Here’s Your “wow, What The Hell, Jason” For Today:  There Are Multiple Guys On The Hawkins Cheer

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. ❞

𝔻𝔼𝔸ℝ 𝔻𝕌𝕊𝕋𝕀ℕ ℍ𝔼ℕ𝔻𝔼ℝ𝕊𝕆ℕ                               (barhd​)

                 FAMILY     REFERENCES    /     SENTENCE    STARTERS  .

@greenscrunchy​ asked: ​❝ you remind me a little bit of my brother. ❞ 

                       HE   WAS   TAKEN   OFF   GUARD   BY   THE   COMMENT   coming   from   Hawkin’s   queen.   Soft   eyes   glanced   up   at   her,   head   inclined   to   the   side   as   he   did   so.   He   was   quiet,   sat   alone   after   school   until   the   halls   cleared.   It   was   better   this   way.   Less   people   to   pick   on   his   curls,   the   way   he   dressed,   or   by   the   fact   that   he   was   in   Hellfire.   Of   course,   that   didn’t   matter   much   anymore.   That   wasn’t   the   reason   why   he   stayed   so   late.   That   was   just   the   bonus,   “   I…   uh…   ”

            LIPS   PARTED   TO   SAY   MORE   WORDS,   BUT   THEY   were   lost   in   a   small   grunt.   Dustin   put   down   his   pencil   and   closed   his   notebook.   Homework   was   already   done,   just   one   more   problem.   Besides,   he   should   be   going   to   get   his   bike   to   go   home   now,   “   Your   brother?   ”   he   didn’t   know   much   about   Chrissy,   but   he   didn’t   know   she   had   a   brother,   “   I   do?   Is   that   a…   good   thing?   ”   words   questioned   as   he   started   to   slowly   pack   away   his   things.

according to ancient history class, there were three ways to become royalty: take the throne by force, earn the throne by feat or battle or lineage, or be crowned by civilians. the resulting level of power seemed to be the same, but the most beloved of monarchs historically were chosen. 

chrissy cunningham had landed squarely between earning the throne through dating jason and her leadership of the cheer squad, and being pulled to the top ranking by public opinion. the former was a side effect she hadn’t asked for, and the latter was flattering if confounding. all chrissy did was smile and say hello, and hawkins high seemed to think she had it all. each day they assumed so was another day chrissy succeeded in hiding the hideous thoughts populating her mind with damning growls. outside pressure crystallized the voices into sharp barbs more difficult to shatter than diamonds and far more dark. 

then sometimes, when eyes were turned elsewhere, when the hallways were quiet, she could temporarily abandon a title festooned with never-ending rumours and expectations. that late-afternoon illusion was broken by the outline of one dustin henderson slouched against the wall, head buried in stacks of homework. chrissy slowed her nearly silent pace to her locker. the image radiated with a passing, familiar bittersweetness that urged chrissy to remark on it, already knowing her interruption would startle the freshman when it was too late to stop. 

yet chrissy found herself hoping she looked less of a gawk-worthy queen and more like an average senior coming from cheer practice in her tank top and hawkins tigers shorts. it was a long shot. though, she’d not properly traded words with dustin since the school year began. he might surprise her. 

                             ❝ yeah, i do. his name is matty. you’re a freshman, right? he’s two grades below you. ❞  fading sunlight caught the sweat-curled ends of her ponytail, strawberry blonde blinking copper as chrissy scuffed her left sneaker against a seam in the linoleum.   ❝ he loves to read. always gets this....focused look on his face when he does. like you had just now. ❞  she stalled the sudden, misplaced urge to chew her lip and smiled instead.  ❝ it’s really sweet. ❞

💭 + what kind of jewelry Chrissy likes to wear most.

