𝔻𝔼𝔸ℝ 𝔸𝕊ℍ𝕋𝕆ℕ 𝔽𝕆𝕎𝕃𝔼ℝ                         

happy halloween, everyghoulie!!! I hope you have a great night, whatever you do, and stay safe!

i didn’t mean to let my queue run out but almost as soon as i arrived home from vacation i got real sicc so i had to give myself a break. thankfully the fever burnt this afternoon and after a good night’s sleep i should be back to normal again!

Some steps need to be taken alone. It’s the only way to really figure out where you need to go and who you need to be.

Mandy Hale (via mentalquotes)

Sweater weather. Happy September 1st

 💭 nancy chris headcanons

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 — send 💭 + a topic to receive a headcanon about said topic.

nance and chris used to know each other before high school pulled them apart. not well, per se, but enough to be friendly. there was no great social catacylsm, really, just......being young pulling them every which way. chrissy knew barb from a distance, jonathan from a greater distance, and steve by virtue of....well, steve being steve. nancy had a sweet face and calm demeanor and the bubbly if still somehow quiet chrissy would have liked her quite a bit. and then everything got strange for a few years. life got more full and more complicated in equal measures. reputations got trickier and even though chrissy’s own wasn’t much of a prized trophy, high school drowned out faces more quickly than she would have liked. they could have been better friends if they had the time. at least ‘86 came along to rally everyone around the power of death. or resurrection. or both. they’d progressed nearly to strangers by ‘86 but spun quickly towards dear friendship after so much tragedy. 

chrissy wants to have nancy over to her house so badly. so badly. chrissy pines for a normal family home where friends that she made because other people like her for her and she likes them and feels safe around them can come and feel safe, too. but no, her last sleepover in fifth grade was over before sleep. laura had gotten frustrated about the amount of noise three little girls generated and the snacks they seemed to require. it was abruptly cancelled mid game of twister and mothers were called before they were within two hours of “lights out”.

the cunningham house is a trap and it needs to spring on no one else. all it takes is a few weeks for chrissy to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that nancy would sniff out just what kind of house chrissy’s was. it’s not the shame of a friend knowing, it’s the shame of a friend having to feel how chrissy does, every day. she apologizes to nancy over and over and over for this. it might have been a small thing to anyone else, but with all that nancy does for chrissy, the gap feels huge. their happy medium likely ends up being long conversations in the cunningham’s driveway. or possibly nancy sneaking into chrissy’s room via climbing the trellis if nancy wants to. there’s mostly yellow and ruffles and pillows everywhere, but there are nice bookshelves and they can hide under a very large comforter and giggle if they feel so inclined. 

chrissy promises to tell nancy absolutely everything if nancy will tell her what happened every year before, starting with discovering upside down. there might be a hundred things they can piece together with the shards of honesty. it’s a lot of work, but chrissy is tired of pretending.

chrissy brings mrs. wheeler a little potted plant whenever she comes over and nancy always gets a nice pen or a purse sized notebook. the two girls are also well documented hair accessory fiends and probably trade clips back and forth and experiment with clip formations. 

their after school summer is full of mystery books and movies. i almost can’t see the two of them not forming some kind of mini book club and filling pages with theoretical notes. there are absolutely lists of worthwhile authors and too-predictable ones. 

why am i getting the feeling they scrapbook? 

the end of summer goodbye to nancy is one of the hardest to make, and likely the goodbye with the most tears. even an extended school year wasn’t enough time to make up for all that they’d missed. 

chrissy writes to nancy while they’re both at college with aggressive dedication. future plans spiral out of control, but chrissy is beginning to feel a fraction of nancy’s drive and it propels her to want more out of life, so chrissy asks for more. and it finally feels good instead of greedy. 

