*CONSUMES* - Tumblr Posts
EFIPJEFPITEHNKJOIKNMZJWAUR EVERY TIME I SEE THIS COME ACROSS MY SCREEN I WANNA WORK ON SM SO BAD BUT THEN IRL STUFF AND NOW IT'S LATE AND WORK
Sleuth Jesters Bloodmoon (What If?)
Hitman, perhaps a assassin or contract killer.
Mostly kills to fill himself, but sure, money is an added gain.
They're filthy rich because of it.
Also sells off "leftovers" to cannibals.
They're just having fun.
*Bangs head on wall*
*Goes feral*
*Crawls on the ceiling*
THE BOYS! AH, THEIR EXPRESSIONS! LUNAR, DA BEAN, AND BLOOD MOON, ALL WORRIED!
Haha, they messed up. Sucks for you both, huh?
I Won’t Stand By - Part One
(Steve Harrington x Female Reader)
Summary: Steve has always been worth more. And you won’t stand by and watch him get his heart broken again. He needs to know.
Warnings: Language, pining, unrequited (or are they?) feelings, heavy on the angst, happy ending… eventually.
Pairings: Steve Harrington x best-friend!female reader
A/N: After I made this post, I started thinking heavily on Steve, Nancy & Stancy, a little more than usual. And I just feel like I needed to write this and channel some energy into it, as it basically took on a mind of its own (we heavily into Steve, okay? He’s consuming me). It’s going to have one more part to it (which I’ve already outlined). It’s thick on the angst, but it’ll have a happy ending, I think? I tried some different stuff with Steve and his reactions, so I hope y’all like it? Lemme know ❤️💖
“Are you stupid?”
You’d never insinuated, nor had you ever called Steve anything that would suggest he was ignorant, and you had known him since elementary school. You never made him feel like anyone else could, by a joke or an offhand comment, usually a backhanded compliment. But as he sees you standing under the entryway of the Family Video — three lunches in your hand, your neon pink windbreaker covered in rain drops, eyes steady in their focus on him and Robin — he’s never felt more like his IQ is non-existent.
Robin looks briefly confused, tapping her purple painted nails on the cheap wooden counter, unsure where to look. However, her mouth opens before she can stop it. “Hey, what’s going on? Is that a ham croissant I smell?”
You’d laugh if your lungs weren’t full of a scream that you’re sure is about to rip itself free. Your heartbeat is thumping so hard against your ribcage that it’s echoing all around your chest, playing ping pong. Steve opens his mouth to speak, starting to shift his posture enough that he can work himself around the counter to get to you. He can’t stand to see you this upset, especially at him. You don’t let him come within an inch of your trembling form, afraid that you’ll say things you can’t take back, or you’ll vomit your breakfast all over his green vest.
You want to berate yourself for the way he looks struck, physically recoiling as if to console himself. His sneakers stop on the rug you’re standing on, your wet loafers drenched and dripping. Nike and leather. You can’t take how good he smells, the way that it always greets you with a hug, but instead, you walked into his conversation with Robin about his upcoming date with Nancy. He really meant it, he saw her as his future, he never got over her, and now that she’s realized what she lost — she wants him back.
Steve is about to call a code for backup, when you decide to say something, stepping around him, paper bags full of food clenched and wrinkled in your vice. You damn near spit the words, tone laced with acidic venom. “Why would you do this to yourself?”
His chest aches with the bitterness of confusion, a hunger to understand that’s clawing at his throat and attempting to seize his tongue. He’s fumbling for words and that seems to fuel your excitement. Robin, meanwhile, her irises widen, eyes darting back and forth between the two of you. It's a simple & soft, “Oh, shit.” As she watches your feelings unfold in real time, understanding.
You throw the sacks onto the counter, Robin barely able to catch them before they can slide off, and you turn back, right as Steve shakes himself clear and attempts to meet you. Your finger jabs into his chest, breath getting caught in your throat. He bites his tongue when he sees your sclera is flooded with unshed tears. You know if you blink that it’ll all be over for you. How can you convey how you’re feeling?
Even if you weren’t ass over elbow for the guy, you still wouldn’t want him back together with Nancy Wheeler. She might be your friend too, but you were there for Steve. You saw everything he had to go through, and even though you didn’t leave his side, he was still dealing with their relationship and monster land — alone, trapped in his head. It wasn’t until he graduated that he was able to let go of each mental blockage that she and the whole situation caused him to put up (enough so), and truly let you in. She didn’t share his goals and Steve deserved better than a relationship that seems like nothing more than pure nostalgia.
