[sedulae]

everyone say hi sam, bye sam

[sedulae]

when i finally figure out how i want to properly set things up here + find my creative spark again, it's over for all of you.

[sedulae]

come on, stay close. * nancy

⁽ ᶠᴵᴳ ⁾ ╱ they make no sense on paper. nancy wheeler knows this the way she knows headlines: instinct first, explanation later — the 𝙵𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺 and the 𝒫𝑅𝐼𝒮𝒮 +this is what survives the hallway whisper test, she figures. the one of margins of spiral notebooks and yearbooks and 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘭 little mouths. eddie munson, (ᵗᵒʷⁿ ᶠᵘᶜᵏᵘᵖ) boy bred of teeth and chatter, ill - fitting disorder which learned how to walk upright perhaps too soon. THAT BOY, karen warned her, WAS THE SHAPE OF A FUTURE NOT TO WANT. 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛. & nancy wheeler, (ᵍᶦʳˡ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵈᵒᵒʳ) darling daughter of pressed blouses and tightlipped smiles, a shining 4.0 gpa and impeccable handwriting. the girl who brings an apple to class and leaves with blood under her nails. 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚝: wrong colors, wrong pieces, stitched together precariously anyway. something had to keep you warm once the house went cold ──── and yet. and yet. and yet here they are.

the ground beneath her feet feels treacherous, and nancy wonders (IDLY\DISASTEROUSLY) if it might remember her name and decide to ˢʷᵃˡˡᵒʷ her for it. roots claw up through dirt like fingers, branches crowded too close overhead --- a forest that has never loved women who look back. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘺 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩. old habit, a learned one. better than to look like prey, even when the doe heart is hammering itself bloody against her ribs. still she startles anyway. “you do realize i'm the one with the gun, RIGHT?” it comes out poised, sharper than she means. then the serpent coils tight beneath her breastbone as memory flares, whispering old lies and carefully kept truths all rolled into one: don't need help\don't take help\don't be a liability\if you slow them down, they will leave you— she hates that voice. she learned too late it sounds like her own. “i know what i'm doing.”

FOR A SECOND, she thinks of all the versions of herself she's already shed. 𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍. 𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚍. (those skins lie behind her now, ᴮᴿᴵᵀᵀᴸᴱ&𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘵, molted on the path, pale evidence in the moonlight) what's left has teeth. she moves closer anyway. boots crunching dirt, lace brushing leather. close enough that she can smell smoke and sweat and something slightly afraid underneath— ᴼᶻᴼᴺᴱ, ᴹᴬʸᴮᴱˀ stink and rot and whatever else made up the upside down these days. “just watch where you step.” against instinct, she aligns herself with him. shoulder to shoulder. step for step. a decision that is decidedly anything but. somewhere behind blue eyes, she feels old 𝐌𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐒 rearranging themselves. she wonders if @townfuckup feels it too ?

eve with dirt under her nails. medusa learning gaze can be a weapon if only you let it. the lamb realizing too late she's gone and grown horns──── “are… are you— ?” eddie glances sideways, checking her position with something 𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 and something in her 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜 at that, even as another part warms. both can be true, she thinks, they usually are. “you don't have --- DON'T WORRY, okay?” her grip adjusts on the weapon she didn't grow up imagining she'd ever carry. metal cold but familiar now. it's almost enough to make a wry edge curl at the corner of her mouth, glance spared his way. “if something comes for us… i won't miss.”