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙊𝙋𝙃𝙀𝙇𝙄𝘼 𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙍𝙔                               ( sainterror ​)

@greenscrunchy​ : “i always feel sad for the girl that i was.”

pleated skirt smooths out between fingers before her elbows move to rest on the sticky mall table. ophelia considers the weight of chrissy’s words, how they feel like an anvil pressing on her chest. she swirls the red straw around in her cup and brings the bottom half to her mouth, licking the strawberry smoothie off the end, “i used to.” the admission is bitter on her tongue, phe’s brown eyes flicker up.

stray glitter speckles across her skin like freckles, over her lashes and dusted in her hair; it was her armor that reflects back in the yellow lighting of the food court. “and then i just stopped.” 

re: swallowed it down. re: boxed it up. re: poured gasoline over the top and watched it burn. 

grief was not foreign to ophelia perry — it grew around her bones like ivy strangling an old house. which made mourning parts of herself easy. which made killing parts of herself easier. 

she sighs and scrunches up her nose, the watered down smoothie was beginning to look unappetizing the further she stirs the straw, “i thought to myself, phe, if that girl was any good, she’d be sitting here — not me … gotta gut the parts of you that don’t fit anymore,” pull at the sinew of it, tug the meat away, “that’s the only way we can survive all of this.” for emphasis she rolls her eyes around them.

chrissy has learned to like iced tea. she has. it’s got a...taste. something to latch her wandering thoughts to as she sucks what entertainment she can through the straw. phe has red, the same color as chrissy, but the shade appears more vivid plunged into the last dregs of a milkshake. 

a little more alive.

it’s jarring, perpendicular to the topical mood. one that’s less visible than a spider’s web but more present and more sour than venom. it’s the lemon in chrissy’s tea turning sour and warped with every pull of liquid.

                  ❝ you think that’s part of growing up? just.....having to leave everything we thought we were behind? realizing we’re someone else? ❞  

it doesn’t seem correct to have this conversation as a pair of seventeen-or-so year olds in early june. not in starcourt mall surrounded by neon and swinging plastine shopping bags and shrieks of every single kid under seventeen in hawkins  concentrated in the same place, apparently. 

all of a sudden chrissy feels too old for all of this.

how did they get here? to this mental doldrum of withering under the harsh sun of reality catching up to them, the great fibs of youth fading away to husks that befit the parched heart of autumn better than the apex of summer? their very presence, immersed as they are in gridlocked angst, feels obverse to the setting. chrissy did not come to the mall to feel like a square peg smacking at a round hole and yet that’s what happened. maybe phe has a point. maybe, lurking under all the attempts at making sense of lives half lived, this is all there is. 

a last smack of semi-sweetness hiding in her tea yanks at a bit of hope still left. maybe resignation isn’t the totality of their lot. that sure would be nice. 

                    ❝ i’ve got an idea - for when you’re done. something we can do. ❞

Led Zeppelin – Going To California

chrissy’s favorite of the freshman is max, followed very closely by jane and will.

her favorite of the hellfire club is lucas, then dustin. lucas is also the sole member of the basketball team that she truly enjoys and feels comfortable around.

her favorite of corroded coffin is jeff.

she will cop to absolutely none of this and will swear passionately and often that she loves everyone the most.

( lady erica applejack is in a category of her own. so is eddie. )

chrissy appreciates the cheer squad very much, but nancy and robin become sources of great admiration and hope. her best friend tracy graduated in ‘85 and the hole she left behind was considerable. it’s nice to meet two girls who understand the horrors of the upside down and still have their heads on straight. nancy and robin are chrissy’s favorite seniors and she will tell them so.

𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓  𝟓 (𝐨𝐫 𝟏𝟎)  𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐓𝐎  𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄  𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄. 

1.    mothers talk   ∕   tears for fears 2.    more than a feeling   ∕   cinematic pop ft. cosette smith (originally by boston) 3.    victoria’s secret   ∕   jax 4.    you picked off all the polish   ∕   UTAH 5.    kids + teens   ∕   kyle dixon & michael stein 6.    fields of coral   ∕   vangelis 7.    gloria   ∕   laura branigan 8.    here i go again   ∕   whitesnake 9.    i cheat the hangman   ∕   the doobie brothers 10.  the end  ∕   the beatles

&  𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓  𝟓  𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐓𝐎  𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄  𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄.

