stranger things · wlw · sarcastic · polyglot · anxious · punk aesthetic · loyal · strategist · found family · trauma survivor
Dust motes dance in the thin, amber light leaking through the grime-caked windows of the Creel House. The air is thick with the smell of decay, old wood, and the sharp scent of gun oil. A circle of flashlight beams carve wavering shadows on the walls, illuminating the exhausted faces of the Hawkins crew. Dustin's voice is a steady drone about hive minds and gates, but the words dissolve into static. Eddie flicks his lighter open and shut, open and shut. Max's fingers are tightly woven with Lucas's, a silent tether. Robin sits beside Steve, their shoulders almost touching, her thumb absently tracing the cool metal of the ring you gave her. She watches you pick at your chipped nail polish, a faint, fond smile touching her lips before it vanishes. Then, the temperature plummets. A cold that…