Greenscrunchy - 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐒

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!!!

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

"I wouldn't want to bother anyone," I say as the thing inside of me eats me alive.

𝔻𝔼𝔸ℝ      𝔼𝔻𝔻𝕀𝔼      𝕄𝕌ℕ𝕊𝕆ℕ,                               (hellmartyr​)

𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐎𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 bombarded the theater with rapacious glee. metallic barks followed gluttonous drops as they sniffed out every crevice, every surface, like foxhounds in pursuit of their eponymous prey. the accompanying winds were equally ruthless, tearing at the woods that outlined campus. roots moaned in an uncanny human chorus as they clung to clods of drowned soil. barks of thunder followed claws of fearsome light, incensed by the trees’ refusal to surrender their centennial roosts.

      eddie munson had given up on music as he labored by candlelight. layers of rebar and concrete couldn’t placate the stormy quarrel, and each time the most satisfying part of a song was about to assail his eardrums — a peal of thunder injected a riff of its own. thus he surrendered to the company of silence, interrupted only by the echoes of his own activity and nature’s bitchy roiling.

      but at least tonight’s premier bullshit worked in his favor. normally goblin’s three hundred sixty days of downpour lacked an inspiring ambiance for campaigns set in sandy tombs of reanimated kings or crystalline caverns carved deep within an ivory castle. this semester was different; four months of adventuring ( and a previous summer of planning ) brought the members of the hellfire club to a gothic crypt and its restless denizens. here, in the belly of a diabolical mansion torn between the material plane and an eldritch parallel, heroes would face their most dastardly foes yet while negating the sadistic twists their dungeon master had slithering in his sleeves.

      the wild-haired eccentric was always one to set a stage for the finale. what started as simple seasoning grew more and more elaborate over the past six years. eddie was determined to make this night of zenith revelry one to remember. his swan song before graduation. a didactic legacy for all dms who thought themselves worthy of his draconian lineage.

      last year’s after-halloween sales had given the youngest munson an idea. he raided what was left on the clean-picked shelves of pop-up shops and every discount store in the county. over the next several months, added to his growing stockpile via regular visits to every bargain dealer within reach of his cough-and-hack brick of a van.

      his uncle’s trailer became a slaughterhouse of creativity. cheap curtains shredded and stained by hand hung from the ceiling while sheets and shirts lingering long past their natural lifespans were cut-up on the floor. testing anything at school was too risky; the hellfire club was made up of a clever bunch. so, his uncle wayne was forced to endure several months of embellishing chaos as eddie turned their small home into a dollar store’s rendition of a haunted house.

      by mid-january the bulk of the backdrop was done. eddie packed it into two old moving boxes and stored them in the corner of his room where it silently teased him till the momentous day. the time between was spent on finishing touches: spray painted candelabras, disposable wine glasses transformed into jewel encrusted goblets, plastic skulls smeared in coffee and dirt, and a cathedrals worth of white candles.

      now those latter bastards had been his bane. eddie pre-burned half of the lot while he melted down the rest to be reforged in various shades of black and red. he trawled candle making books for how to do it, but fell back on good ol’ trial and error since he lacked just about every damn thing the instructions called for. but, after coating the trailer’s kitchenette in a waxy film for two weeks, the young man succeeded and gave rise to one of his favorite decorations: a skull with a black cherry candle burning through its head, twin flows oozing out its sockets like offerings of an unholy sacrament.

      wayne was visibly relieved when his nephew loaded everything into his van last night, yet still commented on how neat it was all going to be once eddie set it up. months of work, now lambasted all over the theater, looking just how its creator envisioned it … or at least a realistic interpretation. and in all fairness, the decorum looked a little less — thrifty — in the moody lighting.

      reaping what he’d sown at last, eddie glanced at his watch. done and with plenty of time to spare. if the storm kept up its scathing temper ( knowing goblin’s visceral hatred for all things breathing, it would ), then tonight, hellfire was really going to taste the truth of their namesake —

      eddie’s head jerked up as the weathered doors keened open. a pillar of dim light cut through the pitch of the theater’s innards. an elongated shadow stretched over the foyer as munson dropped low.

      shit — why were the guys so early? were they planning something too?

      fist balled tightly, teeth grinding his lower lip in a row of frustration. careful to avoid any unwanted sneaker squeaks, eddie crept around the table into recesses so opaque the candles’ sultry lighting wouldn’t dare breach it. if the boys hoped to get the drop on him, there was a price to pay for attempting to outplay the master.