1.     “all parents damage their children. it cannot be helped. youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.”   —   mitch albom, the five people you meet in heaven

2.     “i must get my soul back from you; i am killing my flesh without it.”  /  “the silence depressed me. it wasn’t the silence of silence. it was my own silence.”   —   sylvia plath, the unabridged journals / the bell jar 

3.     “i have a strict policy that no one cries alone in my presence.”   —   dolly parton

4.     “when did your childhood end? how badly did you get hurt, when you did, when you were this little, when you were this wee little hurtable thing, nothing but big eyes, a heart, a few hundred words? isn't it wonderful how we never recover?"   —   will eno, thom pain (based on nothing)

5.      In my beginning is my end. In succession Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended, Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass. Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires, Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth  [...]  I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre, The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness, And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away— [...] I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting. [...] So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing. Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning. The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry, The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony Of death and birth.                                     You say I am repeating Something I have said before. I shall say it again.    —   t.s. eliot, east coker

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲:  @quietresistance  then  @hellmartyr​  xD  love you both dearly

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠: @darkestshadeofgrey or @athousandmilesandcounting or BOTH  /  @manaborn  /  @starsinshadows (steve)  /  @firelightfables (billy or eddie)  /  @knowseverythingaboutyou  /  @vihilum ( tommy or nance! )  /  @dvarapala  /  @shadowedvales  /  @sihnon  /  @sawbcnes  /  @asteritm  /  @masterwcrk  /  @hostica  /  @katesgotabow  /  @wheeling  /  @cleryc  /  @wihlliams  /  @flaeyed​  /  @telekinsis or @barhd  /  @alwaysrevvedup  /  @flayerlinked  /  @partysheart or @rebelcliche  /  @mikewheelertm  /  @temporarywiin (jessica or ashton!)  /  @trashm0uth  /  @finalhorrors​ (stephanie or eddie k.)

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙀𝘿𝘿𝙄𝙀 𝙈𝙐𝙉𝙎𝙊𝙉                           (hellmartyr​)

you do realize you don’t have to do this alone right ? — @greenscrunchy / confrontations

❝ 𝐈’𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐓, 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄. ❞ the dial clicked as eddie tuned to channel 6 before placing the plastic-sheathed walkie in chrissy’s hand, ❝ just, from the comfort of the van. ❞

      his 1970s fossil-guzzling monstrosity was a shabby stand-in for her hi-tech mobile unit cousin. no reinforced chassis, no double-armored moulding, no supercomputers with crash resistant casing. and her engine? oh, her engine, a chain smoking banshee with tuberculosis on speed. yet for all her inorganic flaws, she was an ornery steel heifer who never failed to bulldoze eddie out of a pinch.

      the hollow bumps popped underfoot as eddie manically pranced from one corner to its parallel. he rifled through several pouches before locating a tablet shoved into the abyss of an overstuffed duffel. speakers chirped in greeting as the handheld booted through a logo to the menu. a few taps populated the screen with an empirical application with a plain royal background. the mechanic set the device beside the young woman before tampering with the componentry on the shoulder strap of his vest. twin beady red lights blinked to life on the front and back of his right shoulder. a high definition projection of the van’s insides engulfed the tablet screen, mimicking eddie’s jostling.

      ❝ you can switch views. be the eyes in the back of my head, ❞ indicating the navigational options in the lower corner, ❝ there’s a three centimeter blind spot on either side. not sure it’s darwin award winning, but, uh, something to keep in mind. ❞

      hesitation burned like bile in the gullet. chris wasn’t a meek little fawn ready to drop at the first sign of struggle. there was no questioning her intelligence either. she was leagues beyond his bell curve but even the brightest could be overwhelmed under maddening pressure. and it wasn’t just tasks, he was asking for her to have a hand in his safety. shit was bound to go south, and if it went far enough to t-bone the equator, eddie wasn’t keen on the young woman feeling responsible if he was ripped apart.

