#Stranger Alert

[gardensnakie]

.... chimera (Dungeon Meshi) Stranger...

I'm sillymaxxing

[ms-spkhd]

Part one

Admittedly, Eddie feels really fucking stupid about it in retrospect. Jeff tells him, in that soft and placating way he tells him anything, that he should stop worrying about his hindsight bias. Yeah, right. Hindsight bias doesn't apply for Steve Harrington dangling himself in front of Eddie's face like the metaphorical carrot on a stick.

It feels like a kick in the head, if anything. One that rattles his brain against his skull like the ricochet of a bullet. Or a maraca with a single, tiny bead in it, if he wants to be more technical about it.

But that's beside the point. What's important is that Steve Harrington is, like, into Eddie--which definitely throws all of his preconceived notions about boy wonder with serial monogamy problems of the heterosexual variety out of the fucking window and past the goalpost--and Eddie's been farting around for the past few months twiddling his fucking thumbs about it.

Well, it's not definitive.

The more that Eddie ruminates on it--and he spends several nights ruminating on it--Jeff's theory that Steve might be tipping the Kinsey scale sounds like...well. A theory.

It's the doubt that comes rearing its head that stops Eddie in his tracks from actually doing anything.

("Wow," Jeff grumbles as they hotbox in the back of Jeff's hand-me-down olive green Pinto a week after their stunning revelation, "trust Virgin Supreme to self-sabotage when someone is begging for you to climb on his lap and--"

"I told you that in confidence," Eddie spits as he digs through the glove compartment for a cassette to replace the oft-abused Kill 'Em All tape that's been blaring on repeat for the past two hours. "You're really mean when you're high, you know that, right?"

Jeff shrugs and takes a hit of the blunt they've been sharing. "I'm releasing my inhibitions. You can't silence me.")

Eddie trusts Steve. Of course he'd lay down his life for the man that dragged him out of hell without a single look behind like a preppy fucking Orpheus. But there's always the lingering thought that, despite everything they've gone through together, Eddie loving Steve would be the tipping point that ruins everything.

He finds himself balancing the line of keeping it in, too scared of the risk his heart will pose on their friendship, and fully committing to the pipe dream of Steve Harrington possibly wanting him back.

And, in Jeff's wise words, Biblically.

"Hey, Bird," Eddie asks Robin one night at the drive-in theater when Steve's out buying their snacks--medium popcorn loaded with cheddar powder and butter for Eddie, since he just popped a Lactaid ten minutes beforehand, and Milk Duds for Robin--"What would you do, hypothetically, if you think someone is really into you--"

"Here we go," Robin sighs, leaning back in the passenger seat. Eddie can't help but feel miffed at her dismissive attitude, but he knows for a fact that she's all ears.

"--And you, hypothetically, really like them back, but you don't know for sure if they actually, hypothetically, want you, or if it's just wishful thinking on your part?"

"Any you mean this totally hypothetically?" Robin says as she turns to face the rear seats where he's sitting and chewing at his cuticles.

"Yeah. This is a theoretical situation that I want your input in. Think of it like a...thought experiment."

Robin nods with narrowed eyes, like she sees through the bullshit with an all-seeing eye. "Right. Thought experiment. Is this hypothetical person a queer or not?"

"It never crossed your mind," Eddie confirms. "She looks like the posterchild of suburban heterosexuality, but she's gotten very invested in your very gay sex life out of the blue recently."

"So which one of you is the man invested or tell me about what eating out is like invested?"

"Tell me what eating out is like invested."

Robin hums in thought, tapping her index finger against her chin like the situation is really vexing her. "That sounds pretty gay, Eddie."

She is right, that does sound pretty gay. But it doesn't help him in his predicament at all, since Steve seemed to back off about the 'so do you play rock paper scissors to find out who gets it?' questions after Eddie frustratedly admitted that 'DnD club president and metalhead virgin at almost twenty' wasn't exactly a hot item in Indianapolis, much less Hawkins.

"Okay, new layer," Eddie says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "What if, say, instead of asking you out--which you think is her next move--she starts trying to set you up with a bunch of girls you don't know."

There's muffled chatter from outside the Beemer's windows. Cars rev in the distance as they pull into the lot. Eddie watches Robin in contemplative silence as she thinks through her answer.

"That is difficult," she concedes, and Eddie is feeling more desperate than ever. "Can't imagine that ever happening to me."

Eddie mumbles, "Thank God it's a hypothetical."

"But if you think about it, it's either some misguided attempt to put me out there, or it's a Hail Mary to get me to realize I like her."

"Okay, well. Both options seem pretty hard to differentiate when you don't know what the fucking context behind the action is."

"For what it's worth," Robin says, her expression softening ever-so-slightly, "I think it's the Hail Mary. It's not my place to tell, but you should really give up the idea that it's wishful thinking and give it a shot."

Eddie's a millisecond away from asking, is it that obvious? before there's a sharp knock against his window. He yelps, head whipping around to find Steve with that sly grin slapped on his stupid, handsome face.

Eddie rolls down the window and tries to school his expression. He doesn't need to, really, because Steve shoves the popcorn into his hands and declares, "A medium sized popcorn with cheddar powder and lots of fucking butter for you, my friend. Bone of a teeth."

"Just fucking say it regularly," Robin groans as he yanks open the drivers seat door and tosses her a box of Milk Duds. "I know you can, you jackass!"

Steve laughs, full and hearty, as he turns to look at Eddie in the rear seats. He's like bottled-up sunshine contained into the shape of an American heartthrob. He's like Venus as a boy.

Eddie feels like he's staring down the barrel of a gun.

Another week of ruminating goes by, this time with Robin's words echoing in his head like a reverb pedal, and Eddie keeps that yellow pick near his heart the entire time. It's a real push and pull type situation, he realizes. His heart goes one way, his brain goes the other, which is fucking typical.

He doesn't talk to Jeff about it, because he knows he'll get the same answer, and he doesn't dare talk to Robin about it again. He feels she knows too much, and he has know idea how much she's accidentally telepathically transferred to Steve.

Eddie is about halfway through debating shaving his hair off as a way of regaining control when he finds Steve standing on his doorstep like a fucking Mormon.

"Eddie, man," Steve says with zero preamble, "my cousin's boyfriend has a roommate that I think you'd like."

"Nice weather we're having," Eddie responds blankly. Frankly, with the way things are going, he's getting sick of it.

But he can't help the way that Steve still looks beautiful as his eyebrows bunch together and pretty pink lips pinch into a thin line.

"Come on, man. I think this'll be a good start for you. I think he's into the same bands as you. I think Kathy said he was a Skid Row roadie, or something like that."

"I'm not that big of a Hair Metal guy," Eddie admits, and Steve deflates a bit.

"Well, if it helps, he kind of looks like me.' Jesus Christ. "Devastatingly handsome and all."

Eddie's damn near about to snap like a worn-out Stretch Armstrong being mauled by two pitbulls. He feels like he's about to blow a fucking gasket in front of the guy he's been holding very ill-advised affection towards since his sophomore year of high school. The very same guy who's been trying to set Eddie up with literally everyone with a functioning penis with exception of himself, the only guy Eddie has wanted. Ever.

There's no way Steve is that dense, right?

Eddie knows that the guy's smart, despite everyone telling him otherwise. Steve can definitely do mental math better than Eddie can dream of doing--since Frankie Gershwin passed down the sacred Hellfire DM calculator once Eddie took over Hellfire after he graduated--and he actually graduated on time, unlike yours truly.

But Eddie doesn't fucking get it.

"Steve," Eddie blurts, rather unceremoniously, "what are you doing?"

Steve blinks. His smile wanes dangerously low. "...I'm setting you up with a handsome dude."

"I don't understand why you're doing this though. Are you fucking with me, or something?"

"No, dude, I just..." Steve's expression shifts. His shoulders sag and he rakes a hand through his hair. He looks devastatingly earnest. "I just want to see you happy."

"If you want me to be happy," Eddie snaps, "then just ask me out yourself, since I've fucking been in love with you since April."

Steve freezes, hazelnut eyes like full moons on dinnerplates.

Eddie's hand flexes on the doorknob as he resists the white-hot urge to slam the door shut on Steve's shocked face. Maybe he should take a vacation down south to Mexico. Perhaps change his name and never come back. Hopefully there'll be sweet and earnest boys with olive skin and luscious hair waiting for him on the beaches of Cancun. Holy shit this is a fucking disaster.

"Oh," Steve says.

"Yeah, oh."

"You love me?" Steve asks, eyes sparkling like the rural sky. He draws closer to Eddie, raising a hand that begs to touch him.

"When have I not?" Eddie admits as leans into Steve's touch against his shoulder and laces their fingers together.

I guess I was, uh. I wasn't expecting it." Steve smiles softly and gazes at their intertwined hands.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Love me too?"

"Oh God." It's like Eddie's staring straight into the sun, with the ways Steve's smile grows more intense with each second. He wants to have it burned into his retinas. "Of course I do. It feels so stupid how much I'm obsessed with you."

"You know, you have a weird way of putting it, what with all the setting me up with guys I don't know," Eddie chirps. Steve chuffs and shakes his head like a guilty dog.