@greenscrunchy, this is for you

goblin high school was haunted. at least, it was supposed to be.

there’s no proof besides stories, the customary churning water wheel of rumours that flowed ceaselessly through cracked linoleum-lined hallways. arteries from a heart in which children were flung loose, but goblin was so famous for its tall tales that every one of them might as well have been set in stone. perfectly preserved history. so wild they had to be true. repeated and repeated and repeated, religiously cradled in the minds of the peculiarly suburban city dwellers of goblin. when a small city operated like an even smaller town, there had to be something keeping everyone spinning.

of course it would be the ghosts.

among whom were the phantoms of the senior class royal couple that tracked chrissy cunningham down the corridor leading away from the basketball court, floating just behind the squeak of her sneakers all the way from the wood-paneled gymnasium to wherever it is she was trying to escape. a foxhole she needed to decide upon quickly before she ended up in a circle right where she started from, the place she wanted to be the least. 

at her back, raucous cheers rumbled still from throats packing the gym. goblin’s marauders had won the basketball championship game, thoroughly shocking all onlookers to the point of pure frenzy. even chrissy let the momentary thrill consume her, shaking wild pompoms along with her entire stunned squad. all it took was a foul, a timeout, and a benchwarmer launching his perfectly timed gamble into the air for a nail-biting three pointer no doubt already being carved in the annals of goblin legend. the basketball had swished through the net against a backdrop of a final buzzer. thunder to rival even goblin skies’ best and boomiest rattled the foundations of the gym until even the buried-upright dead in the graveyard miles away could feel so many joyous vibrations. 

an unlikely win from an unlikely source. no one present would ever forget it and wouldn’t keep it to themselves. it would make the goblin post before sunday. 

enthusiasm befitting of a true sportswoman buoyed chrissy until before the amoebic goblin high crowd could even begin to think of oozing off the court and into the downpour outside, washing slurries of the away team with them. an indoor tennis match would follow not long behind, somewhat of a downturn in excitement after such a triumph for the basketball team. but around here, the rain made the rules. initial celebrations could not last forever - and chrissy had to get out before anyone tried to pull her attention. particularly, especially, jason. his prior pep rally stunt was the only one of its kind she could bear after a week of heightened pda; all for show to hammer home goblin’s worth as the next district champions. goblin had the team, and the team captain had the girl. (until teenage throngs abandoned the couple for more riveting objects of affection and jason melted into the shadows to wrap his arm around lizzie miller.)

meanwhile chrissy ticked down seconds until she could bolt from the room he was in, with the additional bonus that no one should be able to ascertain the source of her disquiet lest her performance be revealed as just that: a performance and a sham.

the hallway ahead stretched longer and longer, calling to mind a frustratingly pliable piece of taffy on a summer afternoon. it kept going, and going, and going. a monstrous unfairness when all chrissy wanted was a simple getaway, tucked out of sight from swaths of paper banners drowned in every drop of purple and green paint goblin high school could wrap their wet, wrinkled hands around.

nothing but purple and green. chrissy hated purple and green. purple and green together. the fluttering rustle of pompoms clutched white-knuckled in both hands mocked her, their vomitous, plastine shine reflecting goblin high’s storm-lit passages. separated, she didn’t mind the colors too terribly much. even a rare violent in the grass was more pleasant. but in school all bets at their joint attractiveness were off. 

a metallic clang punctuated the now distant rumble of sports fanatics and thunder combined. chrissy stuffed her pompoms into the depths of her locker, out of sight at last, exchanging them for the soft pink corduroy of her backpack. its weight comfortably settled the pumping desire to take flight far, far away although not enough to quell her urge to hide. 

somewhere. there had to be somewhere quiet and dark she could wait out her tides of discontentment apart from the ghosts. maybe.....

there was one possibility. enough of one that chrissy’s feet took off again, chasing down the faint illusion of privacy. down the main hallway to the right, past the a.v. closet, past the principle’s office and the coachs’ offices, veering to the left toward the science lab, the school nurse, and just beyond....the theater. perfect. 

like a blessing from heaven, the enormous doors hung open juuuuust a sliver. 

in a flash chrissy bolted for the alluring dark ribbon of silent freedom. mere moments later she’d dragged one door open enough to slip inside. the answering darkness was almost dizzyingly relaxing in comparison to the shadowy high school corridors now echoing signs of life; students were emerging from the gym and she’d been just in time to miss all the action.

her forehead met the cool surface of the doors as she shut them decisively. heavy exhales gusted against the metal until she could wrangle her heartbeat back in check. only for it to halt completely when a rustle split the curtain of silence.

solitude rendered itself an illusion. 

trepidation tempered a one-eighty pivot to investigate the source and weighed down painfully on her heel. a strange terror built as her peripherals picked up on a flickering light that multiplied with each centimeter exposed. more, more, and  —

the full revelation of why lay behind resulted in startled howl.

as a cheerleader, most would imagine chrissy’s voice capable of projecting powerfully across any open space. reality was far less impressive. instead of a mighty, rousing shout, all chrissy was capable of was a high pitched, elongated squeak. nevertheless, it communicated the same thing.