Neither of them should settle. They are still vastly different.
Fuck, you really need to scream. Your chest is heavy with it, weighted. You’re sinking, choking on oxygen, your body rejecting it. Panic.
Steve practically begs Robin for help, jaw unhinged and tongue slicking across his lips. He tries to find something to say — anything. You roll your eyes and the tears finally salt your lash line, cooling and burning. “Actually, you know what? Fuck this right now!”
And if customers didn’t just come in, the little bell dinging and electrifying your anxieties — you’d have run right out the front door. But you do the next best thing — your only other option. You dart for the family labeled restroom in the back. Steve doesn’t even have to ask, Robin nodding her head. “Go. I got this.”
~*~
You curse yourself for not locking the door, for Steve’s thoroughly kind behavior (why can’t he just be an asshole and make this easier?). You’re practically bent over the sink, sobbing quietly into the fluorescent expanse, and you hear the door open and close. His cologne invades your senses — all delicate traces of woodsy spice. His freshly laundered clothing, even his minty breath from the spray you know he carries in his back pocket. It’s slow motion when you meet his concerned stare in the mirror.
His large palm clasps over your shoulder, wrist watch catching in the light. He turns you, but you find solace in the tile flooring and your loafer covered toes. His fingertips, ever-so gentle and calloused, filter beneath your chin — tilting. You try to look away but it’s a pointless effort. Steve’s brown is pitched high in an attempt to understand, to relate.
Your torso wants to give in and collapse, legs dead and heavy, stuck to the floor. Your mouth is dry, but your throat is wet with tears. It’s suddenly Tina’s Halloween party all those years ago, and you’re holding Steve as he’s crying, showing himself like you had never seen before. Your nose wrinkles into a scrunch, you reach up to swat his hand away. He catches your wrist with his other, and shakes his head, thumbpad caressing the healing cut on your cheek, even a month later it still remains.
When you went to battle with Vecna and the four of you were attacked by his little tentacle hive minds, you’d gotten the sharp end of one to the face. That very fear settles in his stomach at the memory, sloshing about with the gnawing worry over what’s currently going on with you. He tucks a strand of hair back behind your ear, a line of goosebumps shrouding your arms like invisible sleeves. His voice is so gentle with concern that you choke on an outright whimper.
“Talk to me, honey. What happened? What did I do?”
To a fault, this man is too good for anyone. And that’ll be his ultimate downfall. That’s enough to push on your anger, because you’re already riding the inevitable tidal wave of heartbreak, just waiting for the water to drown you. You don’t try to move his hold on you, you’re more than smart enough to know that he won’t budge if he doesn’t want to. You force yourself to talk to him, voice wavering and weak, and the word puke releases. “That’s the problem, Steve. It’s not what you did, but what you’re going to do to yourself by going back to her.”
“Wait, so you heard me and Robin—“
“I heard you in the RV, I heard you in the fucking upside down, and yes — I just heard about your stupid fucking date.”
He shakes his head, thumb tracing over your healing wound, a brief look of guilt flickering, his voice hoarse and tired. “So that’s why you think I’m stupid then, huh?”
“Do you remember when you cried all night after Tina’s party? When you spent money on flowers for her, or lost your entire friend group? Yeah, they were assholes, but you gave up everything because you thought something was wrong with you, that you needed to change.”
He’s briefly glancing at his own shoe wear, an audible swallow heard from him. How could he forget that night? He couldn’t stomach the word bullshit for months after.
You continue, unable to stop if someone duct taped your mouth shut.
“You dealt with torture, with trauma, with being cheated on. You became a more mature person, but that doesn’t mean you were ever an awful boyfriend, Steve. And now that she and Jonathan have grown apart, now that she’s seen you — it doesn’t make it okay for her to decide that you’re suddenly worth something again.”
He knows you’re right. Fuck, he can feel your statement carve itself into his every internal organ. He can’t disagree, he can’t fight you, because he fought with himself one too many times since Nancy destroyed him. His pride wants to argue, wants to blame himself, defend her, but he also knows you. And he knows you’re not taking shots at Nancy, nor are you trying to hurt him.
You’re surprised at how calmly you’re able to articulate yourself. You keep going. He needs to know.
“We were all kids when everything happened, and I don’t blame her for dealing with her own shit. I’m not excusing how she treated you. But I understand, and I love her. I just know that she doesn’t want the same things you want, Steve. It’s like you’re both trying to fit pieces into a mold that was never meant to work together, past what it was in the first place… So I’m fucking begging you, don’t do this to yourself.”