"I guess I wasn't expecting you to want me back. I wasn't sure you'd go for guys like me."

For jocks hangs heavy and silent in the air between them, as if Steve hasn't quite jumped over that hurtle of guilt over the person he was in high school. Sure, he was king of the letter crowd, but he's nothing like the douchebag from '83. Steve would never shove him into a locker or be a general chest-beating moron around Eddie, because he's not a moron. He's sweet and dorky and a little misguided, sometimes, but he has the heart of the size of a mack truck and a kindness to show it.

The thought of Steve talking Eddie's ear off about Sportsketball and the works sends an excited little shiver down his spine.

"I would," Eddie says, completely and utterly honestly. "God, I would for you."

He brings Steve's hand to his lips and smacks a wet kiss over the soft skin. "And the necklace..."

"That was my Hail Mary," Steve admits with a bashful shrug of his shoulders.

"I haven't taken it off since you've given it to me."

Steve releases his grip from Eddie's spindly hand and brushes his fingertips against Eddie's collarbone, tugging at the chain of the necklace until it untucks itself from underneath Eddie's shirt. Eddie watches the way that Steve lights up like a fucking electrical surge at the hint of sunshine yellow against his pale skin. It makes Eddie flush a bright red.

And when Steve's palm flattens against Eddie's chest and pushes him inside Eddie's new government loaned trailer, he lets himself be pushed against the wall and kissed.

And kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

Sufficed to say, when Eddie wakes up the next morning with Steve drooling against the back of his neck and his warm hand splayed against the skin of his naked chest, Eddie vows to always take Jeff's word for it.

____________

holy shit i was not expecting for part one to get that much fanfare. to be honest, i was totally intending for it to be a one and done to explore eddie and jeff's friendship, and believe me, my heart is so warmed by the reception it got. i recently have gotten myself out of a months long slump and have been swamped with college work, so i apologize for my writing being so few and far between. thank you all and i hope this is the resolution you were waiting so patiently for! :)

@grtwdsmwhr @eyehartart @bananahoneycomb @notasmoothman @colidamae

[gloomysoup]

i was GOING to write this weekend, but instead i've made the decision that i'm going to landscape my entire backyard on my own (usually my mom does all of the landscaping) and i've been cleaning it out all weekend. it is taking forever. so uh here's a snippet of a wip to make up for not doing like... anything lately :D

-

“You've got a boy in your bed,” the older man stated, clearly not a question anywhere to be seen. It was merely an observed fact of life.

“I do,” Eddie said slowly, unsure where this conversation was headed or how to explain what was actually happening.

“You haven't had a boy in your bed in a long time.” Again, it was merely a statement. No question. Again, Wayne was right. Eddie hadn't even thought about meeting someone else since Steve disappeared, and Wayne was plenty aware of that. “Not since Steve.”

Eddie knew Wayne was taking a chance saying Steve’s name. It had been a sensitive subject for a long time. Eddie took a deep breath and tried to decide how best to say it. Wayne clearly doesn't know that the boy in his bed is Steve, if the way he was looking at Eddie was anything to go by.

“This somethin’ we should talk about? I know you've been havin’ a rough go of it since last summer, and then whatever the hell happened over spring break. You ain't self destructin’, are ya?”

“No, no, it's nothing like that,” Eddie said quickly, throwing a glance over his shoulder to his bedroom door, which was left slightly cracked. “Um, actually, it's- God, I really don't know how to say this other than to just say it.” Wayne looked at him with an expectant eyebrow raised. “It's Steve.”

[kurapikaspookie]

I (Heart) You – Nerdmin

Almost….

Armin planted his palms onto the desk in front of him, his arms straightening to elevate himself even higher. His mission of peeking over your shoulder was getting out of hand – the boy was getting way too obvious with his compulsion. He was glad he was at the back of the class, by default he wouldn’t disturb any other students from their lesson, right?

Well, it wasn’t for nothing. He only wanted to see the art of the girl he liked after all.

The noise of the teacher was faded into the background of his mind, along with just about everyone else situated in that room. Right now, his mind was encased with the task of seeing your drawing, a talent he found out only a day ago. Fascinating, captivating, every stroke, accumulated for a purpose. A beautiful one.

Yes, he fell in love with you the minute he found out you drew.

It started on a simply Thursday when the seating plan changed, and he still remembers the moment, how it felt. He wasn’t paying attention—he never did. Physics revision had spiralled again, from infrared to gamma rays to alpha decay. Classic.

He caught himself, sighing and rubbing his temples, staring up into the face in front, but…

You had your art book propped up, admiring your drawing, at such an angle that Armin behind could also gaze upon it.

And… wow. He was glad.

Vibrant colours filled the page, an artistic masterpiece that caught Armin’s eyes immediately. He stared, gazed in awe, at how you could do that, at how your brain could form such a piece, at how every one of your fingers was smudged with colour, at how…

Armin loved it.

He loved the passion etched onto the page, the creativity in the drawing. Ever so complex, but simple in what it stood for. The epitome of human capacity, shown in something that displayed talent unique to everyone. He could never draw, no, he dropped art ages ago.

But he loved seeing others do it. Trying to wrap his mind around how it came to be.

It was beautiful.

By the time class finished that day, he became obsessed. With you. No, it wasn’t the crushes he’d have on girls that everyone else did, girls way out of his league.

You were liked. Popular. But sheilded.

He got a late that day from following you around into your next lesson. Yes, he was being stalkerish. Yes, he was being even more of a creep when he slipped one of his spare trackers that he kept on every single one of his belongings into your bag.

Did he care? No, not really.

He was just going through teen love after all. And teen love was normal, right? Everyone goes through it!

That teen love had turned into a raging obsession overnight. The two of you had never talked, but he seemed to want to know more, more about how your mind worked, more about you.

When he got to his dorm that day, he flopped into his bed, opening his computer – his life force – to immediately to take note of everything he knew about you.

From the tracker he slipped into your bag, you had a library lesson at 5th period, and you also went there during lunch.

You were drawing a girl with short, black hair and military uniform. She seemed cool.

You gravitated towards lychee, like a moth to a flame. Lychee soda on Tuesday, eyes lingering on Lychee drinks, Lychee flavoured jelly… it was data. Enough.

And that’s how he got here. Trying to peek over your shoulder in class, his heart thumping in his chest, his eyes going wide.

More. More.

He needed to know more.

It was when he finally stood up that he saw your drawing. This time, it was simply line art, this time of a man with short, black hair, his hair caught in the wind, swaying past his face. The lines were erratic, messy, but it came together in something beautiful.

Armin stayed standing, peeking over your shoulder as you drew, captivated, until.

“Armin?” The teacher said softly. “Is there a reason you’re standing up?”

Armin immediately snapped back to present day.

He immediately fell into his chair with a thump before anyone else could see him, pulling down his sleeves nervously, his mouth sealed shut.

“Sorry…” he muttered, even though no one could hear.

That was when you turned around, staring at him, the side of your face on view. By this time, the teacher had continued teaching, but your eyes were still trailed on him. That was before you turned away from him again, hopefully not noticing how red he was, the way he was fidgeting ever so much, the was he was pulling at his sleeves, practically sweating.

No, wait, he was sweating.

He leaned his elbows on the table, his hands ruffling his hair, awkward as ever. It took his everything to get through the lesson without combusting, and when he did, it took him ages to continue his mission.

His mission of following you to the library.

First, he took a quick trip to the bathroom, scrunching and pinching his nose to make it look red, pinching his cheeks for the same effect, before stretching his lips to make them look dry. He then applied the petroleum jelly he bought the day before to his forehead to make it look like he was sweating, before putting toothpaste in his eyes to stimulate reflex crying.

Afterward, he went to his next class, telling the teacher he was ‘sick’ and ‘needed to go to the infirmary’.

The man frowned at the interruption to his lesson. “Go ahead, then.”

The nurse, a nice old lady, immediately believed him, allowing him to go to the bathroom.

That’s when he started his mission. He immediately strolled to the library, going from the outside to not arouse any suspicion from passing teachers to peek through the library window. He even got binoculars for sightseeing, making sure to rearrange the tables during his own library lesson to make sure he could see you through the window.

It worked. He watched you borrow a book, getting the receipt, even though you chucked it into the bin.

The bin on the left of the door, not the right.

The bin on the left…

He needed to get that receipt soon enough.

He watched you sit down, reading it, seeming so intent on the book. You were expressive, smiling at some pages, frowning at others. You seemed to subconsciously fold the edges of the paper as you read, even ripping a corner once as you flipped to another page.

44.5 seconds. It took you 44.5 seconds to read a page on average, with the exception of one in particular which you seemed to read over and over again. His heart pumped as he saw you re-reading, knowing he needed to find out what page it was, as he fumbled for his binoculars. He immediately rose it to the window, trying to see, but to no avail. All he could see was three digits, but nothing more, nothing less.

He was itching to find out. What was on that page that made you re-read? What could possibly be so intriguing?

He wasn’t going to give up.

He immediately got out a ruler, lining it up with the window, or your book. He measured how tall the remaining pages were, noting it, swearing to go back to that book when you were done. He needed to measure how long the entire book was too, and thankfully that opportunity came to him when you closed it for a second, allowing him to measure it again right before you walked out of the library, leaving the chatter behind.

