closed starter @thechiyonosakenyc

It was early, too early to already be sitting in the school gymnasium. The sun hadn't even risen yet, it was still dark outside and yet, here Chrissy was. She was punctual always but especially during match days, when she knew that she needed to ensure that her body was ready to move the whole day. She tried to force herself feel grateful and not as tired as she was, but no such luck, as she yawned, stretching her arms above her head. Chrissy was halfway through her senior year, already eighteen with her whole life ahead of her and honestly, right now she just needed to get through these stretches. The door opened and she frowned, wasn't the point of coming to school this early to avoid people? Though it wasn't all bad, as the person came into view and she smiled, pleasantly surprised. "Good morning Coach Holmes!" she greeted from her position just in front of the bleachers, legs stretched out in from of her, shorts riding high on her thighs. She liked him, he was smart, knew his shit. Wasn't too bad on the eyes either, a thought which she internally scolded herself for. "I was wondering if you could help me stretch, my body is so tired this morning."

some days feel like whiplash, one-eighties and you'll hate that. you'll label yourself just to take it back, convinced you're not bi cause you're way too into guys and the first time you have sex, you'll cry. you'll sometimes skip meals and numb how you feel and you'll miss the old you, but here's the deal; that good girl you were was really fucking bad at being real.  /  then you'll learn to let people have their opinions and talk about your traumas and like the body you live in. someday you'll learn to keep your own secrets, say you're doing okay and really mean it. you'll lose your faith a bit and question if she's you, and for a while, you might not like her, but I do.

plotted starter for @ofginjxints​ ♥

Chrissy Cunningham deserved better. Or at least, that’s what she had always believed. When she was a kid, she dreamed of a big house on the right side of the town, two parents who loved and adored her, enough money to live comfortably and some desperately needed stability. What she got however, was a druggie whore of a Mom who dipped out when she was three months old, an alcoholic prick of a Dad who emotionally and occasionally physically abused her, before he got sent to jail when she was twelve, a shitty trailer in Forest Hill’s Trailer Park and an enormous attitude problem. 

Things aren’t entirely terrible of course; Uncle Wayne was good to her, he treated her with the love and respect that years of abuse had convinced her that she didn’t deserve. She has Corroded Coffin, the band that she’s drummed for since seventh grade. She has Hellfire, the Dungeons and Dragons club where she DM’s. A handful of friends, namely her best friend since kindergarten Steve Harrington, another burnout with a shitty family life too. And she’s scraping by with her grades, and hopes that the money she squirrels away from dealing will be enough to pay for at least one year at college. Once she’s out of Hawkins, she’ll get a better job, a real job, but for now, its all she has.

So that’s how why she finds herself, perching on top of the worn picnic table in the woods near school, playing with the fishnet tights that she wore, threading her fingers in and out of the gaps, as the cigarette she held between her fingers in her other hand burnt down. School ended an hour ago, so most of the people who want to buy have come and gone, but she’s just got a gut feeling to stick around a little longer, just in case there’s any latecomers.  A twig snaps, alerting her to someone else in the woods and she lifts her eyes to a very unlikely figure, a green and gold letterman jacket covering his frame. She sold to jocks all the time, in fact they made up around 70% of her clientele, the other 30% was burnouts, habitual users, people like her. But never did she expect to see Hawkins very own golden boy here in her woods.

“The fuck are you doing here, Munson?” she asks, expression bemused, as she crosses her long legs at the knee and leans forward, watching Eddie Munson intently, tossing the end of her cigarette to the ground. “Are you lost, golden boy?”

closed starter for @ofginjxints​

Chrissy Cunningham was broken, utterly broken. A brush with death had taken hold of her already frail psyche and almost destroyed her. She was dead, she had died, they held a funeral for her and yet, here she stood, heart still beating in her chest, still alive, which is more than some people in Hawkins could say. Shifting in bed was made more difficult with her arm in a cast, the broken bones in her right arm were the only physical reminder of the ordeal. She doesn't sleep much, or at all anymore. The nightmares wake her after a short time and it's difficult to even close her eyes some days. Eddie's bandana was still tied around her cast and she fiddled with it, watching the fabric move, as she curled on her other side.

She hasn't left the comfort of her home since she came back, or at least she hadn't until Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler turned up on her doorstep with a serious favour. Lie. It was a simple enough lie, simply corroborate their story about who had hurt her and murdered and maimed the others. It was believable enough, Jason had been at the scene of one murder and he was her boyfriend. He planned the murders, got himself an easy fall guy and descended into utter madness. It didn't take her long to agree, only half a minute of internal deliberation really. Chrissy had been the catalyst, the flame that ignited the powder keg, the reason that Jason had gone after Eddie in the first place. But now, Jason was dead and Eddie was alive. It was a lie that would give him back his life, that would save him from damnation. He saved her life and now they were equal, her life debt had been repaid, as the police thanked her for her bravery and closed the case on the brutal, ritualistic Carver murders of 1986.

There's something in the air tonight, something Chrissy can't put her finger on, but she can't ignore the feeling in her stomach that something was going to happen. Something bad. Almost as soon as she had the thought she heard a noise outside her window. And it almost sounded like tapping. She sucked down a frightened, shaky breath as she glanced towards it, her face relaxing only slightly as a very familiar face appeared on the other side of the glass. "Eddie?" she breathed, as she sat upright, a little off balance due to the cast, as she padded across the carpet to open it for him.

@ofginjxints​ <3

Chrissy was agitated. 

The bright fluorescent lights of the cafeteria were adding to the headache she had from a lack of sleep the previous night.  Her father called from prison and Wayne hadn’t been home to intercept it, to keep his kid protected from her lowlife, piece of shit dad.  She hadn’t stayed on the line long, but it was long enough for the older Cunningham to remind his daughter that the apple never fell far from the tree and that she was a failure, just like him.  And then, just to top the shit sundae off, the cherry on top was flunking a pop quiz in chemistry that she’d actually bothered to study for. 

She absentmindedly tapped her ringed fingers against the side of her metal lunchbox, the clinking noise bringing her whole lunch tables attention towards her.  Her friends knew better than to push when she was this wound up, when her jaw was set tight and her eyes narrowed.  Harrington drifted his arm around her, fingers splayed out on her back in a comforting display.  But she couldn’t focus.  Not on Steve.  Or her dad.  Or the quiz she’d fucked up.

No.  She couldn’t focus on any of the bullshit, because across the cafeteria, she could see Eddie.  

It was stupid, her little crush on him and it was stupid that she’d let it be reignited after they smoked together in the woods.  It was a weekly occurrence now, something she would never admit, but definitely the highlight of her week.  And his bitch girlfriend was all over him, pawing at him like he was a prop, something to own and not actually to care for.  Wordlessly, she stood up, lifting her lunchbox with her.  No one followed, they knew that she was going to the woods.  She would smoke a blunt and hopefully come back, slightly less keyed up.