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

small and tasteful. classic and classy. arm her with a pair of diamond studs, pearl studs, a little gold hoop set, and the most subtle dangly earrings with...maybe...a bunch of flowers as the charm and she’ll be set for life earrings wise. if she’s feeling particularly snazzy, either white pearl or yellow or pink pearl studs. studs are her preferred simply because hair gets stuck in them less when she’s flying around during cheer, and don’t often get caught on her clothing. 

necklaces, she goes for gold more than silver. chrissy can pull off both metals equally well but finds herself drawn to gold more for its warmth - and how well it works with her hair. her favorites are long statement necklaces with skinny chains and a statement charm or little ones (like her ‘86 necklace) that twinkle neatly at the base of her neck. a little sparkle is preferred but nothing too eyecatching. or too big. her mother loves chunky statement jewelry and not only are they not chrissy’s style, she just can’t stand the look of the damn things. so ostentatious.

if she ever wears rings it’s one at a time so she can mess with it and nothing that can snag or else her mother will have a mini-fit. but she does enjoy wearing them when she isn’t cheering since they help with nervous energy. weirdly, she gravitates toward silver rings over gold, but has collected a few of both. the silver are another reason she only wears one at a time: so they don’t clash with whatever else she’s wearing. 

bracelets are hit or miss. she tends to go without, sticking to hairbands or scrunchies instead. you’ll sooner find her wearing an anklet during the summer or a friendship/woven/beaded bracelet than anything resembling a bangle.

her little jewelry box at home is chiefly her favorite thin and short chain necklaces with tiny charms, some simple rings, lots of studs, a couple small hoop sets, and one charm bracelet. 

chrissy on vigil by max’s bedside. 

switching between rubbing the blood back into max’s fingers, putting lotion on max’s hands, brushing max’s hair, and taking stock of her own still bruised limbs.

sitting by lucas while he’s reading to max and taking over when lucas has to leave or gets tired. 

asking lucas (and whoever else is willing) to tell stories about max so no one even gets close to forgetting what max was like alive and well. 

chrissy telling dustin she’s noticed his hat collection for a while and likes all of them. being fascinated by dustin’s fascination with radios. 

chrissy asking erica with genuine interest how she got into d&d, immediately getting more curious when she learns about figure painting and dice towers and homemade maps and dioramas. erica is no cliché and she has too many facets to ever be boring.

chrissy finding out nancy knows a thing or two about guns and with great trepidation asking if nancy will show her what she knows. saying she needs to read the school paper more. promising nancy she’s got the clear head and the clear eyes to see what’s happening in the world and call it out truthfully. admiring nancy’s dedication to not being just some girl. 

going to family video and getting into an almost heated discussion with robin over the ranking of brat pack movies before deciding st. elmo’s fire is superior. or maybe it’s the outsiders. is it the outsiders? probably. steve is making cartoon blinking noises.

chrissy being endlessly amused and in awe of robin, her solid sense of self. soon showing up to band concerts with a single pompom to wave in silence as a show of support.

something about will drawing chrissy in, even if he’s near silent, until she pulls him aside and asks what he’s feeling, if it’s anything like what she felt. getting to sit down together and explain all the leftover fear and dread to someone who might actually understand how heavy and how inevitable it feels. 

chrissy teaching max leg strengthening exercises.

driving to max’s house and either existing in post-vecna silence from the pain of living through it or doggedly pushing through and either cussing at their bodies’ weaknesses together or chrissy taking max’s hand and urging them both across the yard to the clothesline and back, then to the dog and back. and then to eddie’s house and back. 

chrissy asking eddie if there’s anything that can be done about his uncle’s trailer.

bringing wayne a new mug and flowers, desperately sorry he had to see her twisted the way she had been on his floor. 

every time she goes to see eddie bringing a hat or a mug for his uncle.

chrissy trying to ask what everyone’s favorite song is, but when it gets too hard to say and stings to remember, she asks about favorite albums. 

going to record stores and digging through bargain bins and whatever she can find that makes her think of the hawkins heroes. 

chrissy going to the picnic table clearing with a trash bag and determinedly cleaning up the tiny little space as if it will somehow cleanse it. 

chrissy being benched from cheer but still showing up to every game, now able to cheer for her squad even more than simply the players on the court. the girls become much less than just simple squad-mates and much more like friends.

