𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙏𝙄𝙉𝘼 𝙎𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙎                        ( @tinasparty​

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙀𝘿𝘿𝙄𝙀 𝙈𝙐𝙉𝙎𝙊𝙉                           ( hellmartyr​ )

you deserve better than this … better than me … — @greenscrunchy / angsty prompts

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐒.

      at first eddie thought her sadness was a detail in a dream. a specter of the subconscious, summoned by whatever bullshit mayhem his beer-battered brain was slathering across his cortex. bad trip without the high, when senses got so convinced that reality was just a suggestion right up until your eyes split open and the lucid imagery turned a slippery mess.

      awareness emerged from a cloudy pool, prodding floaty nerves with tingling pins and needles. chrissy was a silent echo ringing in his ears, her words too old to be strung together were now indiscernible water drops dispersed into the corners like shades.

      dark eyes fluttered open to an even darker room. a backlighting of blue cut through the gap between the curtains and the window. the back of his hand, stationed beside his nose, soaked up the cobalt. eddie’s fingers retracted from the temptation to reach over and prove to himself that his friend was still asleep. that the lonely lie had not been real, just a figment of a morbid imagination. but the sour knot in his gut warned that the moment his warmth met hers, she’d betray them both with a wince.

      ❝ whose voice told you that? ❞ he asked the deep blue, ❝ vecna’s? ❞ venom coated the name. two thousand miles was not enough to stall a fresh the anger felt each time eddie recalled his unseen enemy. the lich survived, the chorus of heartbeats buried in his honeycomb scars reminded him that the promise of retribution at the climax of a hero’s tale was a fantasy, not a guarantee.

      crisp sheets rustled as the young man twisted around and peered at the soft outline balled up on the other side of the barrier. eddie hovered, searching for an explanation too private to see.

      ❝ yours? ❞ gingerly he sat up to project his plea over the fort, ❝ chris? ❞

      the headboard creaked against his weight as eddie propped himself against the frame. his perspective switched between the popcorn ceiling and the vortexed donald duck on his nightshirt.

      ❝ y’know, for a really long time, the only friends i had were in books. i, uh, i think middle school was the first time i hung out with someone and not because we were sent to the principal’s office together. so, can you level with me? because this isn’t exactly my field of expertise, ❞ the back of his skull clocked the wall as eddie fixated plaster clusters above, finding cohesive shapes were there was none, ❝ and fuck if i know what can be better than the best. ❞

a turned back was small defense from the wave of honesty soaking the darkened bedroom. chrissy had balled herself around a swelling hurricane of inferiority masked by a now faded silhouette of tweety bird, its cheery yellow emblazoned across her nightshirt faded into black shadow. her formerly upward mood had faded with an equal ferocity earlier that afternoon. being hopeful, even happy, something like truly happy, around eddie had become nearly as easy as breathing. natural. but it was as easy and natural to watch her bright little world closing in around her after listening to a crazed and caustic telephone message from none other than laura cunningham.

if nothing else, laura was consistent. there wasn’t a word in the message chrissy hadn’t been pierced by a thousand time before. she knew the cadence of her mother’s derision almost better than the sound of her own private thoughts. but it wasn’t a mother’s ire that bounced around her mind at the speed of a rogue basketball, or even a mother’s doubt.

                        ❝  mine. i say so. ❞

after all his kindness that he’d brought to her doorstep, this is what she had to offer. doubt.

                        ❝ i’m not just saying that, eddie. you –  ❞  god, what was the point? what was the point of her, being such a bottomless pit on whom generosity was wasted because she couldn’t even grasp it long enough for a chance at absolution? honestly, she must not deserve a drop if she was as watertight as a sieve. 

                        ❝ you came all this way and i’m a mess. ❞  the vise of her jaw clapped shut as how she truly sounded dawned upon her. belated good sense whispered the danger of what eddie might think she meant, right after the words marched out of her mouth.  ❝ scratch that. having you here…. it’s more than anyone’s done before? i guess i feel awful for wanting you to stay but i really don’t want you to leave. ❞

all the sequestered pain she’d been carrying like buried shards of glass since eddie arrived flayed her insides on the way out, dragging stringy regrets and shriveled, acid-burnt hopes along with them. a piteous river of entrails with so many shameful secrets on display, knotted beyond any hope of detangling and none of her tossing and turning in the middle of the night would sort her out. 

in the midst of her disquiet, chrissy eased to her other side where the pillow wall waited. her stupidest idea possibly ever. just over the top she could see eddie’s head, but that was all. it was a protection and a taunt all at once. a joke she'd cracked at her own expense. her left hand lifted almost without her permission to skate the top of the farcical wall and tug it down, just a little, to pull eddie’s presence a tiny bit closer. maybe this way he could hear what she was really trying to say in between all her bouts of lunacy. 

                        ❝ do you know what left handed people are called?  ❞

reblog this to give the person you reblogged this from a gold star because they’ve been stellar today and they deserve it ⭐️

a nightmare on elm street (1984) / scream (1996) / i know what you did last summer (1997)

"suburban intervention" by ian strange

𝔻𝔼𝔸ℝ   𝔼𝕃𝔼ℕ𝕆ℝ𝔼   𝕎ℍ𝕀𝕋𝔼,                                       (bakcr​)

*  ―      settling dust.   |  accepting.

            “ come on… wake up. please… please wake up… “ 🙃

* .  ♡ she should have gone home. should have tried to make her way BACK to home ages ago. maybe none of this would have happened. maybe she would have been able to wake up, in her bed, in her time. but of course - life was a bitch and none of that happened. ellie knew that there was SOME trauma in her life, but she didn’t think that it was enough to gain the attention of vecna. that fucking clock chiming was enough to give her MORE trauma and she wondered if that was WHY it was there in the first place. but then, all of a sudden - it had stopped. no more chimes, no more bad dreams, it was silent. until her paranoia and night terrors kicked in again. and this was the 80s, working through something was hard.