It took him under a minute to waltz back into that library, immediately rummaging through the bin, to the left of the door, not the right.

As he kneeled down in front of it, he paused, frowning, suddenly having a moment of self-awareness.

Seriously, what was he doing?

But he pushed that thought to the back of his mind. After all, this was simply teen love, and teen love came with obsession.

The librarian probably thought he was clinically insane. He was feel embarrassed if he wasn’t so… obsessed.

He finally found the receipt and read the book name – [Fav book] – before smiling, making sure not to giggle out of excitement. He then got a copy from one of the shelves, a little disappointed that you took the original, but happy all the same. He then measured it, measuring the ratio compared to the entire book, before calculating the page you re-read, page 136, gazing upon it.

He too re-read it, over and over.

It was a romance book. And, yes, it was a particularly spicy scene.

Doesn’t mean he didn’t enjoy it.

He read it twice, thrice, four times, smiling to himself, braces on display, gripping the cover.

He was so taking this home.

────

“You’re such a looser, Armin…” Eren sighs, Armin’s childhood friend. Seriously, they were definitely a rarepair, a frat boy and a nerd had no reason of being together. But as they grew up they kinda just… stuck, inseparable. Armin would ramble onto Eren, and Eren would just listen, staying silent, humming along in all his nonchalant glory. Right now was one of those moments, Armin laid down on his bed while Eren sat at his desk, his cheek rested on his palm, stubbing out his cigarette on the table next to him.

“No, seriously! She’s perfect! She’s like the sun, so beautiful in all its glory, but so complex underneath! She’s so…”

“Who even goes through trash just to pick out a girl’s book receipt? Personally, reading books is just nerd behaviour, absolute no, but I guess you’re used to that.” Eren shoots Armin a look, sitting in his chair across Armin in their college dorm, before going back to checking out his fingernails.

“It was worth it, I’ve already finished the book she was reading! What should I do, Eren? Should I- should I tell her I read her favourite book, or-”

“You’d be outing yourself as a creep.”

“Okay then, what if – what if I simply leave it on my desk tomorrow? Would she notice? Would she ask about it? What if she falls in love with me because I like her favourite book? I’d do that if I were her! Wait, wait, that’s perfect!”

“You’re a nutcase…”

Armin sits up in his bed like he just came up with Newton’s Fourth Law. “It’s fate! We’re falling in love! We’ll get married and stay together for years, our souls intertwined, even in the afterlife! Right, Eren?”

Eren groans, staying silent for a moment.

“Eren?” Armin tilts his head.

“This is painful to hear… you know what? I’’ll just give you girl tips so you don’t embarrass yourself. You gotta be nonchalant, don’t act crazy, girls aren’t into that. Simply slide into her life, treat her right until you don’t need to anymore, and she’ll be crazy over you.” Eren pauses lying down on his bed. “Also, change the look. Get rid of the glasses, they’re shitty. The bob too.”

Armin pauses, personally offended as if Eren hadn’t told him this a million times before. “But… I can’t see without my glasses…”

“Then don’t see.” Eren turns off his light, shifting over to face away from Armin.

“But, what if I try to bump into her but end up falling over and-”

“Goodnight, nerd.”

And that was when Armin was left alone, alone with his overthinking thoughts, alone with you inside of them.

────

It was a Friday. A chill day for most, a busy for others with the luck of having a bad timetable. That being any type of science on that particular day.

One of those people, of course, was Armin. Armin, who was a little sleepy from waking up 3 hours before schedule to take in Eren’s advice, folding his glasses neatly into his bedside drawer and tumbling over everything that you could tumble over. He was, as Eren said, a lost cause, he could hardly see let alone function. After struggling to brush his teeth and wash his face in the bathroom for a whole two hour, he finally managed to comb his long, surprisingly shiny and smooth hair, tying it up to try and replicate Eren’s style.

That’s when said man finally woke up, entering the bathroom, his eyebrow raising.

“No way… don’t tell me you actually listened.” Eren chuckled, towering behind Armin, looking at himself in the mirror. “Trying to recreate the man bun? Not a chance. It’s natural, really, can’t be forced.”

Armin sulked, his shoulders slumping. “This is all so tiring… it took me 2 hours to even get this far.”

“I know. That’s why I’m awake so early.”

Armin pauses.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be. Anyway, your looks have improved… in the sense that you look like a girl now. If she’s into girls.”

Armin groans. “I don’t particularly want to look like a girl…”

“I mean, if she is into girls, you have a better chance.”

Armin groans again. Eren’s words formed a cloud over his head all throughout the day, all through his next lesson with you. He dropped the bag to the side of his seat as he sat down, placing his borrowed book at the edge of the table in hopes that you would notice it, before going back to staring at the back of your head.

Your hair was nice. So healthy.

He was staring, his eyelids starting to droop, making his elbow shift forward, making his laptop shift forward, before –

The book fell with a thump, right beside your desk.

Armin sat up, his face heating up, his skin crawling. His eyes went wide, his mind reeling – what should he do? Should he leave it? Should he discreetly get it? Should he-

You picked the book up.

Oh, god, you picked the book up. You leaned over, you grabbed it, and you picked it up. And now you’re turning around to Armin, your eyes staring deep into his, holding the book out, a soft smile on your face.

“Is this yours? You have good taste.”

Oh, god, your voice. He was going to melt under your gaze, under the sound of you, his face heating up, his limbs trembling.

He looked like an idiot.

He opened his mouth, his breathing heavy, his hands clenching hard.

“Uh– I-” he muttered, gulping, his big eyes still on you. “Yeah… thanks… I’lll…”

You chuckled softly, a sound Armin would never forget. “What do you think of it? Good, right?”

Armin was going to melt. You… you… you were creating conversation with him?

“Y-Yeah… it’s… it’s… yeah… really good… finished it last night…” he nodded. “the… main character… cute… uh…”

“Hah, I agree. We should talk about it later, I haven’t met anyone who’s read the book.” You said, before turning around, “See you later, girl.”

Wait…

Girl!?

────

The light in your window was still on, compared to all the other dark dorm windows.

Armin gazed into the white essence, his hands in his pockets, watching you through the little space. He had scanned every single window, searching for you – your [h/c] hair, your [s/k] skin, until he finally found you in all your pretty glory. He couldn’t believe his luck, that you were still awake at this late hour, that he could see you, watch you for hours until you slept. If he got really lucky, maybe you’d keep that light on all night, so he could watch you sleep too.

You seemed to be studying, in some large hoodie and white shorts, putting a lump in Armin’s throat.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He really shouldn’t. This… this is creepy, and he isn’t a weirdo…

Right?

He never knew his obsession would go as far as following you, figuring out which house you resided in in the maze of your shared college. He never thought he’d come back, telling Eren he was simply ‘going for a walk’ (at 3am, yes, Eren rose an eyebrow), just to stare at you as you worked.

He sighed. Teen love, am I right?

Although, in all the romcoms he watched, never did any of the partners stalk the other…

Oh well. Maybe they did, behind the scenes.

It was his way of showing his love for you, after all. Watching you from your window, trying to understand you, making sure you were okay, even though you were certainly more capable than he was. He wanted to coddle you, take all the work keeping you up late at night off your damn shoulders, hold you in his arms and tell you he loved you.

So deeply.

So… so deeply.

His heart pumped in his chest, his eyes bigger than they already were, his mouth opening and closing to form almost inaudible words.

“Love you…. I love you…” he muttered absentmindedly. Maybe, if he said it enough, you’d love him back.

You had to.

That was when your head suddenly rose, and you turned around, looking out of the window, straight at-

Armin.

He froze, every nerve in his body on edge. He hoped his hoodie and mask hid his face enough, that his bright blond hair was pushed out of the way far enough that you wouldn’t recognise him during the several seconds of prolonged eye contact.

The two of you stared at each other, far enough that Armin couldn’t see your expression. He was frozen like an ice cube, rooted to the spot, his blood rushing to his head. He shifted on his feet, managing to will himself to turn away, hoping you didn’t recognise him.

You couldn’t.

You couldn’t recognise him.

I mean… what would you think of him? You’d never talk again. He’d have to live with this… pain.

Fuck, what did he do!?

“Fuck… fuck…” Armin muttered, as he briskly walked away.

And you watched.

You watched the person that stood outside your dorm, their steps hurried, their hands shoved into their pockets. You leaned forward, trying to gauge who this mysterious person was, and why they were staring so intently in your direction. You couldn’t gauge their face – they wore both a mask and hoodie – and that thought chilled you. Did you have a stalker?

Nah, you were hallucinating.

You were fine.

You leaned back to check the door, making sure it was locked, before going back to staring outside. The calm music blasting in your ears didn’t drown out your thoughts as well as it drowned out the snoring of your roommate Sasha, sprawled across the bed. You walked over to the window, dodging Sasha’s bed and closing the blinds, sighing.

“What the fuck… I’m going crazy.” You muttered, flopping down onto Sasha’s bed, making her pull the sheets higher.

“Mmh… leave me alone…” She muttered, turning over in her bed, to which you sighed.

“Sorry, Sasha.”

