Oh Teehee I'm In A Silly Goofy Mood (I Am Hanging On By A Fucking Thread)

pretend i'm dead.

dialogue prompts from pretend i’m dead by jen beagin.

sorry. i’ve made you uncomfortable with my creepy honesty.

would you care for a bear claw?

if god gives you lemons, find a new god.

i’m going to miss you. i miss you already.

you’re not even here. where are you right now?

do you live in a commune or something?

i wasn’t born like this, you know.

what’s your least favorite word?

i’ve always felt a weird affinity for monotony and repetition.

i make my living as a thief.

you smell like hope.

let’s embrace our lone wolf status.

all i ask is that you try not to judge me.

i don’t think we’re done with each other yet, do you?

could you come over? just for five minutes? i’m freaking out.

that’s why i took so many notes. i knew you’d want to know exactly what happened.

since when do you care about dying?

stay. i’ll read you a story.

i read your diary.

i fully want to make out with you again.

i’m like, totally lost without you.

i apologize for the tragic ending.

loneliness is a presence you can feel in your body.

i don’t have anyone making deals with the devil for me.

there’s something supernatural about you.

i don't like being pushed around by something i can't see.

i'm sorry. i'm just joking around, it's a defense mechanism.

you are what you talk about.

feelings are just stories. they have a beginning and an end.

don't be so sure my family wants to hear from me.

sometimes i think you make this shit up on the fly.

were you hitting on me last night?

you run like you're being chased by a demon.

you've always been good at pretending like nothing happened.

you're not ready yet. but i'll be here when you are.

it wasn't your fault. you know that, right?

what do you say? can we keep each other's secrets for a while?

which secret do you want me to keep?

hearing about myself in the past is like hearing about some other person.

god, you have a mean bone.

why are you lying?

honest to god, does that excuse ever work?

stop stalling and look at me.

when are you going to stop mocking me?

everyone has some psychic ability. you have to learn how to see first, and then you just read what you see.

do you know what it's like to be in love with someone who hates your guts?

i said i majored in ___, i never said i graduated.

i'm getting you out of here.

i've been thinking about whether or not to tell you something.

you know, there's a support group for people like you.

you and i have met for a reason.

you're either an optimist or a masochist.

just me, myself, and i. we bicker constantly.

i'll be your friend.

it was only a week, but it was the longest year of my life.

you ever own your part in anything. you make everyone else wear your shit.

i don't want a relationship. i want retribution.

Supernatural & Paranormal Sentences, Vol. 4

(Sentences from various sources for muses exploring the unexplained. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"So, at this point, we have no human suspects?"

"We're going to a cabin in the woods in the middle of nowhere?"

"That's a superstition. It doesn't mean it's true."

"You can't tell me that what happened didn't freak you out just a little bit!"

"What could you possibly be looking for by probing up there?"

"I can't follow any of this!"

"People believe what they want to believe."

"Look! It's a spaceship!"

"Did it just get cold?"

"Maybe this is a sign?"

"The living and the dead belong in different places."

"Is there not just one tiny part of you that wonders if I'm right?"

"Call me crazy, but that looks just like an alien implant."

"I'm not sure, but I believe I was visited by a giant."

"Is there anything that you don't believe in?"

"It's definitely a spaceship."

"What I'm saying is, that ship didn't crash - it parked."

"It came down in the rock."

"I've never seen so many trees in my life!"

"What touched this place cannot be quantified or understood by human science."

"I have a gift. I look at people and I see things."

"What year is this?"

"I assure you, my intentions are pure."

"Some mysteries aren't meant to be solved."

"Is it me, or is this just... Wrong?"

"You look like you've paid a visit to the Devil himself."

"You can't charm your way out of a bullet."

"I've seen you in a dream."

"I'll advise you to keep your eye on the woods. The woods are wondrous here, but strange."

"Every place is dangerous to the ignorant."

"I am done being afraid. It's your turn now."

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? )

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙀𝘿𝘿𝙄𝙀 𝙈𝙐𝙉𝙎𝙊𝙉                              ( alwaysrevvedup​ )

“I love the smell of autumn.” @greenscrunchy

This admission, as small and inconsequential as it is, causes a small smile to unfurl on his features. Chrissy’s expression is so earnest, eyes agleam with an undampened enthusiasm. It’s difficult to not be endeared by it, and Eddie certainly isn’t fighting against being endeared. 

“Yeah? Me too. It’s…practically my favorite time of year.” There’s a hint of awkward shyness skirting around the words, and he breaks gaze with Chrissy for a moment, looking ahead as they walk through the woods. “There’s that crisp, dampness that hangs in the air and the smell of the fallen pine needles and how…” Dark eyes turn upward at the canopy of branches laden with colorful leaves overhead, “how the trees almost look like they’re painted with fire.” 

an array of woodland confetti crunched underfoot, the symphonic chaos of the season in full effect beneath two sets of shoes. it really was the perfect time of year; time for hooded sweatshirts and bonfires and long walks and staying outside far, far from the stale, concrete-stiff air of her house. and time, as it turned out, for getting to know eddie munson. 

