𝐼𝐹 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘

ᴹʸ ᴴᴱᴬᴿᵀ 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙰𝚂 𝒞𝒪𝐿𝒟.

[wthdrawn]

do not follow first. ( friends only) . moons multimuse blog. featuring many varieties: including but not limited to stranger things, it, scream, and many more. this is for a mature 21+ audience. very slow activity. PLOT FOCUSED. no icons or fancy formats will be used. basic rules used. (other blogs: @dustybns)

STRANGER THINGS:

lucas sinclair- bravery packed inside a boy fighting for the lives of others. primarily s1-s4. i ask anything with the season final be plotted.

william byers- the sorcerer, (prev: dissappeard) request only.

michael wheeler- the heart,( prev: frogfce ) request only.

jonathan byers- hunt the freak! (very particular about source material)

dustin henderson- oh no i had two bologna sandwiches…. i don’t know why.. (prev dustybns) VERY PARTICULAR ABOUT SOURCE MATERIAL AND GROUNDED IN MY OWN CANON.

IT:

pennywise- an ancient, trans-dimensional malevolent entity who preys upon the children. (movie based with influences from media and some novel knowledge) please note - if you need anything (triggers esp) tagged lmk.

ben hanscom- my heart burns there too! ( drawn primarily from the 2017 adaptation)

SCREAM:

ethan landry- (previously stabvirgin) taken from scream 6. please read up on character before interaction.

tara carpenter- i survived, but it's not a happy ending. taken from scream 5/6.

THE HUNGER GAMES:

peeta mellark: real or not real? (heavily novel based, written with an amputation after the 74th hunger games)

LOST:

jack shepherd- we're going to die alone. ( HIGHLY SELECTIVE, plot based only)

literature based only:

miles halter- written from looking for alaska.

jacob black- (re)written from twlight/newmoon.

[vcssl]

       for  most  kids ,  their  FATHER  is  their  first  hero .  who  needed  comics  and  their  exaggerated  superheroes  to  fill  that  space ?  you  didn't ,  either .  but  it  had  never  been  lonnie .  for  as  far  back  as  you  can  remember  ,  it  was  always  jonathan .  even  bloodied  from  drunken  fists ,  not  that  there  was  any  other  kind ,  he  would  be  there  to  draw  you  out  of  hiding  spaces  promising  it  was  safe  now .  so  even  when  you  don't  want  FUSS    didn't  want  anyone  to  know  about  the  new  taunt  taken  up  by  the  bullies  of  hawkins    you  give  him  your  complete  trust  /  let  him  clean  you  up  without  complaint .

       you  didn't  want  to  worry  him .  bullying  was  nothing  new  to  the  byers  brothers ,  starting  at  HOME  and  following  you  to  almost  every  corner  of  hawkins .  only  a  few  spaces  within  town  unmarred  by  someone's  CRUELTY .  castle  byers .  friends  homes .  the  wheeler  basement .  you  could  handle  it .  zombie  boy  wasn't  much  worse  than  the  words  lonnie  used  to  slur .  and  jonathan  has  had  so  much  to  worry  about ,  he  didn't  need  MORE  on  his  plate .

       that  boat  SAILED  when  you  forgot  to  anticipate  those  bullies  getting  physical .  you  should  have  begged  dustin  to  lie  /  say  there  was  a  bike  crash .  the  stubborn  resolve  not  to  look  at  him  and  the  concern  you  caused  crumbles  when  he  asks    arms  lock  around  him  tightly  in  an  embrace ,  letting  the  sense  of  SAFETY  wash  over  you  just  for  a  few  seconds .  safety  had  never  been  rooted  to  a  place ,  it  was  always  found  in  people .  your  friends ,  for  one .  and  always  jonathan ,  who  built  you  a  safe  space  in  the  woods  and  never  seemed  too  busy  for  you . 

       the  words  are  a  lie ,  well  meaning  but  betrayed  by  the  fact  things  rarely  got  better  for  the  byers ,  but  you  appreciate  it  all  the  same .  he  was  probably  right  in  a  way  ;  eventually  the  bullies  would  drop  zombie  boy  and  return  to  the  old  favourites .  would  fairy  gain  a  new  STING  after  coming  back  into  regular  rotation ?  " they'll  get  BORED . "  nodding  slightly ,  technically  an  agreement  without  expressing  the  pessimism  that  seems  to  weigh  on  you  now .  look  down  and  frown  at  the  jumper  that  has  survived  this  house  for  years ,  now  noticeably  stained .  " do  you    we  can  get  the  blood  out ,  right ?  i  didn't  mean  to  RUIN  IT . "

[wthdrawn]

he had always prayed for a brother.  an imaginary exit to a world of loneliness. one day he sat on tiny bony knees & whispered a thoughtful testament. dear god, if you hear me. then why i am still suffering?  little did jonathan byers know, that every prayer is marred with a consequence. march 22₁₉₇₁, a boy premature was born to the byers household. so very small, put in the shaky hands of a four year old. it was the very first time, the newborn baby did not cry.  his brother slept in a small crib next to him. one in which lonnie instituted on the fourth night, after will cried for an hour straight in his parents bedroom. "jesus christ joyce shut that kid up”.  an hour long screaming match later, his brother found a new home.