But the girl was back asleep in a few seconds, mumbling to herself, shifting ever so slightly. You smiled at her, at least she was there, and that made you feel all the more safe.

Yeah, you were fine.

You were probably just hallucinating.

────

Armin was just walking to his next class.

Really, he was. Maybe in the route he knew you always take, but still, just walking to his next class.

He didn’t expect to see you there, standing in front of the vending machine. No, totally not, he totally didn’t take this route just to catch a few spare glances at you. You had your hair down today, that hair, that hair he liked so much.

How would it smell? Would it be sweet, fruity? Or more fresh?

He shook his head, trying to ignore the thoughts.

You typed up a specific drink – Lychee, of course – but your card declined. You sighed, your shoulders slumping before you decided to turn your heel and continue walking to your class.

Armin’s eyes widened.

He knew what he had to do.

He immediately crossed the space, entering the two digits, paying with his pocket money usually saved up for game passes – before watching the drink drop to the bottom of the machine. He picked the drink up, smiling at it like it was one of your belongings, spinning it around.

Yeah, he was definitely getting one for himself.

He didn’t go to class immediately. No, he went straight to your locker, unlocking it with the code he watched you enter one too many times – something simple – before slipping the drink in. He was about to close the door, just in case anyone noticed something suspicious, before an idea popped into his head. A bad one. But an idea all the same.

He quickly opens his bag, fumbling inside it before he finds some miscellaneous paper inside of it, picking up a pen and leaning the piece of paper against the locker. He pauses, before scribbling something he knows as corny as fuck onto it.

‘For you, pretty lady :)!’

He wishes he didn’t write that. But now he was too nervous, now his arms were trembling with fear and his palms were sweating with anxiousness, so he just slipped the note atop the can of lychee and slammed the door shut.

He looked around. No sign of anyone that would pay attention to him.

Good.

He walked over to class, making a mental note to sprint out of his last period just to see your reaction. Would you be surprised? Happy? Would you shine that smile again?

He was itching to find out.

The next lessons were a blur. He took notes as usual, his mind half on you and half on the actual lesson.

The worst thing that happened in those classes was when he got a question wrong in computing class. He never got something wrong in computing class. It would have bummed him if he wasn’t so preoccupied with you.

You.

What if you were his girlfriend? You’d be sweet, right? Coddle him, care for him, and-

He sighed, a small, crooked smile on his face.

The thought thrilled him. He knew it was never going to happen, but it thrilled him anyway.

By the time the teacher dismissed him, he already had his bags packed, and he practically sprinted towards the door. Seriously, he had never been this fast in his entire life.

And, damn, he knew why.

His stamina was shit.

He was almost dying by the time he got to his locker, his hands on his knees, his chest heaving.

But as he looked up – oh, as he looked up – it was a sight to behold.

You were already holding his gift, inspecting it, before you turned your head to read the note.

And… you smiled.

You fucking smiled, chuckling to yourself, folding the note into your pocket.

You… you smiled.

Armin was even more out of breath, from you. From the way you smiled. He wanted to make you do that all over again.

God, he was about to go into a cardiac arrest.

The walk back was ecstasy, he gripped the handles of his school bag, humming to himself, his mind filled with you. Who knew having a crush was so fun?

In fact, he should check on you now.

He opened his phone, swiping to the tracker app and clicking on it, specifically on the dot named ‘{Y/n} 💖’. He knew you were probably heading toward your dorm anyway, so –

Wait.

You weren’t.

You were heading to the shopping mall, for a reason he did not know.

He needed to find out.

Thankfully, the shopping mall wasn’t even a 5 minute walk from his direction.

────

He wasn’t wearing a black hoodie or a mask. He was being way too dangerous as he started at you, as the two sauntered up the escalator. He slipped his hands into his pockets, smiling ever so softly at this opportunity.

This was dangerous.

Too dangerous.

The minute you turn around he would be deep fried.

But it was worth it.

You didn’t wait when you slipped off the elevator. You simply stepped off, checking your bag, licking your lips. He followed close behind, the crowd drowning out your soft muttering.

He watched as you entered a store, as you scanned the clothes, your hand lingering on one in particular.

He took note of it, and immediately when you left he picked it up, stuffing it into his bag. He did this for at least three other tops your eyes lingered on, and you would always reach out like you were about to take it but pull away at the last second. It was cute. Too cute.

You finally picked one up, handing it over to the cashier and checking out soon enough. Of course, the boy also paid for the four he bought for you, paying briskly and following closely behind. He stared at you, stuffing the stash of clothes deeper into the bag, a smile forming on his face at the thought of you opening it. You’d probably smile again, maybe a little more excited.

Just as he was thinking, you stopped, turning and leaning forward as if looking for something.

And that’s when you turned, your eyes scanning the rest of the store before…

They fell on him.

Your eyes fell on him, Armin, who was suspiciously right behind you. Your face went blank for a second, making Armin tremble, his lips parted, his mind falling to his stomach. His heart pounded ferociously, almost putting a thumping sound in his ears, the shopping bag nearly falling out of his hand.

He was cooked. So cooked. You’d hate him. You’d hate him and that would be the end. You-

“Oh, hey girl! Didn’t know you also shopped at [insert favourite clothing store].” You smiled, waving ever so slightly. It made Armin’s face heat up, his mind reeling, trying to devise a normal response.

 ‘Hello!’ No… too… generic. ‘Hey.’ No. That sounds like Eren. ‘What’s up!’ No.

“Uh… I… I’m not a girl…” Was all Armin could stutter out.

God, what was that?

Now you looked confused, then awkward. You paused, your head tilted ever so slightly, before you nodded.

“Ah, sorry about that…” You muttered.

Armin’s heart fell again.

“But-! I mean… I-! I could be a girl! If… if you wanted…” Armin played with his sleeves nervously, his face getting even hotter, his shoulders tense.

You stared at him.

Before… laughing.

“Oh my god, no! I was just embarrassed I misgendered you!” You were practically toppling over with laughter, a hand brushing hair out of your face.

You looked fucking ethereal.

Armin just stared.

“I…” Is all he managed to say, the words otherwise falling into his throat.

“Sorry then, seriously, you have very feminine features.” You commented.

Wait… waitwaitwait… were you calling him pretty?

“I…” He gasped again, completely frozen, his face way too hot now. You smiled at him still, beckoning him over.

“Well, we can continue the rest of the shopping spree together, right?” you said. “When were you planning to go back?”

Armin bristled, awkwardly walking up to you, his steps careful, as if he was afraid that a misstep would cause the ceiling to come crashing down. “Uhh… I… I don’t know… any time, really… was just…”

His voice trailed off as he walked up next to you, his head bowed, his breath shallow. You smiled at him.

“That’s perfect then, I myself was just about to leave.” You said, your eyes still on him. He anxiously tried to return it, his gaze falling on your hips first, then your waist, then your chest, then finally, you. He was embarrassed that he was looking you up like that, but he couldn’t help it. He simply fiddled with his fingers, trying his best to act like a normal person.

“Yeah. Sure.” Is all he said.

So that’s how he got he got here, walking beside you, walking out of the shopping mall and into the cool breeze. Your pace was quick, you were silent, your hips rocked ever so slightly as you walked.

“What do you have tomorrow? Oh – right – it’s a Saturday. Forgot about that.” You said, your voice low, controlled, quiet.

“Mhm… yeah… my roommate is t-throwing a party tomorrow.” Armin pauses. “I’m not… going… though.”

“Eren’s party?” Your voice holds a curious tinge to it. “Shame, I’m going with my own roommate.”

Armin’s head snapped up, his lips parted, his eyes wide.

You were going? How didn’t he notice this?

“Really? Oh, well, maybe… maybe I’ll… uhh… try it.” He was desperately trying not to sound weird, trying to choose his words carefully, even though it all came out wrong. What was he even suggesting? That he was going only because of you?

“I wouldn’t, really. I’m not really into parties, I’m probably just going to keep to my own.” You said, your hands in your side pockets as trees encased the sidewalk. “Only going for Sasha.”

Armin nodded, but he was secretly taking note, overanalysing. You didn’t party? You were… perfect. So… so…

“That’s nice.” Armin muttered, cursing himself for how awkward he sounded. You hummed in response, continuing to walk beside Armin, the conversation drowning out. Armin’s gaze drifted – he would look at you, before swiftly averting his gaze, looking away quickly. Until, his gaze lingered on your exposed collarbones, on how enunciated they were, his lips parting.

“I like your collarbones.” He muttered, a small sound, but you heard it.

You almost jumped, your head turning to the side, your eyes wide, your lips parted. Armin could swear your cheeks were slightly tinted, but that was probably the weather. You didn’t respond for a few seconds, simply staring at Armin, and Armin stared back, his face heating up again, until…

“Thanks…” You muttered. But this time, Armin didn’t miss the slight smile upon your face.

Wait.

You were smiling. A ghost of a smile, but a smile all the same.

He thought his compliment was awkward, creepy. But… but…

Armin continued fiddling.

He was head over heels.

────

“Eren, pleaseee!” Armin begged the moment he walked through the door. “Please let me go to frat party!”

Eren simply rose an eyebrow, tilting his head.

“Huh? I was going to drag you anyway, what the hell…”

But he could hardly finish his sentence before Armin fucking squealed, pumping his fists into the air.