His hand drops, far too quickly than you’re ready for. His back falls against the door, his tresses dusting his forehead. Your body feels as if it’s been paved into the asphalt, unprepared for what he says next. “Any reasons other than that?”
“Steve—“ Your voice wobbles.
“No, you’ve made yourself clear. Me and Nance? Bad idea — I got that.”
“It’s because —“
“Why? There’s more to it than what you’re telling me, I know there is. Don’t fucking lie to me!” You’ve hit that spot in him, that wounded pride. He’s lashing a bit, arms crossing over his chest, biceps flexed beneath his white t-shirt.
“Because, I..” Your sentence topples.
He inches forward. “Because you what? Talk to me!”
Does he realize? Maybe he has an inkling, maybe he’s pushing it. You aren’t able to decipher, your emotions swirling, everything becoming too much all at once. Your instincts fly out the window, shattering glass, heart catching on your throat as it leaps out of your mouth and floats into the room. You lurch forward and grab Steve’s cheeks, his stubble tickling the backs of your fingers — and you press your lips to his.
He’s stiff at first, arms remaining tight and bound together. You’re crying, salting his mouth slick. He tastes like peppermint and coffee, with a hint of that creamer you’ve gotten him hooked on. His mouth is soft, becoming pliant. He begins to kiss you back, but it’s for a fraction, yet it’s there. His nose nudges yours, bumping, your lips parting with a smack as he uses his hands (arms uncrossing), to pull you away, cradling your face.
Heated, like a syrupy honey, he talks to you. He’s got it this go around. “Why didn’t you tell me that this was going on?”
You go to leave him, he won’t dare let you. His hold tightens, index finger rubbing along your cut. Your eyes flutter closed, fresh tears dowsing the raw skin of your cheeks. The moisture pours over Steve’s fingers.
“Don’t.” It’s him who is begging, chained undercurrents cutting into the depth of his voice. “Please don’t cry.”
The way that he strokes you, his grazing thumb soothing your cut, like you’re right back in the underworld and he almost died twice over seeing you hurt. He swipes at your tears, trying to wipe them away, but they blotch. More keeps coming. You’re dangling over that precipice of an anxiety attack that he can also sense. Like he’s coddling a wounded deer, Steve pulls you closer, bringing his lips to your forehead — pressing, voice gravelly, mouth moving away to utter, “Come here. Stay right here.” And helps you rest in his arms, your head sliding beneath his chin.
Whatever you attempt to say, it comes out as gibberish whimpering. Steve’s own chest cavity is scorched, throat blazing, eyes misty. You find solace in his broad physique, nose at his sternum. He’s confused, so many things running through his head, that it fucking aches at the base of his skull. Your cherry lip gloss-flavored kiss lingers, making him think of things he thought were just passing feelings for you a while ago.
There’s many things he wants to say, but his brain has a case of coward, working him into a settled question instead. “How long?”
“Everyday since I’ve known you, I think.” It’s an automatic whisper, a ghostly caress of your broken voice, but he still hears your answer.
He’s nodding, an annoyance filtering, a sadness. How could you not tell him something like this? All those nights you shared, talking about everything. He’s been more vulnerable with you than he’s been with anyone in his entire twenty years. This, he has to call you on.
“In all of the time you’ve known me, have I ever given you any reason not to trust me?”
Still buried in his embrace, you shake your head no.
“Is it — do you… Shit.” He isn’t sure how to phrase it, not wanting to make an ass of himself, the word also scaring the hell out of him.
He gets his answer, thankfully — when you speak. “Don’t ask me if I love —“ You cut yourself off briefly, before adding on, “— just… don’t, okay?”
His lids close, a sigh escaping. Holy shit, you love him. Someone else loves him, his best-friend is in love with him. And he could never see that? He talked about sex with other girls, about Nancy.
And not once did you ever stop him or act like it wasn’t alright. You hyped him up, you were always there to boost his spirits and his ego. He feels like a total asshole. His previous sigh has you shaking your head, especially after he lets out a quiet “I’m sorry.”
You break off his embrace, finding a hold on his forearms, squeezing. “Steve, look at me.” You find your courage again.
He complies immediately, rich hazel catching, nearly stealing your breath. You clear your throat lightly, inhaling through your nose to relax yourself. Steve’s hands are still on your face — unrelenting. “This thing with Nancy, it’s not even because of how I feel, not completely. You’re more than some trophy husband, you’re more than some minimum wage video clerk, even though I think your jobs have been pretty fucking cool.” His softened gaze dips off and he chuckles himself into that cheekily, familiar grin.