and the young boy just watched him. often through the dark hours of the night. every tear, every smile, every movement of hands or legs. a fascinating dictation of brotherhood. and he held him every time a cry rang through the room, often so tightly that hands became white. always checking to make sure breaths were steady. by the age of 7, jonathan didn’t know a day that wasn’t encrusted by the very thought of his brother. attendance at school became ghostly, caseworkers showing up on front porch only to be shooed by lonnie's expertise. "sir your son has missed four days in a row and came in with a black eye last week" a good father protects, their protege did exactly that. creating a false narrative about a child so clumsy and sick. and the brothers often sat by blue/brown bedside that housed both of them, matching color tiles or reading the four books that were property of the byers. (jonathan used to have two more before will, but his father decided to burn them in response to a stuttering issue) 

and their hug brings it all back. every stretched moment of time. he feels it in the back of throat, harsh and violent. a sob that wants to break free but never will. after all jonathan has been trained, by a fatherless father. boys do not cry.  instead breath comes off shaky, fingertips grazing the small nape of wills neck. forced release of a laugh. head shaking as he pulls away. wills own body heat till burning against the white tshirt that wracks a lanky frame. "that jumper was ugly anyways" and eyes dart anywhere but will. to avoid is to live, a survival skill they have both learned in the false reality of this house. "moms working late, wanna catch a movie? ill even let you put the butter on the popcorn"

[wthdrawn]

would you guys kill me if i made dustin a solo blog again

[wthdrawn]

byers brothers both canonly having a freckle by their mouths

[wthdrawn]

❛ Is this a bad time ? I can call back later. ❜ (for jonathan)

new york weather in january isn't just cold, it's frigid. the type that sits in bones and expels itself through the drag of daily life. cigarette in hand burns unusually quick. smoke filling lungs in a reprieve that is almost sacrilegious. one bad habit for another. i hate it when you're high. he has been staring at the embers. how they light over and over, only to be extinguished. similar feeling for him. but the icy air is starting to make teeth chatter. cigarette thrown to the sidewalk, black beat up converse snuffing out any left reminiscence. hands thrown back into the pockets of jacket as he walks back to his new life.

new york city apartment has become a sanctuary . hawkins left behind with a seal and kiss. there was nothing back there for him. not anymore at least. randy his roomate yells as he walks through the door. "jon someone has called for you like three times man." immediate thought goes to will. nobody called for jonathan byers afterall. phone is grabbed from his roommates fingertips, roughly tugging the chords so it wraps around index finger. eyes closing as stomach drops. " will .. will are you okay?"

static looms only for a second. until he hears it, a voice he would've known from deaths hallowed grave. it's soft but forceful, like mid octobers chill. and all of it comes back in a force so powerful, he wants to gag. breath slows, blood rushing to cheeks. even now, nancy wheeler always has the upper hand behind his heart. so much to say but nothing comes out. she is talking again: jonathan, hello is this a bad time? i can call back later. fist taps lightly against the wall, nails subconsciously digging into the peeling wallpaper. "nancy.."

[sonofagif]

IT (2017) “Beep, beep, Richie!”

[sordidery]

"georgie?" bill asks. the worst thing for stutterers is having to say their own name. he constantly dreads the stomach dropping freefall between the 'who are you?' and the upcoming reply. it's torture, getting his lips around the word bill, four letters and easy, the buh-buh-buh even children know how to pronounce. but his mouth knows how to get out his brothers name without a second thought.

georgie is so small in front of him. he is so small and wet eyed and bill should've went out with him that day. he'd do anything to play with georgie again. "you- you aren't real." he'd do almost anything. this isn't right. that's what he thinks, over and over again, repeated like a prayer: georgie is gone and it's my fault and nothing gets to change the end to that story. not even it.

[wthdrawn]

a broken disarray of a boy, now slowly disintegrates. starting with jaw that snaps & crackles. a fizzling sound that lays awake in the shadows. silence starting to peek ────only to be caught by a fateful screech. "IT WAS REAL FOR GEORGIE!" water starts to pour from the linoleum flooring. balloons popping in the corner. they resemble the sounds of gunfire, echoed against the basement where another stands. and finally IT appears. no longer the image of a dead brother. georgie denbrough discarded beneath the sewage. where he will remain forever. nothing but a mess of bones, one in which you could've saved! it smiles, fingertips waving one after another. teeth glistening as saliva drips from a cherry stained mouth. "WHY WONT YOU PLAY WITH US BILLY ?" it's palms slammed against the rising tide of water.