“Erreeen! Thank you!” He yelled.

“Fucking hell, quieten down. It’s not about that [Y/n] girl right? You’ve probably been stalking her, knowing you.”

Armin quietened.

“What? Me? No! Hah, I would never! That would be creepy! So… so creepy…”

Armin giggled. Eren sighed.

“Right.”

___

The minute Armin stepped foot into the party, the vibrations reverberating through his body, he wanted to immediately turn on his heel and leg it out the door.

Eren’s place was filled to the brim with people that had no personal space. Never mind the sweaty air, people were smothering each other with kisses like they just came back from war. Wet, loud kisses. It was men on men, women on women, women on men, Armin could count the people that weren’t attached to somebody on his fingers. Heck, he bet half these people didn’t even know each other!

He was never coming to a party again.

His eyes scanned the room, face red, eyebrows furrowed. The lights were multicoloured, something Eren specifically bought for this occasion, but Armin had places to be. Eren had, of course, invited him to the <em> exclusive </em> part of the party, placed upstairs, that was only available to Eren’s close friends. In hindsight, you might not have been there. You may be in here. But hopefully by the side and not tangled in this… mess.

Armin pushed past the crowd, mumbling a few “Sorry!”’s and “Excuse me!”’s, trying to ignore the dirty looks he got from multiple people, one girl even calling him a brat for breaking up her makeout session.

He told himself he didn’t care.

He was going to see you, after all.

He hurried up the stairs, adjusting his glasses, before he finally got to the top. Jean was there, the boy simply giving him a nod. It made him feel prestigious, honestly. It was times like that that he was glad he was friends with Eren.

The room was spacious, with various drinks laid out neatly on a table, a fridge, a snack bar, and very minimal people. It was much more spacious, quieter, the only sound being the booming and shouting from downstairs. Armin’s eyes scanned the place, searching for you, your hair, your eyes, your-

You.

You were there.

Sitting next to Sasha, laughing while she downed a whole drink. You didn’t have any. Armin admired that.

But the thing that struck Armin the most was your undeniable beauty.

The complexity of your face. Such beautiful features, it clasped his heart. Your effortless makeup, bolder than usual, paired with your masses of jewellery that only added to the breathtaking effect. And then your dress – oh, your dress – it was simple, but it made a bold statement.

Armin couldn’t move. He could only stare.

Now he’d regretted throwing on a simple green t-shirt layered on top of a dark jumper and trousers.

And then you looked up. You looked up and you saw him, staring. His entire body froze. He could only stare more, an embarrassed motion, his lips quivering.

And then you smiled.

You smiled and waved, beckoning him over.

He paused. Should he do this? It’s like his legs weren’t working.

But he decided to walk over pensively, giving you a sheepish wave as he did so. When Sasha saw him walking over, she looked over at you, giving you a drunken smirk before leaving the sofa, walking over to Connie. Now Armin was all alone. With you, of all people.

“Armin. Thought you weren’t going.” You said as Armin sat next to you. Armin nodded slowly.

“Uh, well, I wasn’t-! But… but since…” His voice trailed off. You simply chuckled softly, draping an arm over his shoulders.

Oh, god, wait. Your arm was on his shoulders. Your arm… his shoulder…

His face was going even more red.

“It’s fine. You changed your mind?” You asked, turning to him, smiling all the same. He nodded in response.

“So you made it as well?” Armin asked cautiously, not sure if he should or not.

“Well, Sasha’s friends with Eren, so when she got invited up here I did too. Anyway, me and Mikasa are pretty close too.” You calmly responded, looking over at Armin.

“Hm.. makes sense…” Armin commented, smiling ever so softly, looking back at you. You thought it was the cutest thing ever.

“Is this your first party?” You asked, shifting towards Armin, “It’s mine. I normally don’t go to parties, I prefer staying inside and drawing.”

Armin nodded, still smiling in awe, his eyes sparkling with love. He thought your passion was amazing, perfect. “I… it’s my first as well. I would r-rather stay home too…”

“Ah, did Eren drag you along?” You chuckled softly, the muffled noise in the background fading away under the weight of your presence. Armin didn’t want to say ‘no, actually, I came for you’, so he simply nodded meekly.

“Well… y-yeah… of course he did… not like I asked myself or anything…” Armin scratched the back of his neck, his face going even redder. Yeah. Good lie. So smooth.

You caught on immediately.

“You’re not the best at lying, Armin.” You smiled down at Armin. “Really, who did you come for!”

Armin paused again, his heart rate rising, his throat running dry. The drum of his heart was all he could hear under your presence, paired with his fast breaths and cheeks that somehow got even redder

His mouth opened. Then it closed. Then it opened again.

“You.”

You paused, your eyes wide, making Armin immediately regret his words severely.

“Really…?” You muttered, before smiling a rather sheepish smile. “That’s so cute.”

Armin couldn’t breathe. Seriously, he was about to have a heart attack.

“I- uhh, yeah, I… yeah…” Armin’s words became a jumbled mess, suddenly he couldn’t form a proper sentence.

“Ah, should I not have said that?” You smiled, tilting your head.

“No, it’s fine, just…” Armin said abruptly, fiddling with his fingers, his back hunching. You stared for a second, before smiling softly, your eyebrows upturned. Armin felt a lump in his throat, his eyes going anywhere but you, – the door, the drinks, oh, that fridge really looks good….

His tongue found the roof of his mouth, before he licked his lips, anything to distract himself from…

“Wait, Armin, you have a tongue piercing?” You rose your eyebrows, your eyes widening as you leaned in closer. “I never realised that!”

Armin froze, slowly turning toward you, your face close, way too close!

“Well… uhh… it wasn’t my decision… uh… Mikasa convinced me…” Armin stuttered.

“I think it’s cool. Can I see?” You seemed excited, a wide smile on your lips, playful but relaxed. Armin chuckled awkwardly, before looking back at you.

He hesitated.

Then he stuck his tongue out.

It was adorable.

“So cute!” You exclaimed, your eyes falling to the piercing. He smiled, chuckling softly.

“R-Really? Well… I…” his voice trailed off yet again. “Thanks.”

You  nodded.

“No problem.”

────

The walk back was calm, quiet, the breeze running through the gaps of your hair, the air calm as a brooding ghost. You were caught in thought as you travelled through the expanse, Armin by your side, occasionally stealing glances at you. You knew this. And yet, you never commented on it.

“The party was good, but I much prefer this.” You commented, pocketing your hands. “You looked like you were about to combust when I pointed out your piercing.”

Armin froze up, chuckling lightly, his face reddening even more. “Well – I mean – how was I not meant to? You were all close to me, then you smelled so good, citrusy, a hint of strawberry, and I-“

“So you were sniffing me?”

Armin’s heart caught in his chest, beating like crazy, putting his brain into overdrive. “Well, no, I mean, how could I not? I just…”

You chuckled lightly, making Armin chuckle as well, half because of genuine hysterics, half because he wanted to get out of this awkward situation.

“I wore my favourite perfume today. It was my mother’s before I stole it myself.” You smiled softly, looking over at Armin, who nodded. “The scent was something she made herself, inspired by a painting. My favourite one.”

Armin’s eyes sparkled as he looked back at you, his eyebrows raising, his lips parted. Then he smiled, looking back down.

“I think… that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve heard.”

You smiled back. “Well, it was a beautiful painting.”

Armin paused. “All paintings are beautiful. That is, if there’s passion behind it. You can just tell, can’t you? When someone loves a painting. There’s simply a passionate feel to it. Painting with passion is beauty. Art with passion is beauty. Really… it’s simply… amazing.”

You paused again, your eyebrows raising, pausing in your steps. Armin turned back, his face red, as if he’d done something wrong.

“Sorry… I’m rambling on too much.”

You shook your head. “No. It’s just.. that may be the most beautiful thing I’ve heard.”

!Unfinished, taglist : @kiyiiaarchived @kunikuzushis-darling

[liyliths]

౨ৎ ⋆ ｡˚ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

summary: you've just been dragged to the middle of nowhere, aka hawkins, indiana, with your pos father where the cicadas are loud and the neighbors are louder. after moving into your new trailer home that’s seen better days—probably in another lifetime, you somehow end up under chief hopper's care, hawkins' grumpiest cop. oh, and did i mention you found a creepy portal in the woods? how much weirder can this town get?

While the pair unloaded their meager belongings from the truck, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of bitterness that clung to her. She resented her father for uprooting their lives once again, dragging her to this dismal trailer park in the middle of nowhere. 

pairings: steve harrington x reader

warnings: brief mention of an argument between pos father and daughter, brief mention of foster care, cursing, otherwise none

word count: 4k

───────────────────────────────────────────

𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟑

The dusty road stretched ahead, flanked by rows of weather-beaten trailers that seemed to sag under the weight of years gone by. The summer sun beat down mercilessly, casting harsh shadows across the barren landscape. Clothing lines hung in front of trailers, with clothes flopping around in the breeze. A battered pickup truck rumbled to a stop among the trailers, kicking up dust clouds in its wake.

“Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?”