chrissy telling mike and will she’s admired how close their friendship has been over the years. 

chrissy asking all four of the freshman boys how long they’ve liked d&d and what got them started. 

just once getting to have a conversation with argyle and hanging on every word that comes out of his mouth with a huge smile on her face, completely entranced and entertained. 

chrissy visiting fred and patrick’s graves to clean and decorate them. she didn’t know fred but from a distance and knew patrick on a friendly surface level, but she knows the horrors they experienced before they died. that’s enough. 

chrissy going to the hideout on tuesdays, not just to see eddie play, but to see corroded coffin. to hear the band members eddie is so proud of playing their hearts out. to actually learn their names and talk to them all and get to know them. she doesn’t scream or whoop or holler during their set but remembers particularly sharp riffs and rhythms to compliment later. asking about song names and lyrics and inspirations.

chrissy telling all of her female friends daily that they’re beautiful, slowly, eventually abandoning references to appearance altogether and telling them they’re amazing and smart or clever instead. what she might have liked to hear, unladen with subtext. 

the party having lunch picnics on the school lawn. 

creating summer game plans together and apart.

library dates.

desperately trying to reclaim any sense of normalcy within hawkins. 

today, i kind of want to emphasize my absolutely stupid volume of chrissy themed playlists. if you want to catch the tone of this blog in a tangible way, this is how!

i. chrissy's playlist ™ ii. chrissy's walkman iii. instrumentals

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? )

there’s so much wrong with this place. everything, actually. 

as if the void dimension’s very existence wasn’t crime enough, chrissy stumbled down a hill covered in vines that appeared locked in a neverending battle with themselves, writhing and thrashing until too exhausted to continue. the ground crawled, the sky grumbled. unearthly animal voices chittered nearby every time chrissy so much as scuffed her sneakers too loudly. 

if her nerves weren’t completely shot by the time she escaped, they’d be numb enough to fool her into thinking they were useless. 

like the sky itself was ill, it regularly spat out streams of bloodstained lightning to wash the stale air in a rainbow of bruised indigo across sickly green, mocking her own bruised body - or complementing it. every sound echoed only to disappear moments afterward. even the echoes seemed doomed to die mere yards from their origin.

time burnt away meaninglessly the further chrissy walked on....and on.....and on until  —  yes, finally, main street snuck into view. hawkins always seemed so small from behind a set of wheels. just another pint-sized half awake middle american town that only stirred on weekends and holidays, where people still used the word “newfangled” and the church bell still told the time better than anyone’s watch. family businesses rarely closed because the family seldom moved. home was familiar. home was predictable, safe. 

chrissy had never been more sure of anything in her life when she stared down at the rotten facsimile of hawkins and reminded herself it was the farthest thing from safe. 

what she ought to have done was make a beeline for the police station. that would have been the wisest, smartest thing. but at the sight of the mayor’s office a few blocks away, a wall of exhaustion hit chrissy harder than a freight train. all that walking after an impromptu resurrection did nothing for her stamina and the thought of rest was enough to make her want to burst into tears. enough for her to creep up the office steps and gently pry open the door. inside was silent as a graveyard and twice as dark. dust motes floated in in the air, swirling into eddies while she tiptoed down the central hallway. going up the stairwell was tantamount to courting disaster - even keeping her back to it felt risky. then the smallest stroke of luck materialized in a plush (if musty) chaise lounge tucked away in an office. with some difficulty chrissy managed to drag it all the way back to the front doors and scoot it against the wall adjacent. this way, nothing could get in or out without her knowing. the best she could ask for at the moment. all that was left was to lay down, find an angle that didn’t exacerbate the shooting pain in her shoulder, and attempt to sleep. 

pain lingered no matter how she arranged her limbs, but sleep... sleep crept up on her without warning. the world fell into darkness so quickly that when chrissy awoke it was with a twitch of terror. she couldn’t remember toeing the familiar, milky line between consciousness and the void.

everything looked exactly the same as when she’d arrived. 

had hours passed? had days?