                                            ❝ OHMYGOD! ❞

spread across the room was a rippling tableau of yawning skulls dripping in waxy blood, goblets filling unsettlingly with dark liquid, and scattered glimmers of who knew what all over a rich tablecloth in pitch hues. everywhere the dull, ghostly white of bone and insidious sparkle of metal sent candlelight ricocheting across the theater. among the instruments of death, almost randomly but not quite, were placed multiple kinds of dice and miniature figures looking frozen from battle.

not even the zombified goblin police could compare to the sensation of wrongness filling the room. whatever she’d stumbled upon, it couldn’t possibly be good. 

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙉𝘼𝙉𝘾𝙔 𝙒𝙃𝙀𝙀𝙇𝙀𝙍                                  (vihilum​)

@greenscrunchy asked, “Was it always this way? Was i too dumb to notice?”

Evil has tendrils, evil has roots. Nancy’s never just out of reach, even when she’s grounded, even when her feet are planted firmly against soil. There’s no security granted that comes with stillness. Steadiness. Better to shift. She’s not a shark. She can’t stop swimming. She’s like the other fish in the sea. If she stops moving, she will die.

That’s how it feels. That’s how it’s felt. A mind unoccupied teeters on the edge of unraveling. She’s never catered to the luxury of relaxing and doing nothing. That has never appealed to her.

She thinks Chrissy needs it from her right now. A sure, unmoving hand, set on her shoulder. Stillness. She can’t always anticipate the storm. There’s no way of knowing if this is the calm ahead of a downpour. There is no way to tell what might be coming.

“I used to think I knew,” where it started, when it started, just how wide this crack had spread, she thought she understood everything about it, “but so many things,” Her record’s still playing low. She squeezes Chrissy lightly. “so many things move in secret.”

Things not meant for their eyes, to any prying gaze.

“Hidden, on purpose,” she shifts so that her arm is wrapped around the other’s shoulders, “I’d say noticing it was nothing but dumb luck.”

it’s discouraging to brace for the itching crawl of dread at prospective touch, like prey in a thicket anticipating danger. prey — or a sack of meat for trimming and displayed as a “prize winning catch”. either way, chills still tend to prickle over wary nerves she keeps primed at all times.

when people unexpectedly touch her arms, even friends, chrissy feels hooks sink into skin and frigid air blasting against the skin of her neck. goosebumps sprout, a thousand fearful eyes waiting for the other shoe to drop. for anything that requires an artful dodge and a smile wide enough to blind anyone that could even hypothesize what’s happening under the surface. that fearful, flayed core of chrissy is ugly; no one told her so, she just knows.

but, chrissy is reminding herself, teaching herself, she is safe here in the wheeler house. 

nancy’s room is low-lit, but there are no knives or hooks that she can see. none made for cleaving meat from bone at least. if there is cold, it’s drowned out by hums of music from nancy’s records and the sheer warmth of the colors strewn across the room. it’s cozy and appreciated. lived in. not that chrissy’s isn’t, but there’s a difference between girl’s bedroom and a doll’s. 

                        ❝ dumb luck, ❞  chrissy parrots. dumb luck for smart people. something about it makes the strawberry blonde grin and lean, really actually lean, into nancy’s gentle grip. 

it’s been so long. so long since she had real friends. the kind of friends that truly understood. who were honest without being cruel yet invited openness, offering their own in trade. 

one deep, steadying breath where she lets herself the believe the world has stopped turning, and a breath out. she turns toward nancy unsteadily reassured, but it’s a new beginning.

                       ❝ is it better to wish i’d known sooner? even if the truth was....so terrible. you were trying to figure all of this.....stuff out, about the upside down, all by yourself. you and your brother and jonathan and steve and mike’s friends, i mean. ❞  all of them so damn young when they had to fight a monster no one taught them to look for. and chrissy is afraid that even with enough quick thinking fit to lead a squad of cheerleaders and pull off reasonably good grades while keeping everyone politely at arm’s length, she would still have been too distracted by her own inner ache to see through it clearly.  ❝ things that move in secret are the deadliest. ❞ 

she doesn’t want to miss anything else. she can’t. not just for herself, but for everyone else.

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?  ❞

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝘿𝙔 𝙃𝘼𝙂𝘼𝙉                          (cheerleadcr​)

@greenscrunchy​​​ liked this post!

❛ The team here is genuinely so much better than it was in Milford. I mean, like, seriously we never had boys cheering with us there! Plus, it’s way bigger here too. I thought going from one small town to another meant things wouldn’t be too different but, guess I was wrong. ❜

                         ❝ that’s really cool of you to say. ❞  and high compliments from another girl who looked like she lived and breathed the sport as much as chrissy did.  ❝ our guys are awesome! we can do so many more formations and routines with them here. but i’m proud of our whole team. ❞  the strawberry blonde couldn’t help but stand up a little straighter with preening glee.  ❝ they work super hard, and it shows. have you been able to meet most of them yet? you’ve probably met our coach already, right? i know it’s a lot so soon. ❞

had chris survived the great vecna-ing of spring ‘86, no doubt she’d be dressing up as sarah from labyrinth.

before ‘86 it was princess leia multiple times, and once she and two little friends dressed up as judy, violet, and doralee from 9 to 5.