“Y/N–” 

A gruff muffled voice mumbled as music flowed from a Walkman, and a girl moved her hair out of the way of her headphones. She took them off—flicking her eyes at her father who was trying to speak to her through the noise of her music, with frustration filling his eyes. There was a sign of age and decay on his face, slightly reeking of cigarettes.

“You’ve got to stop with the damn music when I’m talking to you,” The girl’s father spat. She remained silent, looking at the details of her new home; Hawkins very own lovely trailer park. 

“Get out, let’s start unloading.” The man sighed and opened the truck door, harshly shutting it behind him.

The girl sighed, unzipping her backpack in the foot space of the passenger seat, placing her Walkman inside of it. She stepped out of the truck, eyeing her new, run-down home. Y/N watched her father who carried boxes and house keys walk toward their home, a tan and brown trailer with a mini porch leading up to the entrance. The sound of cicadas filled the background in the forest behind them, with the not-so-friendly sight of neighbors arguing on their front porch in the distance.

While the pair unloaded their meager belongings from the truck, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of bitterness that clung to her. She resented her father for uprooting their lives once again, dragging her to this dismal trailer park in the middle of nowhere. 

But beneath the anger and resentment, there was also a flicker of something else—a glimmer of hope, perhaps, buried deep beneath the layers of disappointment. Maybe Hawkins could be a fresh start after all?

As Y/N finished unloading the last of the boxes from the truck into her room, she couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping over her. Her first day at Hawkins High in two weeks weighed heavily on her mind, how long would she be in Hawkins? Will she fit in enough? Will making new friends and meeting new people even be worth it?

The girl then glanced up at the trailer park's entrance sign through her room's window, the words "Forest Hills Trailer Park" taunting her with its irony. The park was far-fetched from the suburban neighborhoods she had grown accustomed to in her childhood, thanks to the money her mother had left behind that is now gone due to her father’s irresponsibility after his decline.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Y/N took cautious footsteps to her kitchen, passing the empty halls into the living room filled with moving boxes. She made her way to the kitchen and opened the small white fridge the previous tenants left behind, seeing it empty.

“No dinner tonight, birdie.” Y/N’s father spoke with a trace of alcohol lingering from his breath, calling the girl a familiar nickname—recalling the better days she shared with both her father and mother. 

“I’ll go to the store first thing in the morning,” He declared, and Y/N turned around to see him walking toward his room with a pack of beers in hand, stumbling slightly.

The girl harshly shut the fridge door, a look of resentment growing in her eyes. “You thought to bring yourself a pack of beer but didn’t think to pack any food?” She snapped, watching her father stop in his tracks. 

“You’re a fucking adult, you should think to pack your own shit.” He turned around, eyeing the girl’s frustrated figure standing at the fridge.

“I’m sixteen years old. We both know you won’t be the one going to the store tomorrow,” She hissed, growing more irritated while eyeing the pack of beers in her father’s hands. 

“Then starve, ungrateful brat.” Her father spat back, retreating to his empty and undecorated room.

Y/N sighed, hungry and defeated—treading her way out of the kitchen and back into her room. She opened the door to the dim lighting and walked toward a pile of boxes, then sat on her knees to begin unpacking. 

The first thing she pulled out of the boxes was a sketchbook with a set of colored pencils. She carefully held the sketchbook in her hands, opening it and skimming through the pages of her drawings that hundreds of hours had been spent on.

There were drawings of wildlife, landscapes, and people she would observe. One of her drawings that always stood out to her was Watson Falls from Oregon in 1982 where she previously resided before her move to Indiana.

It was one of her favorite places that her father had relocated to in his search for work, just as he had moved to Hawkins and the dozens of places before. The girl was not one to belong to a big social crowd, not wanting to get attached—knowing she and her father would pick up and move time and time again.

With a sigh, she closed her sketchbook, setting it with her colored pencils on top of other unpacked boxes. She took a deep breath and moved her hair out of her face, crawling over to her mattress in the corner of the small room, arranging the sheets and pillows she had thrown onto it amidst the unpacking. She laid down, staring at the bland ceiling, letting sleep consume her.

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

Y/N sat crisscrossed on the damp ground with her sketchbook balanced on her knees as she felt a sense of calm wash over her. There was a slight breeze that caressed her cheeks, with her hair flowing in the wind. 

The girl’s face was tinted with a slight pink as sweat began to trickle down her forehead due to the summer heat. The dense woods behind her trailer stretched out before her with the sounds of cicadas and other wildlife filling the thick, hot air.

With each stroke of her pencil, the girl captured the beauty of the landscape—the gnarled branches and twisted roots weaving together in a mesmerizing dance with sunlight peeking through the trees. As she worked, a strange sensation crept over her—an odd prickling at the back of her neck that sent shivers down her spine.

Glancing up from her sketchpad with an odd feeling, the girl's heart skipped a beat as she saw something glowing an orange and red hue in the darkness of the woods as the sun began to set. Overcome with curiosity, the girl hesitated for a moment before standing to investigate. With her sketchbook tucked under her arm, she ventured deeper into the forest, the dense undergrowth rustling beneath her feet with each cautious step.

As she rounded a bend in the woods trail, the girl stumbled upon a clearing bathed in an ethereal glow. In the center stood a gnarled oak tree, its branches reaching skyward like twisted fingers grasping at the heavens. She began to hesitantly reach towards the mysterious glow, her hand becoming damp as she made contact with it, the other side foggy.

With a gasp—she suddenly pulled her hand back, watching as a figure moved toward her through the other side. The figure made its way even nearer to the entrance, and the girl watched with wide eyes as its shadow covered the hue of the portal. 

Its presence was overwhelming and filled the girl with dread, not quite understanding what she was looking at. Before she could even process what was happening, a gnarly hand with long claws suddenly burst through the portal, a thick slime covering the girl’s face from the impact.

With a sudden jolt of fear, she turned and fled, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the woods as she raced back toward the safety of her trailer. She used her sleeve from her flannel to wipe the disgusting slime off of her face with terror overcoming her body. 

Even as she put distance between herself and the mysterious portal, she couldn't quite shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air—something was not right. Whatever that thing was, it did not belong here. 

No one would believe what she saw.

The girl swiftly opened her trailer door, rushed inside, and slammed the door shut behind her, catching her breath from running, putting her hand on her heart. The familiar voice of her father sent a chill down her spine as she read the clock—9:04 PM.

“Where the hell have you been, Y/N? You were supposed to be back by eight, sharp.”

The air was suddenly thick with tension. The girl stood by the front door as her eyes met her father's unsober ones. The trailer reeked of alcohol as her father's face grew more and more red with anger by the second. 

“I’m sorry, I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.” Y/N softly spoke, beginning to trail her way back toward the safety of her room.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Her father stumbled his way over to her, beer in hand, grabbing the girl’s arm.

“Away from you,” She coldly stated, harshly pulling her arm away from the man.

“Yeah, run away from your problems just like your mother did,” Her father spat, and the room was silent for a moment, with tension suffocating the air. Suddenly—the girl grabbed the beer bottle in her father’s hands and smashed it onto the floor, with resentment growing in her expression.

“You little shit—you think you can do that? This is how you treat me? After everything I’ve done for you!” He slurred, his voice rising, looking at the glass shards from the beer bottle that covered the floor.

“Done for me? You’ve done nothing but ruin everything!” Y/N shouted back, her voice cracking as she felt tears forming, her next words hesitating for a moment.

“Mom would be ashamed of what you’ve become.”

Her father staggered closer to her, the scent of alcohol thickening as it entered the girl's nose. “You think you can talk to me like that?” He asked, coldly.

“I’ll teach you—you little brat, some fucking respect.” He then turned around and stumbled toward the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab another beer. 

As the girl turned around to exit the situation and retreat to the safety of her room, she was suddenly met with a beer bottle struck at her from across the kitchen into the living room, barely missing the side of her face and smashing into the empty, undecorated wall in front of her next to the hall.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” She screamed, turning around, the feeling of betrayal flooding through her system.

“You like that, huh? You like to smash stuff? I’ll show you what it’s like!” Her father screamed back, grabbing the whole beer case from the fridge, smashing it onto the floor. The girl’s body filled up with fear, and she fought tears, helpless, watching as her father found more and more items from the kitchen to destroy.

Abruptly, he stopped everything he was doing and angrily staggered into the hallway toward the girl’s room, kicking the door open with his foot.

“No, no, what are you doing?!” Y/N followed him into her room, tears now streaming down her face, watching as he searched erratically through her messy, unpacked room, throwing things out of his way—smashing her belongings in the process. 

He seemed to have found what he was looking for, reaching for her sketchbook that was under her pillow. “Don’t!” She screamed, throwing herself toward him to try and grab her hard work carefully drawn on all the pages.

“This is what happens when you disrespect me!” He shouted throughout the trailer, opening her sketchbook and tearing it in half. The desperate girl threw a weak fist at her father’s chest, watching as anger boiled over in him. 

In a flash, her father struck her, sending the girl reeling into the wall. She began to sob, feeling the betrayal sting and bruise her face, watching as her father continued to tear up the pages she spent hundreds of hours of her time on.

Y/N and her father constantly fought, but never on this level—this was the first time he’d ever laid hands on her. Her father threw the shredded paper onto the floor and left her room. She looked around, seeing her belongings shattered from the fight. Her body trembled, and she crawled toward her destroyed hard work. 