without any shift in light and no sound from the church bell or town center clock, chrissy might as well have been in the same place forever. such a thought blasted shivers into her every extremity. time to move along. this place gave her every species of the creeps ever invented. 

the next two blocks to the police station were small potatoes compared to her haunted trek from the creel house. her body still ached with every bend in her stride. rest had done nothing for her pain, only giving her sufficient energy to push through. well, that was something, wasn’t it? 

despite the flickering hope the notion of weapons provided, that light was dashed by the rattle of very secure locks on every door chrissy tried. she slammed her good shoulder into all of them; none did so much as tremble in their frames. the windows were barred even if she could find a rock to smash the glass. in the end, all she had were her frantic fists and shouts of panic that she knew, chrissy knew, were more foolhardy than anything else. any number of the nightmares lurking in shadows that she never spotted could hear her and come rushing out, discovering the easiest prey to ever wander in their vicinity. her yelps were careless and scratched like sandpaper over the tender meat of her throat, but she couldn’t seem to stop. she’d come all this way for nothing otherwise. this couldn’t be for nothing. she couldn’t let it stop here.

                               ❝  hello?? please, is somebody in there? i need help, please. hello?? ❞  if only faithful chief hopper was still alive, he’d have come running. maybe chief powell would, too. anyone, anyone.  ❝  it’s chrissy, chrissy cunningham. please, i don’t know what’s happening anymore. help, HELP!!!  ❞  

                             a note to @hellmartyr​ 

𝙸'𝙼 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚂𝙰𝚈.

horror multi-muse directed by vox lux.

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

as i watch (and rewatch and rewatch) s4 ep4, it's impossible not to reflect on how each of vecna's victims may hazily or not so hazily represent different stages of giving up on life as a young person. across the board, all four teens presented flickering signs of internal turmoil that could have been clocked under a more watchful eye. but it's still those small differences, those small choices, that make a world of difference when it comes to approaching a struggling friend.

chrissy didn't truly want to die, just to escape. she easily could have been pulled out of her state of desperation if someone had truly stepped in a little earlier. the one helpful person she managed to confide in, ms. kelley, despite ms. kelley's valuable efforts, didn't have the time or the bandwidth for her she might have liked. the next person didn't know chrissy well enough to properly step in and intervene, even though he tried and came the closest anyone had so far. but before that, none of her peers had invested in her in an actionable way despite her tries to find her way through the cracks of her own self-made image and call for help. everyone assumed everything was fine, until it wasn't. because it was chrissy.

fred was the bottler, who channeled and ignored his way through guilt and grief to build himself a normal life out of ruins. and it worked! it worked until a trigger appeared. enough of a trigger to bring him back down. it started small, but grew more debilitating over a short period and sent him down a dark, consuming spiral that he all of a sudden couldn't escape from. he'd unintentionally isolated himself, and no matter who might have wanted to step in for him in his time of need, they were too far away. fred didn't truly want to die either. but once his trigger became too close and suffocating, he lost his way.

patrick was the wilter, who incrementally became less and less of himself among his family and friends. the way his father treated him ground down his self esteem and warped the voice inside his head until it became nothing but his father's unkind words. unfortunately, the descent was so gradual that all his friends adapted until suddenly it was long past too late to pull patrick from the depths of his sunken self worth and tell him he deserved better.

then there's max. the avoidant. the stoic. she plugged along, trying to pull herself up and out by her own bootstraps. but the biggest difference here was the open investment her friends maintained in her life. they were willing to bend over backwards to remain by her side until she reached out a hand for help. they tried and tried and tried until it was almost too late, but by then, they'd done enough. max saw just how much she was watched over. she saw her friends' concern for what it was: love, not nagging complaints that she "wasn't who she used to be". they cared more for her well being than to where the old max had disappeared. they paid attention to what mattered to her and offered it when she was finally ready. at every turn after the graveyard, she worked to accept more help and they did the work to understand what kind of communication max needed so that she could continue trusting they had her best interest at heart.

td;lr - love your friends loudly. you never know who might need what.