited for the Megaflora to tell him what to do, as they had been doing for the past month and a half. But their instructions never came. It was quiet inside of his mind, their raucous hissing absent.

He remembered what Sonic had said.

You're free.

Shadow opened his eyes. He was greeted by the beautiful blue ocean of No Place, so much nicer than the suffocating green of his old prison. After sitting up, he turned his head, and saw Sonic asleep next to him.

A cavalcade of unwanted thoughts rose to the forefront of his mind. All things that the Megaflora had wanted--had told him that he wanted--had forced him to want. Conquer the planet, kill the scavengers, save the Earthling.

But as it turned out, the "Earthling" had saved him.

Shadow swallowed thickly. It was difficult to put those thoughts out of his mind, to remember what was his and what was theirs. For what felt like an eternity, there was no difference. It was simply them. Theirs. We. Us.

Sonic's ear flicked in his sleep. Shadow stared at it.

"I'm Shadow the Hedgehog," he said to no one in particular. "I'm the Ultimate Lifeform."

A soft sea breeze blew across the tiny island. Sonic stirred. He cracked an eye open, then grinned. "’I'm the Ultimate Lifeform’," he said in his best Shadow impression.

Shadow scowled. He looked away from Sonic and out at the endless ocean. "Hmph."

"Back to your old self, huh? Good. I was starting to think I'd need to find a new rival!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Shadow lied.

Sonic sat up. "Aw, c'mon, Shad," he teased. "We're not doing the forgetting-important-events thing again. Once was more than enough! Besides," Sonic leaned in close to Shadow, "it's a lot more fun when you play along."

"This isn't a game, Sonic!" Shadow snapped.

"C'mon, dude. You're back. I'm feelin' good. What's wrong with a little--"

Shadow interrupted, "You still don't get it. We-- I--..." Shadow said again, putting heavy emphasis on that first word, "I saw things. All of their memories. These aren't just facsimiles of your friends; these are whole worlds you've created with your mistake."

Sonic grew quiet. After a moment, he asked, "So they're real now, huh?"

Shadow glared at Sonic. But then, all the anger drained from his face. He just looked tired. "The accursed Megaflora has been around for longer than my Project. I witnessed its conception and subsequent failure. It... is real. And the suffering it’s inflicted on Boscage Maze can't be denied."

Shaking his head, Sonic said, "Yeah, well, that's what they made you for."

Shadow tensed. But Sonic waved his hand and said apologetically, "Halcyon, I mean. The other, uh... you. He's supposed to fix it." Sonic cleared his throat awkwardly. "Now that you're outta there, those weeds won't last long. Don't sweat it!"

Shadow pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sonic, you..." He was aggravated. "No, I made things worse. They probed my mind. They have my intelligence. I couldn't... there was nothing I could do to stop them. They kept pushing until I..."

Broke.

"...It's okay, Shadow. Really."

"How can you say that?" Shadow was shouting now. "How can you possibly... understand?"

"I don't," Sonic admitted. Then, he patted Shadow's arm. "But I know you. And even a faker like Halcyon has gotta have some of you in him. And I know you don't take the easy way. You don't quit. So, it'll be okay. Cuz I trust you."

Shadow laughed bitterly. "You're still the same idiot," he said.

"Maybe," Sonic said with a shrug. "But I got you back. Right?"

Shadow's mouth went dry. He remembered--both through his own two eyes and the thousand eyes of the Megaflora--seeing Sonic fight against the immense might of the Boscage Black Arms. He conceded, "You did."

Sonic's mouth quirked up in a small smile. "And why's that?"

Frowning, Shadow searched Sonic's eyes for a hint of what the answer might be, but he couldn't figure it out.

Sonic didn't look away. "It's cuz I need you. I'm big enough to admit that."

The thought of having to fix the world all on his own was almost too much for Sonic to bear. He'd been faced with that awful reality while separated from Shadow, while Shadow had been suffering under the Megaflora's control. Thankfully, Sonic didn't have to see the reality of that "almost".

Sonic held out his hand to Shadow. "Let's fix this, Shadow. Together."

Shadow looked at Sonic's hand for a long moment. In the end, he took it and said, "Together."

[nevergonnaloveagain-hey]

Please write another dating Hozier headcannon!

a/n: OMG i did not expect the first one to get so much love, thank you SO MUCH! Sorry this one is a bit shorter but I hope you like it either way :) 

Here’s part 1 in case you missed it btw

I feel like your relationship would be private but not secret

Like he probably puts a picture of you in some of his concert posts on instagram or brings you along to some festivals or events as his date

Maybe even small and casual mentions of you during interviews, like “yeah, me and my partner did this the other day” or “my partner really likes that…” He’s obsessed with you i fear

You would be spotted pretty often at his shows just singing along and having a good time with your/his friends. He would for sure be looking at you the whole show just so happy to have you there and would occasionally wave or blow you kisses

I don't know why but I love the idea of him teaching you about bees and giving you small updates about his hives and any new additions he’s made. 

