almost home
NASA
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Monterey Bay Aquarium
★
sheepfilms
izzy's playlists!
ojovivo
The Bowery Presents
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
shark vs the universe
Sweet Seals For You, Always
will byers stan first human second
𓃗
One Nice Bug Per Day
The Stonewall Inn
Show & Tell
Love Begins
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
seen from Brazil
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seen from Malaysia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Brazil
seen from Egypt
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Canada
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Kenya
seen from France
seen from Ukraine
seen from Latvia
seen from Colombia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Thailand
seen from Italy
seen from Malaysia
@fauxcette
𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮 𝘄𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿𝘀. an independent, highly selective + private portrayal of karen wheeler from stranger things, essentially divorced from the canon material; i treat karen as an original character. themes include the feminine mystique, unsettling domesticity, appearances versus reality, the archetype of the housewife, and smotherhood. mutuals only, 18+. established october of 2017. written by meg, 22, she/they, gmt.
slides. pinterest. spotify. sideblog.
as someone whose been a karen wheeler stan since july 2016, i'm taking every single person who says they love her post s5 with a grain of salt 🔪
really sad that karen never gets to play with barbie in her canon :-(
what does Karen want in terms of where her kids land? do you think she’d be happy for them to “get out” of Hawkins?
i’ll get the obvious cliche out of the way right at the beginning and say that she wants them to be happy and healthy and fulfilled. that’s a given, right? it’s what any good mother would want for her children, so it’s what karen wants for her three, naturally. but in her mind, none of those three things can happen if you’re stuck in hawkins. none of them. to her, it’s a town that stifles and suffocates people with dreams or personalities, and she doesn’t want that for her kids, she doesn’t want to see their potential wasted or their lights dimmed.
sure, she probably dreams of them going on to be big and important and successful; a doctor, or a lawyer, or a musician, or a dancer, or a novelist, or a physicist. she wants for them to build families of their own, lives of their own. she wants to see them be the absolute best that they can be, and get the most out of life.
but she’s also looking at it through the lens of not feeling like she’s accomplished much herself. she never went to college, she ‘failed’ at her only real big girl job, she married at 19, she’s wildly unhappy with her life. so i feel like, while she does have vague aspirations on behalf of her kids, and wants to live vicariously through them, she mostly just wants to give them every opportunity they have to get the hell out of hawkins. even if it breaks her heart a little to think of them leaving
ANGER SPUTTERS IN HER BRAINPAN, CONFINED BUT SPEWING OUT MISSILES OF HOT FAT. CARBONISED DESPAIR PRESSES LIKE A CLINKER FROM A BARBECUE AGAINST THE BACK OF HER EYES. IF SHE WANTS TO GRILL ANYTHING, IT’S HER HUSBAND OVER A SLOW FIRE.
yes that line in barbie is incredibly karenancy vibes, do not think i did not instantly think it
young karen makes me so :-(((
"You're uninvited to Easter. Or we're – you – we're not coming to – you get it." She pauses, considering. "Thanksgiving is still on the table."
"Oh, thanks, Nance, real mature." A pout of the petulant variety, which is quite ironic, really, coming from a woman currently lecturing her daughter on maturity. "Just what am I supposed to do with all the Easter eggs I have hidden 'round the place now, huh? Eat them myself?" A tempting idea.
' we gotta talk, okay? you can't just keep sneaking these kids $20s and saying "don't tell your parents." be glad it's just me that sees it for now. god only knows what'll happen if nance finds out. '
“can't i?” spoken like a challenge, though the grin she wears is not nearly defiant enough to be cause for concern. “let me spoil my grandkids, steven, i hardly ever get to see them!” their piggy banks full of andrew jacksons' might beg to differ, but she's not planning on giving up anytime soon.
⤳ @fauxcette.