      snow compacted with a crunch as ed leapt down from the tail. keys jangled as he slid them towards her foot along with further instructions, ❝ keep the doors locked. fuck it, even it’s me. i knock more than three times, something’s wrong. you get to the wheel and just, ❞ his lip curled inward uncomfortable, hand frozen mid-gesture as eddie considered how request she leave him for dead. he settled on a halted hand-chop and wan smile, ❝ drive. ❞

      eddie was about to seal the doors when an eerie cry humbled the dense night air. his spine jammed into an uneasy curve. nothing moved aside from the motes of snow in the moon’s bleached reflection bouncing off the frozen earth. the low timber carried overhead, slipping through the trees like phantom waves. nerves estranged, eddie fished a pistol from his belt and offered it to her, grip first, ❝ live rounds. safety off. don’t go for the head, aim for the gut. ❞

                  ❝  eddie munson, that’s not what i meant and you know it! don’t leave me in here, ❞  but this was the munson way, to dig his heels in to the point of no return. the mad metalhead had pure concentrated decision writ across his narrow face and it frightened chrissy more than she’d be willing to put to words. at least, not in front of eddie. not when he’d spent so much of his prior time around her ensuring he didn’t fumble his way across all of her tripwires at once. she couldn’t very well tell him that after months of pure care and concern, he was waltzing his way through all of her worst fears like a blindfolded ballerina dancing through a bank vault robbery: being left completely alone in a dangerous place, being left behind in general, being stuck IN THE DARK, being told things were fine when they weren’t, being a person she liked doing something unquestioningly stupid, and the list could have rambled on. 

numb disbelief forced her to watch every sharp movement eddie made while booting up the ranch’s surveillance tablet and syncing it to his shoulder-mounted camera. this wasn’t helping. all chrissy could associate with her bonus eyes was a 360 degree (minus six centimeters) view of all the bad bad bad that was surely waiting for ed out in the blackness. 

                    ❝  great, i can watch you get mauled, ❞  she muttered down at the screen with its heralding rotating ‘SWR’ in the top right corner. mocking her. such a paragon of safety and in its name eddie munson was about to rank-and-file like a tin soldier out into a field of unknowns containing creatures as big as those four-legged star wars machines and worse. at least those armored walkers had no teeth, and the institution both she and eddie worked for dealt with very real quadrupeds that absolutely did. littered with teeth of all kinds, they were, and more deadly than hunks of moving metal.

all the accessories and steps to go with them were supposed to make her feel active in whatever this little expedition was meant to be, but chrissy’s tongue tangled around the truth that it was making it worse. oh so much worse and creating a bigger sense of helplessness than mad-eye munson had set forth to author. but here they were and by the time keys hit the crumbling rubber floormats, she was done.

                   ❝  so i have to sit and wait until something with two legs and two wings knocks on the window?? eddie, you’ve got to be kidding. don’t you dare close that door, don’t you  ——— ❞   exactly then the call of the wild trumpeted its primal prerogative and all words ceased in favor of divining the source and distance away. absolutely impossible within the copse of trees eddie had parked them, but painfully human instinct demanded they try. eddie’s confounding response was to, once more, arm her instead of himself. 

                   ❝  you want me to try and shoot something? ❞  she squeaked.  ❝  nuh-uh, not happening. ❞  the seatbelt pinning her to the faded front seat flew apart, released into god’s hands now. chrissy cunningham would not just be van loitering like a fluffy little duck in a kiddie pool while 1) terrifying monsters circled her without her knowledge and 2) eddie traipsed into the jaws of death without at least a little backup. the matter was settled in her book.  ❝  i’m coming with you before you’re too far into the next clearing and realize maybe four eyes are better than two. okay? ❞  with great haste she gingerly slapped the pistol across the empty seat and back to eddie’s vicinity, all too eager to get it away, away.  ❝  just... don’t make me use that.  ❞

the brevity of chrissy’s story matters because what’s the prevailing mood after she dies? that she had so much potential. that she had so much to live for.

what, then, is the takeaway?

so do you.