                                                              so when she and @greenscrunchy​ got closer, she knew that at least SOMEONE would understand what she was going through. it had been a really bad night terror - one where she would scream bloody murder and people would think there actually WAS a murder. ellie could feel hands gripping onto her shoulders, shaking her slightly - nails digging into her skin. she was on the cusp of consciousness, but it was taking a longer time than normal for her to wake up. almost a solid ten seconds later, did ellie’s eyes snap open. her breathing heavy, like she had just run a marathon without stopping - a sob and a cry. ellie sits up and falls onto chrissy - arms wrapping around the slender girl, who had been hovering over her - trying to wake her up for the past ten minutes. “ i’m sorry - ” the brunette kept repeating. “ i’m sorry, i’m sorry. ” she doesn’t want the trauma of vecna to come back, but sometimes her nightmares wouldn’t let her escape. “ chrissy … ” she groaned. “ fuck. ”

                                      ❝ don’t do this, not now. ellie…. ❞  the motions blurred feverish, superheated by chrissy’s depths of alarm and thunderous eagerness not to find out what happened when a girl out of time faded from one that wasn’t her own. if ellie were to be snatched by another something from a nightmare dimension… if at this very moment, in another place, ellie was screaming for help while chrissy cluelessly tried to give it without making a mite of difference, the cheerleader would never forgive herself. she’d never forgive herself, she’d never  ――

                                      ❝ oh, thank god, ❞  gasped sharply in tandem with ellie’s own jolted resurrection. chrissy flung her arms around all of her shaking friend available to reach. one set of fingers tangled with another as if to weave a net strong enough for the both of them to collapse on and keep steady.   ❝ it’s okay. i’ve got you. it’s alright. hey, breathe with me? ❞   this of course required chrissy to herself model some form of controlled lung motion – easier said than done. but years of cheer and airborne spills prepared her for this. it’s all about staying calm. staying focused. knowing where you were in space and how to contort to land safely. right now they were in the park, prickled by emeraldine grass around a picnic table, on a saturday in the beginning of may. all small things, but so weighty in the moment.

chrissy hated to admit it, but ellie was right. fuck was right.   ❝ don’t be sorry. those things in your head aren’t your fault. i just hoped… ❞  the urge to fidget seemed better redirected toward hauling the both of them squarely upright and leaning against the bench.  ❝ …that you wouldn’t get sucked somewhere no one could find you. or that you couldn’t come home from. ❞ 

( had this been how it felt to watch her float, to break? )

can chrissy season a skillet or must she undergo some training?

send me your character and I’ll tell you if I think they know how to season/care for cast iron cookware.

I don’t think she can. I’m so sorry Chrissy. Nothing about the Cunningh.am family screams cast iron enthusiasts. I feel like her mother would have some weird classist opinion on the use of cast iron. I feel like she grew up exclusively around soulless stainless steel cookware. Chrissy would probably enjoy cooking in cast iron later and learning about its care.

𝔻𝔼𝔸ℝ 𝔸𝕊ℍ𝕋𝕆ℕ 𝔽𝕆𝕎𝕃𝔼ℝ                                     (blueminke​)

@greenscrunchy​  asked:   “ i’ve been having weird dreams. i wondered if maybe the right album would help. “   /   chrissy to ashton   !

HE WASN’T THE BIGGEST FAN of the black and blue uniform that he was required to wear at the record store. It’s no secret that he’d rather be in his leather jacket - and if you ask him, that’s still a perfect fit for selling music. However, he desperately needs to keep this job, so… uniform it is. There’s a little chime at the door as she enters, which is what first grabs his attention - and then he sees just who is stopping by, which truly is the catalyst that has him approaching her. While the two weren’t very close, OF COURSE he knew the face of Chrissy Cunningham. Hell, he’d recognize most of the Hawkins faces, but hers… has him grinning as he slides his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “It usually works for me - and that’s not a sales pitch, it’s just the truth.” Words are interrupted by a light laugh. “You want somethin’ relaxing or that kind of music that just makes you let it all out?”

chrissy had been trying a different approach to small talk lately, at the behest of ms. kelly: even when admitting the entirety of how she felt seemed dangerous, hiding just a little bit of honesty here and there would lighten the load of keeping up appearances. ms. kelly promised others wouldn’t show her their backs so quickly if chrissy just gave it a go. so this was her giving it a go. with the guy at the record store. and it....worked? 

                         ❝ yeah? ❞  if consolation were a lipstick shade, she’d be wearing it. her smile stretched beyond the measurements of conversational to something appreciative. thankful. status as the perennially bright face of school spirit aside, the square footage of the high school appeared paltry in comparison to the places chrissy wanted to be cheerful just because. if she’s lucky, maybe the pleasant feeling she’d grasped would follow her outside into the clean air. because of music. she could talk about music. there’s more than enough material here and if his nameplate is to be believed, “ashton” actually has some salient thoughts on the topic.  ❝ i like options, ❞  the array of which is probably in the hundreds; it’s exciting. if this works, she’s going to sail into the land of nod quicker than a blink. at least, quicker than she had been.  ❝ maybe one record to dance to, and then one with lots of instruments?  ❞

Mothers Talk - Tears For Fears

thank you, cinnamoroll (that's a childhood dream right there) 🧡💛 and i'm so charmed to see the rest of the Strangers included in this. as it should be!

order up for @greenscrunchy!