“ this is so unfair. ” the pair stand as they usually do, awkwardly in the kitchen with the counter separating the two of them. nancy leans against the countertop, chin in her palms, sulking most dramatically in true teenage fashion as she idly picks at a withering bouquet karen must've gotten for mother's day or something. not by mike and nancy, mind you. nancy didn't think to ask the source, though wondered briefly if maybe her mother had bought it herself –– god knows ted wouldn't have. “ he wouldn't even notice that i wasn't there, mom, it's not like he even wants me to come. what am i supposed to do at a kid's birthday party? isn't mike, like, way too old to be having them anyway? ”
“yeah, well, life is unfair, nancy.” she cringes internally almost as soon as she’s said it, painfully aware of just how much she sounds like her own mother, a fate she swore to herself she’d avoid. hands hover over the kitchen sink for a moment before plunging down into the steaming soapy water below, brillo pad at the ready. her back may be turned, but karen can see clearly in her mind the teenage theatrics going on at the island behind. “it’s probably the last year he’ll want one, so the least you can do is make an appearance.” she scrub-scrub-scrubs at the pot she’s been stubbornly fighting with all morning, the latest casualty in her kitchen. wryly, she supposes that it’s what she gets for asking ted to supervise for a few minutes; he’d said to just throw it out and buy a new one, but she’s stubborn, and she likes this one. it was a wedding gift. “half an hour, that’s all i’m asking.”
yes it’s one of those odd lifetime true story thriller movies that are weirdly paced and almost feel exploitative but i love the content cara is giving me lately
MIKE & KAREN WHEELER+ hugs through the seasons
a mock-up, a first attempt, a pile of dogshit – w/e u wanna call it ... it has helped restored my karen muse :^)
nostqlgia.
lithe fingers rush to cover her own wine stained lips, as if that would undo the words that have already tumbled from them. how uncharacteristically forward of her. heat festers behind cheeks, causing rouge to blossom in splotches against her freckled flesh. it wasn’t just the wine. karen’s laugh was intoxicating in itself. the way her head tips back, soft curls cascades in a thick waterfall over her shoulders, and the warm, rich, reverberation of her throaty laugh. inebriation has lessened her senses, but she never stood a chance to begin with. “ oh … i , mmm - no … i do believe that i’ve had enough. ” forced airy laugh escapes. “ it - it’s getting late , d-don’t you think? maybe i should get going? ” ask me to stay … tell me to stay.
automatically, she drops her gaze to the gold watch around her wrist, squinting some in the low light so as to decipher where exactly the hands lie. ❝ oh, god, is that the time? ❞ hard as she tries to appear flabbergasted at just how late (or early) it is, the grimace she wears soon melts into an almost adolescent laugh, one she strives to smother. a mixture of the wine and tiredness, that’s what karen blames it on. it’s been so long since she’s done this, too, stayed up until the wee hours just talking and drinking with someone else. that more than explains it away, right? ❝ you’re –– you’re more than welcome to stay, if you like. ❞ with no spare bedrooms, one of the couches is all that she can offer up, but she doesn’t say that just yet.
nostqlgia.
“ you have such beautiful lips. ”
( sc ) jennifer honey › @fauxcette , karen wheeler
❝ w-what? (!) ❞ such a simple word, yet she trips and stumbles over it like she’s walking on ancient cobblestones. a hand is raised to press against the lips in question, stained some by the wine, and her cheeks almost match the colour. ❝ uh, can i –– top up your glass, or ... ❞
what part of the haunted house are you? the spirit.
you’re trapped here, aren’t you? even if you like to say it’s of your own volition. i know better, and i bet you do, too. there’s this sickening kind of resentment that lives in your stomach, always trying to claw up and out through your mouth. people think they are entitled to your time and your being simply because you exist, which makes you feel both seen and entirely invisible at the same time. it feeds that anger inside of you, and it is a matter of time, every time, before that resentment turns sour, climbs out of your lungs, and rears its head at whoever is closest. this is your home. you’re the keeper of this house, and, in turn, it keeps you.
nothing new. ft. @fauxcette