He’d love to teach you how to play the guitar (if you can’t already) and just sits behind you while guiding your fingers in the correct places to play one of his songs or one of your favourite songs

And he would definitely get so excited for you if you manage to learn even just two chords and play them without his help

If you already know how to play the guitar, he would ask you to play him so many songs and just admire you the entire time you do but completely deny the fact that his loving stare is distracting you

He truly values cozying up together in bed or on the couch and having deep and meaningful conversations about anything and everything that is on your mind that day whether it is something that is bothering you and you need to vent to him about or if it is just about a new tv show you just watched

This man loves cuddling you and will never pass one up, even if he is in the middle of doing something he will either stop and snuggle up with you for a while or continue what he is doing if it’s important but hold you close to his chest while he tries to finish up faster

He would get so excited after reading a new book or poem and would immediately want to show it to you or talk to you about it, especially if it reminds him of you or your relationship. He would not hesitate to read to you if you wanted, even at night if you ever have trouble sleeping and just want to hear his voice

He does not shy away from showering you with compliments, for example, if you are trying out some new clothes for an event, party or a date, he would be endlessly telling you how good you look and would not be able to take his eyes off of you the whole time

He loves to call you pet names like darling or honey at all times even if you are arguing and especially if you haven’t seen each other in a long time

Speaking of arguments, they would get resolved so quickly. He just can’t stay mad at you and would feel terrible even after you two have made up, so expect a lot of kisses to make it up to you

He would also never yell at you during these arguments and would keep calm throughout it, knowing that shouting doesn't fix things any quicker

Since he is so tall, he would love to kiss the top of your head or your forehead on a daily basis

Especially at night, like this man will not go to sleep unless he gives you a soft peck on your forehead

[teambyler]

This Wrinkle in Time scene previews how Byler likely will culminate: LOVE lets them "Escape from Camazotz" in s5e6

Every season of Stranger Things has taken inspiration from popular horror and science-fantasy stories. A big theme of A Wrinkle in Time is that it's okay to be different. Camazotz is the planet that's all about conformity: everyone is under the hypnosis of a hive mind(!).

ALL BYLER FANS SHOULD WATCH THIS SCENE!

On Camazotz, Meg's love for her brother snaps him out of his possession which lets them escape Camazotz. (They're siblings but this easily translates into a ROMANTIC confession.) It's VIRTUALLY IDENTICAL to many scenarios Bylers have thought up, where a possessed Mike or Will is saved by love (especially the ChurchGate theories!). Here the hivemind, through Charles, even tries to kill Meg with vines!

I take back what I said about how I predict Mike and Will confess their love. I still love the idea, but episode 6 now definitely being titled "Episode from Camazotz" and this scene mean this is the NEW most likely way Mike and Will culminate their love. (Thanks to @yesimtrashforit for pointing out that this is likely the episode.)

This means we might get a Will "villain arc" where Vecna possesses Will. It would explain why he was taken in s1, why he survived, and why he was possessed: a Will under his control (maybe with powers?) might be a vital part of Vecna's endgame!

Just as in this scene, Will and Mike's internal struggles all come to the fore. Will who knows Mike better than anybody and can say the most hurtful things. Will refuses to accept a love confession because he's "a mistake" and "will never fall in love," and lashes out at Mike even harder.

The title Camazotz probably refers to them being in a horrible supernatural place, but also the conformity that demands Mike and Will not admit their love.

But, like in A Wrinkle in Time, Mike and Will's love triumphs. They refuse to conform: they escape from Camazotz.

-teambyler

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 35

Part 1 Part 34

The shower Eddie finally takes, after over a week of rotting in Steve’s clothes, should be a relief. His head is no longer itchy. He washes the ash out of his eyes, and Steve’s blood out from beneath his nails. Replaces grime with the smell of the clinical nothingness that is the toiletries the hospital provided.

His breath no longer feels like it’s wilting the air around him after he brushes his teeth. The scrubs he changes into are stiff, but clean and dry.

It should be a relief. But, Steve is out of his sight, quiet and small in his hospital bed.

Wayne will keep him safe, he knows. But who will hold his hand if he wakes up again, delirious? Who will sooth him back to sleep?

He hurries the whole process, bangs plastered to his forehead, hair dripping down the back of his borrowed scrub top.

When he rushes out of the bathroom and into Steve’s hospital room, Wayne’s closer to Steve’s bed then he was when he left him, hand clasping Steve’s own, and staring down at him with a look on his face that Eddie’s only ever seen directed at him before. 

It’s just like when Eddie’d kicked the hole in the plaster of the trailer. Or when Wayne had been called in by Hopper after one infraction or another. Or when he comes home after a session of Hellfire, and regales his uncle with the beat-by-beat replay of the action. 

Like fondness and exasperation are warring for space in the purse of his mouth.

“What happened?” Eddie asks. The linolium is cold on his bare feet as he walks over to retake his own seat at Wayne’s side. 

“Your boy woke up just long enough to ask how you were and then pass back out,” he says, glancing at Eddie, eyes twinkling.

“Did he seem–” Eddie starts, looking down at Steve’s relaxed face. “Is he okay?”