The girl attempted to piece the pages back together, but hopelessness began to infiltrate her body. Through her tears, she noticed as the room flooded with bright flashes of blue and red lights coming from outside her window, and she squinted, spotting police vehicles.

In the other room, the girl’s father silently cursed at himself and staggered his way to the living room. The flashing red and blue lights of police cars illuminated the front yard, lighting up the darkness from the night outside. 

Y/N’s father looked out the window next to the front door, seeing the chief of police step out of his vehicle. His expression was grim as he made his way up the trailer porch, firmly knocking on the front door.

“Chief of police, Jim Hopper, open the door!” He knocked loudly, his voice commanding as he announced his presence. The door swung open, revealing Y/N’s father—Thomas, who was visibly agitated. The sight of a policeman momentarily sobered him, but the anger in his eyes remained.

“What do you want?” Thomas snarled, alcohol reeking from him, attempting to block the chief's view of the chaotic scene inside.

“There was a noise complaint, step aside,” Hopper ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. Pushing past Thomas, the six-foot man entered the living room and took in the scene—the broken lamp, the smashed objects and alcohol, and a girl with tear stains standing in the hall, holding the side of her cheek.

“It’s just a small mess, my daughter over here had a meltdown, she just got a bit clumsy, I—” Thomas started with an excuse, his voice full of hidden guilt as the chief examined the scene.

“You’ve done enough,” The chief stated coldly to Thomas. “Sit down and don’t move.”

The tall-figured man, Hopper, turned his attention to the girl with his demeanor softening slightly. He took light steps toward her, asking quietly, “Can you take your hand off your face for me?” 

The girl looked behind the chief to her father for approval, but the chief intervened. “Don’t look at him, kid, look at me.”

She reluctantly moved her hand to her side, clenching her fist, not making eye contact with the authority figure as he examined the bruise forming on her cheek with tear stains covering her face.

“It’s going to be alright.” Hopper fondly spoke as he put a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder, before turning around and putting his attention back on the drunk. 

He pulled out his handcuffs, looking at Thomas. “Put your hands up, you’re under arrest for domestic violence. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in court.”

“What?!” Thomas slurred defensively. “Tell him, Y/N! I didn’t do that to you!” He desperately pleaded as his daughter watched him get handcuffed by the chief with tears in her eyes. The police chief took the man outside, shoving him into his partner's vehicle. 

“You didn’t even have a warrant, you can’t arrest me!” Thomas argued inside of the vehicle.

“I’m surprised you’re even sober enough to have that thought,” Hopper shook his head, slamming the door shut. “Well Chief, he technically is right, we should’ve had a warrant.” The other officer with brunette hair and glasses spoke, giving a slight shrug.

“I’ll meet you at the station,” he tells the other officer, brushing him off, beginning to make his way back to the trailer. “I’ll take care of the kid.”

𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

“And then that’s when he struck you?” A police officer with dark skin questioned the girl who was in a rather fragile state, holding an ice pack to her cheek. Her eyes were on the clock—10:48 PM. 

“Y/N?” The same voice resurfaced, while another intervened.

“Give her a break," The girl looked up, seeing it was Chief Hopper who spoke.

“Go home, guys, it’s getting late. I can handle this.” The chief commanded his officers, and they agreed, packing their things to get a night's rest at home.

The chief's attention shifted to the girl sitting down. “Look, kid… you can’t stay at your house until you have an adult guardian staying with you,” he started, fondly. 

“Do you have anyone you can call? Any other family?” He gently questioned, watching as the girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She slowly shook her head with a carefully guarded expression. 

The officer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He couldn’t bear the thought of watching this girl go through the foster care system—knowing all she needed was a stable environment, especially at the end of her teenage years.

“Alright,” he nodded to himself. “Your father will be going through court for custody over you for domestic violence charges. The system will place you in foster care for the time being. But I have an offer,” The chief raised his eyebrows and watched as the girl shifted her guarded expression to him, listening. 

“I can pull a few strings, and as long as you’re comfortable with it, you can stay with me, kid.”

The girl was silent, observing the chief. He had a soft and unsure expression written on his face, and his mustache covered his lips, while his chief hat hid his brunette hair. The girl's eyes were guarded but vulnerable, the man could see it.

“Thank you,” She started speaking softly, pausing. “I don’t want to go into foster care... I love my dad, but he’s… this fight was different.” She paused again, changing the subject, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t mind staying with you while this is figured out.”

"Alright then, let’s get you settled in tonight," The chief fondly smiled, reassuringly placing a hand on the girl’s tense shoulder as she nodded.

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

The evening settled over Hawkins, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Y/N found herself nestled comfortably in the chief of police’s trailer that was isolated in the middle of the woods.

The warmth of the crackling fireplace enveloped her as the fall season approached, offering solace and a sense of security that she hadn't felt in a long time. A new sketchbook Hopper had gifted Y/N upon hearing of her interest in art sat in her lap as she sketched the sight of the fireplace. With her pencil in hand, Y/N sat opposite Chief Hopper, the sound of the fireplace filling in the silence. 

“How are you feeling?” The man started up some conversation, glancing over at the girl. 

“Considering the circumstances, I’m alright,” She bluntly stated, observing the beer bottle in Hopper’s hands with pill bottles scattered across the coffee table in front of him, before shifting her focus back on her sketchbook.

“Good. That’s good.” The chief nodded, listening to the fire crackle throughout the trailer until Y/N, sat across from him, broke the silence. 

“You know you should stop with that stuff, being Chief of Police and all,” she suggested, giving a small shrug as her pencil glided across the page she was working on.

“That might be a good idea, huh?” Hopper remarked, giving a soft chuckle as he slowly began to realize that the kid had a point, thinking about how it might even trigger her looking back at the conditions of her father’s home, with beer bottles smashed across the house and pills scattered in the kitchen. Thinking about her father, he remembered the status of Thomas's case.

“Your father’s court date is in December… in the meantime, he legally can’t contact you.” Hopper started the difficult subject, watching as the girl continued sketching in her book. The date in the corner of the drawing read August 3rd, 1983.

“He’s been released from jail, and he has the option to fight for custody against the state in his court hearing," The man added.

“And if he doesn’t?” The girl asked quietly, attention still on her sketchbook. 

“You’ll belong to the state.” Hopper reluctantly finished, silence filling the air once again, with the girl momentarily pausing her sketching.

“Anyway, the first day of school is tomorrow… have you met anyone you’re going to school with yet?” Hopper changed the subject, in hopes to lighten the grim mood.

“I haven’t had the chance to go out and meet anyone,” She stated, quickly ending the conversation, leaving Hopper to wonder what else to talk about with the girl before bed—until he decided to just leave it.

"Alright kiddo, I’m going to hit the hay. I’ll take you to school in the morning.” Hopper stood up, retreating to his bedroom. 

“Sounds good. Thank you,” Y/N softly replied, hearing a gruff “mhm” from the man as he departed to his room. As the night grew later and the fire dwindled to embers, the girl prepared for bed, her mind buzzing with anticipation for the day ahead—her very first day at Hawkins High.

────────────────────────────────────────────

worlds apart navigation next chapter

taglist: @anqelically @cupofjoekeery @steviespookie @hailqueenconquer @just-tiredman @x-theolivia @fuckshitslover

[someforeignband]

yes frances is after frances from dirty dancing! (and he’s spent the last 3 months begging eddie for another cat to name johnny)

[willfreakbyers]

Can I pet that dawg

[steddieas-shegoes]

There’s too much pressure on him.

He can’t fuck this up.

Eddie keeps looking at him, suspicious but not saying anything. Thank god.

Robin keeps giving him tiny pep talks when they manage to find a few seconds alone: “you got this” and “I promise he feels the same way” and “if you don’t do it now you’ll regret it forever.”

The last one isn’t so much a pep talk as a threat, but it still does the job.

He shakes his hands out, like he’s about to jump in the pool for a swim meet.

He bounces on his feet, slaps his arms like he’s warming up before taking the court for a must-win basketball game.

He looks and feels incredibly stupid and he’s certain that someone will see him acting like this and have questions. He just hopes it’s not Dustin. Or Max. Or Mike, Jesus Christ.

He sneaks away when the announcers give a five minute warning to the countdown. He needs a minute alone before he potentially ruins one of the best friendships he’s ever had besides Robin.

He hides in the bathroom, looks at his reflection in the mirror and tries to smile. He used to be so confident, used to be able to tell himself to make a move and make it successfully. But it used to not matter, not like this does.

No one has ever mattered the way Eddie does.

And fucking this up will ruin a lot more than just his friendship with Eddie; it’ll ruin the entire group’s dynamics.

No more hanging out at the arcade while the kids play, no more bringing snacks to game nights, no more adults only movie nights to make up for the shitty movies the kids make them watch during family movie nights.

No more getting high in Eddie’s bedroom while he plays his guitar, only trusting Steve to see how he still struggles with some chords because his fingers have more nerve damage than even the doctors know.

No more falling asleep on the couch while Eddie reads to him or tells him made up stories that turn into campaigns for the kids.