“Please don’t do this to yourself again, Steve. You deserve better than this. You always have. You’re the fucking heart of our group, don’t you understand that? Fuck the thumps on the head, fuck nostalgia. I’ve never stopped seeing what a good man you are, even when you used to be a bitchy jerk sometimes.”
He laughs again, music to your ears that gets you to stop crying briefly. You slide your fingers along his bare arms and he’s thoughtful, pausing, wanting to look away from you. Because what he’s going to say, he can’t bear the expression on your face. He just wishes, he almost begs the universe that Nancy hadn’t brought back her bullshit and confused him. And you kissed him and released a bunch of things he’d pushed away, things he didn’t even know existed.
Someone’s going to get hurt and he thinks it should be him, but as he’s gentle with you, fingertips splaying down the sides of your neck, he’s brought back down to the messy reality he’s a part of. “It wasn’t resolved on my terms. Honey, I have to try. Can’t you see things from my perspective, please understand?”
You decide instantaneously what you’re going to do, your ribs aching at the sudden drop in your heart rate, your throat feeling like it’s swollen to twice the normal size. Your hand leaves his wrist, combing the hair off his forehead — memorizing every mole and freckle, his cupid's bow, his jaw, those hauntingly warm eyes. He thinks you’ll get it, that you’ll stay. And you do get it, but the latter? You’re eerily firm, new tears seeping out, flooding your vision, making him a blurry silhouette.
It’s gonna be bad, he can feel the twisting in his gut. He tries to say something, beginning a reason. You cut him off. “I need you to understand that I can’t stand by and watch this. I care about you both, but you can’t ask me to watch you two try and sweep everything under the rug, and you can’t expect me to watch if your heart gets broken. I won’t watch you fall apart again. I can’t do it, Steve.”
“What are you saying?” He sounds pained, like you’d socked him in his stomach. It sure fucking feels like it. Even the tip of his tongue is aching, his own vision becoming cloudy. “How do you even know things won’t work?”
“If they do, then great. If she’s your person and that’s what was meant to happen, I hope it works for you.” If he’s happy, you mean that. But you just don’t think he deserves this, he deserves more, despite your feelings. And there’s some things that you just know.
He straightens himself against the door when he sees you reach around for the handle. He shakes his head and tries to keep your touch. You drop it, tears dripping off your lashes and onto the cheap flooring below. “Let me leave, Steve.”
“No, not happening.”
“Don’t do this.”
“You’re my best-friend, I can’t just be without you.”
“You have Robin. You can handle this.”
“I don’t wanna fucking handle this,” he lashes out, stepping forward and cupping your cheeks, making you look at him, his touch searing into your skin, “I want you.”
“Steve.” You’re a little heavier in your command, pulling his hands away, impulse leading. You lift onto your tippy toes and permit yourself a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
His breath is choppy, a sudden heat leveling off the room, his nose bumps, sliding off your peck, his lips crashing into yours. You kiss him back with everything in you, mouths wet and tear stricken. He’s crying too, everything wet, spit stringing as your lips separate.
“I really hope it turns out to be what you want.” You pant your sorrows against his mouth, drinking him in — seeing. You’re falling, abandoning emotions and nearing sobbing territory.
Steve’s hands drop as you say this and it gives you the leverage you need to leave him alone in the bathroom, one last pleading cry from him cut off as you close the door behind you. You keep your head down and you walk through the store alone, its popcorn and candy coated scent striking you. You only stop when you’re at the counter and Robin has a piece of her sandwich pinched between her fingers, a pitiful look on her face as she sees your tear-stained features. She doesn’t get the chance to ask you anything, not before you request, crushing her heart into pieces. “Make sure he’s okay. He’s gonna need you.”
And your presence is gone in mere seconds, that bell signifying something much more than anyone was ready to comprehend. You make it to your car, rain pouring around you, right as Steve leaves the bathroom pinching his nose and sniffling, watching you from the window. You don’t break down, not until you’ve driven away and found somewhere to pull over.
Over…
// Eat me paragraph //
Gives you some daily klapollo @thisrobinisred 😈
Who is your favorite transformer to turn into lobsters?
Soundwave. He was fun to draw
I gave him a shrimp Laserbeak
Difficulty: unbeatable
I got into Cult of the Lamb in January and by February I made my very first fanart inspired by a winning streak in Knucklebones. I initially didn't want to share this, but fuck it we ball. :^)
hello there! just wondering if you're still going to continue merventurine?
i still have unused sketches for it, i'm just gonna have to figure out how to connect them in the linear plot in a way that makes the most sense