The doctors won’t tell them anything. They’re not his emergency contacts, not family. No one seems to care that no one’s been able to contact the Harrington’s for the two days Steve’s been rotting away in the hospital, alone, save for them. Eddie’s mind drifts back to the way Steve had hid so instinctually in his closet, like he needed a safe place in what should have already been safe, and wants to wring their skinny necks. 

Wayne gently maneuvers his hand out from beneath Steve’s own. Steve’s fingers curl into a loose fist, grasping at air, like he’s seeking the warmth of Wayne’s skin even in his sleep. Wayne sits back in his seat, crossing his ankles as he settles with a sigh.

“He’ll be just fine,” Wayne says, turning in his chair to try to catch Eddie’s eyes. “That boy cares about you.”

He says it like it’s a revelation, but Eddie’s not surprised. He can feel it in the tug at his sternum. The way Steve’s eyes had looked through Eddie’s tears as he’d pressed his forehead to his. Like recognizes like.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “He does.”

The Eddie of two weeks ago would’ve been standing on a table top about it. Saying jocks are a monolith, and Steve is the most jock of them all. He would’ve rioted about King Steve Harrington and his corrupt court of lackeys trying to buy his way into Eddie’s good books. For drugs. Or clout. Or something fucking stupid. Eddie would’ve raged against the machine, a riot in the making. 

But that’s not his Steve. Maybe it was never Steve at all. Things look different from up close, and their lunch tables were always so far away. 

Will Steve sit with him at lunch? He doesn’t look much like Steve the Hair Harrington anymore. His hairs been shaved down to the quick. They’d had to, just to get to the wound trailing up Steve’s forehead and into his hair. He can’t imagine this Steve, hurt and small, sitting with the jocks, throwing fries at Tommy Hagan. 

The thought of school after all of this is like hives crawling up his spine. They’d died, risen back up again to end up back at fucking high school. 

“I want to go home,” Eddie says. But he means his trailer a week and a half ago, before he was split into thirds. Before Steve Harrington and Will Byers. Before.

“You can,” Wayne says, scooting over in his chair so he can wrap his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, dragging him uncomfortably over the arm rest for a pseudo hug.

Eddie looks down at Steve’s sleeping face, wonders when home stopped just being a trailer and Uncle Wayne. Things change so fast when you’re running.

It’s a long night.

Eddie sleeps uncomfortably, propped up in his chair. Wayne drapes a scratchy blanket over him on his way out the door, off to work. 

His dreams are full of shadows spilling out of the ground. Chasing him, and he’s always running but never getting anywhere. Of Steve’s back and Steve’s blood and Steve’s vacant eyes. 

He wakes up to fingers combing through his hair, head pillowed on Steve’s hospital bed, blanket slipped off and onto the floor. It’s dark. One of the nurses must have turned off the lights.

The first day Eddie’d refused to leave, they’d given him his own oxygen mask and deluge of tests, propped up in his seat with Will similarly chained to his side. The second day, they’d tried to get him to go home, get out of the way. 

They’d stopped trying to kick him out the day before. 

The fingers move through his hair, pulling at the knots Eddie hadn’t bothered to comb out. Uncle Wayne must be back from his shift. Or maybe, it’s Mama Byers again, checking up on him again, as if she owes him anything at all.

“Hey.”

His heart ba-thump, ba-thump, tugs. He turns his head, smooshing it into the rough sheets to look up at the head of the bed. Steve’s eyes are open. He smiles hazily down at Eddie, uncoordinatedly petting at his head.

Eddie’s lungs heave, trying to vacate his body all together with the pressure of their seizing. He sobs, raising his hand to trail up across Steve’s cheek, impossibly soft after everything. “You’re such a fucking prick,” he says, heat lost in the way he’s blubbering into the sheets.

Steve smiles, like he’s never seen anything as great as Eddie Munson making a mess of himself at his bedside. It’s probably the morphine. “I know.”

“I dared you to stay alive,” Eddie says. “And then you just–”

He’s choking, too much to finish, like Steve’s not breathing in front of him again, or bleeding out in front of him. Steve’s always dying, and Eddie’s always crying about it. 

“I did,” Steve says, still petting his head. It hurts a little. Eddie’s hair’s a mess of tangled curls atop his head. He never wants Steve to stop touching him. “I said I’d come home.”

Eddie cries. He’s not a cryer, but something’s flipped in him, making him weepy. Like the expectation of grief unrealized keeps bubbling up his throat and bleeding out his eyes. Steve Harrington, his own living ghost, smiles down at him. 

“I’m so tired,” Eddie says. It’s a whine, the consonants drawn out and wet at the edges. 

Steve’s still smiling, dopey and tired and perfect. He pats the spot next to him. “Come here.”

It’s a bad idea. Steve’s hurt. But Eddie’s so weak. The thing in his ribs tugs. Eddie follows it.

He crawls under Steve’s shitty hospital bedding, tucking his wet face into Steve’s neck, arm slung carefully over his chest. “You’ll still be alive when I wake up?” Eddie asks, trying to make it a joke. As if Steve’s lifeless eyes aren’t still looking at him from dreamland.

“Promise,” Steve says.

It feels like Steve’s lips on his forehead, quick and fleeting. In the wee hours of the morning, Eddie and Steve fall asleep.

Part 36