No more swimming in Steve’s pool after midnight, when Steve is scared, but wants to face his fears with Eddie by his side.

The bathroom door opening startles him from his morose thoughts, and he rushes to try to close it.

“Chill, man. Just me.”

Eddie.

“Sorry, must’ve zoned out.” Steve pretends to wipe his hands on the towel hanging by the sink. “All yours, man.”

Steve starts to leave when Eddie’s hand curls around his shoulder, tugs him back.

“You’ve been weird all night, Stevie. What’s goin’ on? Worried about having to see Nancy and Jonathan kiss?” Something’s off with Eddie’s voice towards the end, like he was going for teasing, but lost the effort halfway through the question.

Steve could hear a one minute warning from the other room.

His heart rate quickened.

“No. That’s not it.” Steve gulped. “I’m fine. Just worried.”

“I don’t think you need to worry.”

As if Eddie would know.

“I’ll just head out there-“

Eddie pushes him against the back of the bathroom door, hands on his chest and eyes boring into his.

“You were worried about kissing me, right? I didn’t imagine the way you avoided me all night and the way Robin kept poking me and looking at you anytime someone brought up kissing at midnight?” Eddie looks like he’s back in the boathouse, looks wild in a way Steve kind of loves, but probably needs to settle. “I haven’t imagined the way you look at me, have I? Like, the crush on you is probably out of hand, but I couldn’t have made up the way you always fall asleep on my shoulder when we try to stay up too late and your hand always finds mine and-“

Steve couldn’t take it. He could listen to Eddie spiral all night or he could just do what he was pretty sure they both wanted and just kiss him.

So he does.

He leans forward and kisses his lips, hopes that the way Eddie’s fingers curl against his chest doesn’t mean he’s about to push him away.

It’s short, and Steve’s hands are stuck at his side while he waits for a proper reaction from Eddie, who is frozen other than the fingers digging into Steve’s chest hairs somewhat painfully.

“Eddie?” He asks after a long silence.

“Steve, shut up. I might be in a coma still. Or those stupid bats got me and I’ve spent the last few months dreaming up a somewhat regular life.”

Steve smirked and placed his hands on top of Eddie’s, slowly unfurling the fingers and holding them in his.

“Eddie.”

This time, Eddie managed to look at him, and his shoulders fell as he seemed to catch on that he wasn’t dreaming or dead.

“Can I kiss you again or are you gonna panic?”

Eddie let out a strangled noise and nodded.

“I need a yes or a no, Eds,” Steve laughed.

“Yes. Please. Always yes. Kiss me for every single minute of 1987 if you want. Start and end the year kissing me. Kiss me until I-“

Steve shook his head, so stupidly fond of this man, and leaned in to kiss him again.

This time, Eddie managed to kiss him back, lips not as firm as they parted beneath Steve’s.

And this time when he pulled away, Eddie’s eyes slowly blinked open, and he was smiling.

“Can’t believe you did this on New Year’s Eve. How stereotypical. You’ve turned me into a stereotype. How could you do this? Stevie, I’m so ridiculously in love with you, but you really should’ve done this yesterday or something.”

“I love you, too.”

Eddie snapped his mouth shut, eyes going wide as his cheeks turned a bright red.

“I have really gotta learn to shut up. I blame Robin for the rambling.”

Steve’s hands wrapped around Eddie’s waist, pulling him closer as he kissed his forehead with a laugh.

“I think you had this problem way before you hung out with Robin.”

“How would you know, sunshine?” Eddie faked annoyance, but the term of endearment gave him away completely.

“I just know you pretty well. And I love you.”

“So you’ve said.”

“You have too.”

“I have, haven’t I?”

They both stared at each other in silence for a full minute before bursting into laughter.

Someone banged on the door as they rested their forehead against each other, laughing through another kiss.

“If you’re all done making out in there, some of us have been holding it since last year!” Max’s voice rang out.

“That joke doesn’t really mean anything when last year was two minutes ago, Maxine!” Eddie yelled back, not pulling away from Steve.

“I will use Steve’s bathroom if you don’t come out in five seconds!”

“God, please no.” Steve said as he pulled away and opened the door. “You suck so much.”

“Not as much as you apparently,” Max said back as she pushed past them and slammed the door.

“I didn’t even get to the sucking yet,” Eddie whined. “Why is she so mean?”

“She’s a teenage girl. They’re all like that.”

“Thank god I never liked them.”

“Never?”

“Steve, I was so busy trying to hide how hot I thought you were, I didn’t even notice girls.”

“Seriously?!” Steve laughed. “That must’ve been terrible for your image.”

“Yeah, well, now I think I’m the one terrible for your image, so I guess it worked out for me,” Eddie smirked, kissing Steve’s cheek.

“Very funny. Now back to the sucking thing…”

“Oh my god, I can hear you!” Max yelled from in the bathroom, causing Steve and Eddie to roll their eyes and laugh.

“That’s okay, we’ll just go upstairs, won’t we?” Eddie said loudly.

“Yep, I think that’s where we’ll be for the rest of the night!” Steve said back.

“Just go away!” Max yelled as the toilet flushed.

Steve did lead Eddie upstairs, and they definitely did intend on using a few minutes of privacy to their advantage, but were interrupted the moment Steve’s pants were unbuttoned.

Mike Wheeler would probably never recover from seeing Eddie’s lips on Steve’s neck, but maybe he’d at least learn to knock on doors before opening them.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

How Steve and Eddie accidentally have a baby:

Robin's cousin just had a baby through a turkey baster. Robin and Eddie are hanging out when Robin brings it up.

Eddie: There's no way! It doesn't seem possible.

Robin: Dude, you're carrying around your own turkey baster.

Eddie: Nope. Nope. Nope. No way!

Robin: We have the material. We have an actual turkey baster. Let's test out a theory.

Eddie: And if it does work?

Robin: Then you and Steve get a baby like you've been talking about.

Eddie: You know, maybe Steve is right. Maybe we shouldn't hang out without him.

Robin: Coward.

Eddie: . . .

Robin: . . .

Eddie: *narrows eyes* Do it.

A couple of months later. . .

Eddie greeted Steve with a kiss as soon as he walked into their home and snuggled into his arms, squeezing him tightly.

Eddie: So, how mad would you be if I told you that I got your platonic soulmate pregnant?

[cloudycleric]

i thought it was hilarious when people thought will might seriously turn evil & join vecna when vecna literally spent over 3 years of his life traumatizing him like will would have to have some serious stockholm syndrome

[coniangray]

NEW BIKE SCENE CONFIRMED THE TIMELINE (I think)

If you look closely, mike will and holy wear the exact same fits with the previous scenes they filmed, especially mike.

He wore this exact same outfit in the official duffers bts in his room, in the mileven roof/will field scene, the barn with robin and the school.

Will also wore this in the official bts, the barn and I think his scene with hopper in the field/him standing alone in the radio station.

My guess on the timeline is:

Day one:

Mike gets bullied at the school by Andy in the morning with Dustin, then Dustin visits Eddie in his grave and sth happens there (as we saw from the Eddie bts pics).

I also think will is staying over at the wheelers, that's why he's with holly and Mike, they're basically babysitting her and that's before she went missing and even before her vision with 70's Henry creel.

The bike scene might have happened after the barn.

I think the barn took place the same day as the school in the afternoon, and they took an overnight staying alert and safe(??) that's why they're wearing the same clothes still. St4 hawking hang wore the same thing 2 days in a row when max was cursed.

So school first, then grave scene, then mileven rooftop/will field scene, then barn, then bikes (the next day) and then holy goes missing.

The mansion with the files and the candy striper is set on another episode I think.

That's all for now, Also there's sth like a radio/walkman in front of Mike's bike so I think this scene is them trying to catch a signal of some sorts, considering theyre biking near a restricted area.

Also yes, Twitter, I know they film out of order I'm not that dumb Im just gathering scenes to connect to the timeline thanks.

[gardensnakie]

[smbhax]

From "The Strangers from Space!" in Tales of Suspense #1, January 1959. Al Williamson pencils, Roy Krenkel backgrounds, Gray Morrow inks, Stan Goldberg (?) colors, Artie Simek letters. Photoshop color reduction.

Info from Grand Comics Database.

[chhagiya]

[conflictofthemind]

Now that they've reposted Karen's hospital files, is there any chance that you would repost the page that mentions Joyce?

You know what. Yeah, whatever the fuck because these were taken by Tate and he’s decided to go all Trump supporter recently so I don’t feel bad about sharing it publicly even though he doesn’t want to - here’s the full original image. Blurry as all hell unfortunately.

[hopepaigeturner]

"Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me"

Sophie Beckett left Benedict Bridgerton and their 'situation-ship' the day she shoved his Star Wars shirt in the bin. A day that she pledged she would no longer settle for the scraps people gave her.

Two years later and a serendipitous meeting brings her face to face with him, and an apparently reformed Benedict pledges to treat her right--if only she would give him a second chance.

But the question is, should she? And can they overcome the past to secure a happier future?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Read the first two chapter on AO3 here.

SHOUT OUT: This is a sequel to @tilly-tilly-2827 'Light Switch, so all credits go to her for kickstarting this au! Read Light Switch here'.

Benophie Week: Day 2- 'Second Chances'.