chrissy had yet to put a sure finger on why she wasn’t waiting to jump out of her skin around him. but once over the hurdle over her own mental guardrails, there’s a distinct, unexpected air of confidence and....compassion? left in his wake. mixtures of sweet, dry air and eddie’s carefree grins made breathing easy. wow, who knew?  ❝ you make everything sound like it’s from a fairytale. ❞  as if there was magic in even the most mundane of hawkins details. another addition to the list of surprises she wouldn’t have associated with the resident hawkins high wild child.  ❝ i dunno that i’d have ever thought of the trees that way.... ❞  obviously chrissy needed to look up more and started almost immediately by burying her focus in the kaleidoscope of genuinely fiery colors above her head.  ❝ yeah. yeah! the branches do look a little like they’re burning! or like someone in theater threw way too much paint around. it’s really pretty, though. ❞

Susan Sontag, from “Reborn: Journals and Notebooks, 1947-1963″

no one wants to shake laura cunningham harder than me when i remember chrissy’s full name is “chrissy elizabeth cunningham”. her parents (read: her mother) named her chrissy. not christine, not christina, chrissy. a childish nickname meant to preserve her girlishness, like a living doll, her entire life.

“being kind takes zero effort” Lies.

Being kind takes enormous effort. Being kind means humbling yourself- it means saying no to your pride- it means forgiving someone instantly- it means putting someone convenience over your own for some time- it means acting as if the universe doesn’t revolve around you. Being kind is hard. Being kind is not butterflies and sickly sweet, half-witted compliments. It’s work. It’s serving others. It’s being silent when you don’t want to. It’s being honest. It’s being gentle. It’s being true even if the other person disagrees. Being kind is one of the hardest things a person can do and we need more of it.

well, it was a life worth saving.               /              @galaxycrxss​ (echo)

                          ❝ yours is too. ❞  

as if in deathly agreement - or disdain - a demobat screeched from somewhere far off. chrissy felt shivers wrack from her shoulders all the way down her spine like frigid minnows; one demobat close enough to hear was one too close, in her humble opinion. the hollow in which they huddled felt marginally warmer than the shadows outside and for that she was grateful, but warmth could not defend against dread in this dark underworld. 

                         ❝ you’ve done so well to stay alive down here. i don’t think i could have. it’s not life, though. you should be home with your brother. ❞  easier said than done, if still true. it solidified the roiling, everpresent discomfort roiling in chrissy’s gut to watch the bags stretch below echo’s eyes and track the aches of survival made physical across the poor boy’s frame. this form of him looked nothing like the echo she’d so often spotted supporting his exuberant twin on the sidelines just above and behind the cheer squad during games. a not-so-special edition of the real echo who needed to be anywhere else but here and could he please take her with him? him to his sibling and her to matty. 

                         ❝ there’s got to be a way out. right? ❞

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?  ❞

𝐚    𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥   𝐢𝐧   𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐭.   this is GREENSCRUNCHY :  an independent, highly selective, plot-based  𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐦   sourced from netflix’s  stranger things season 4.  ¡suıʞʍɐɥ oʇ ǝɯoɔlǝʍ

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 : disordered eating, mental illness, unreality, mental manipulation, psychological / physical / parental abuse, bodily injury, recreational drug usage, suicidal ideation, psychological horror, gore, body horror, and lots of death. PLEASE proceed at your own risk and take care of yourselves. 🧡  

                                    carrd.  playlist.  mixtape.  starter call.  memes. 

KEEP YOUR CHIN UP & YOUR HEAD HIGH:  //  girls on the run | girl up | national organization for women | equality now | women employed | she’s the first | girls who code | writegirl | help women in mexico put an end to femicide | femicide in mexico carrd | malala fund | girls for a change | step up | polaris project | learning for justice | foodcorps | freedom united | support ukraine (us) | support ukraine (au) | pious projects | GAZA FUNDS //

also on the squad: godsdeal  (max mayfield)    bloodycheckers  (mixed-media alice liddell) 

important canon notes below: 

first of all, thank you for being here and interested in this little chrissy blog. second, across the fandom the prevailing aus for chrissy seem to take place during the events of season 4. that is not the case for this portrayal’s main verse. chrissy remains dead for the entirety of the season, only reviving when robin/nancy/steve blast vecna. first killed, first revived.

as vecna emulates the lich of the same name from dnd lore and has noticeably displayed the bodies of chrissy, fred, and patrick in his mind space for max to stumble upon, which, coupled with the line “they’re not gone, eleven. they’re still with me,” provides some implication that the consciousnesses (or souls) of vecna’s victims still exist somewhere inside vecna or in a place of his choosing. this is only emphasized by his stealing of their eyes upon killing them, since “eyes are the windows to the soul”. especially powerful liches possess phylacteries, aka a protective central storage of power for their soul to draw upon when they need to regenerate. the three victims’ souls may very well have been stored in vecna’s “phylactery” mind space - his family’s deconstructed house - for that purpose. when vecna is attacked he is weakened to the point of potentially letting souls slip from his grasp. in a similar fashion that max can enter and exit, chrissy is released from the immediate bondage of vecna’s “phylactery” and able to slip through the cracks. although, unlike max, she isn’t released into the real world but the realm that vecna dwells in: the upside down. until she can find her way out, it’s there that she stays. in the real world, her buried body dissolves and her casket, when exhumed, is discovered to be empty.

long story short, all this can be found on my verses page and this drabble explaining how chrissy woke up. all this is to give chrissy her own unique story that both gives her a chance at agency, a solo story of survival, and manages to keep the timeline of s4 unchanged. thanks so much for reading!!!