[townfuckup]

“ You're nursin' black and blues! “

he could feel the split in skin from the impact of knuckles. it's notable, jason and his fellow jockhead's 'fine work.' his finger tips gently press, feels the swell begin along the curve beneath his cheek. his lower lid twitches in response, the sear begging for reprieve and not the bandana that'd been hanging from his back pocket. the fabric itself is too thin to do much collecting, it still drips down the curve of his cheek just in a slower pace. eddie could feel his pulse in his head, drifting to each side like a painfully slow game of pong. dustin's loud voice only makes it worse, the throb reverberating. he's crouched already, head dropping down to spit out the iron pooling in his mouth. “ dude, ” he sighs, adjusting the damp cloth. what doesn't catch it dripped on torn denim. “ has anyone told you that you're loud? ” and my brain just rocked around my skull a few times. he could practically feel some of the studying that he did last night falling out of his ear.

he'll just have to make the time to try and collect it again, thinks the work is probably somewhere with the mess of hellfire notes and lyrics on his desk at home. it wouldn't be the last time he encounters jason and the meatheads, the popular band of brother's that sit high up for mediocre skills and principle higgin's stamp of approval. it really wasn't a big deal, at least dustin's untouched and worrying in a pace before him that makes his stomach turn a bit. he spits again, waits for a second to see if it collects like nausea, but it's more of a linger than anything. “ let's just get out of here, yeah? ” before higgin's catches on to the commotion and he's slapped with another speech he has to act interested and 'threatened by.' eddie's arm catches round @dustybns neck to pull in and guide to the parking lot. “ wanna crash practice? the guys won't mind. ”

[wthdrawn]

and he knows too much, always has. it's why he has suddenly started quoting that an icepack (for the damage to his face) and two advil's ( for the lingering pain) will undeniably be the cure. he is even rifling through backpack for a water bottle. drawing a green canteen which reads camp nowhere. shooed over with a mimic of gargling to get the left over blood. this was not his rodeo, far from it when you're born different from the world. "okay SOOORRYY !" and the truth was, yes he has been told than more times that could ever be counted. because excitement was a valley deep beneath bones. always just a tad bit louder than most. unwilling to be forgotten! the world will know his name wether its by brains or brawn.

something about eddie was enticing. especially as a rule follower. the teen was the living image of resistance. infatuation found in the way eddie let it all roll off. a lackey to whatever cult the people of hawkins have created in eddies demise. the sheep to the slaughter. and he finds himself hung on the statement. perhaps weighing the pros/cons. (rule #1 never be late to a dinner made by claudia henderson) it may not be a stovetop delight, but his mother was very particular about spending the nighttime together. (rule:#2 feed yurtle every other day) which by his calculations his turtle should be good for another ten hours. (rule #3 homework needs to be done in a timeliy manner) fortunately for him, he did it ((all)) during study period. one in which mike and lucas argued that scientists can hypothetically clone dna belonging dinosaurs to bring them back. holy shit what idiots! internal monologue shuts itself off. a hesitant fuck it on the whims. "do i get to ride in the the ole faithful chariot?" dimples peeking, as the brain re(wires) to not think of what possibly could go wrong.

[wthdrawn]

graduation threads where dustin gets to celebrate being valedictorian <3

[wthdrawn]

michael wheeler and william byers: the travesty of best friends or lovers.

[wthdrawn]

and if i make an earth shattering mike and will webweave, who is going to cancel me first?

[wthdrawn]

eddie munson and dustin henderson: webweave.

[storytcllr]

"every apology you give sounds rehearsed" from jonathan (omg)

fist clenches at his side. caught. leave it to jonathan to see right through him. sometimes mike wonders if it’s some sort of byers superpower. a psychic link that lets them all plug into the back of his head and intercept his every thought before it’s even fully formed.

of course they’re rehearsed. every apology, every declaration, every speech. every one, written and shredded up and rewritten. over and over, tumbling around in his head like sea glass; sharp edges wearing down until he could choke out the words without coughing up blood. the only way it was ever bearable, to be so vulnerable. even if it never quite plays out the way he envisions, derailed when people deviate from the script they don’t know exists.

“oh my god,” he groans. expression pinches into a scowl, but it’s lacking heat. “quit eavesdropping!”

[wthdrawn]

body blocks his departure, as door slams heavily in its wake. leaving only them and the lingering smell of animosity. "whatever this back and forth shit is. he still lets you back in every time" observation or statement? it had been a topic of conversation, mostly over smoke infused chatter with argyle. as if dissecting some internal secret between the two.

and he searches michael wheeler, up and down (side to side) a canvas that has been splattered by unknown lines. some days soft, ethically stable strokes. but then there are the harsh bitter slashes in the center. pouring out through distorted melodramatic mood swings. personal navigation system truly unruly.

he hadn't noticed it before, the small freckle alignment by the bridge of the young boys nose. similar to constellations that dance in the stars. an exact replica to nancy. and at the moment, he hears her gnawing voice trickle in the back of head. anger is replaced in understanding. to be kids in world so cruel. to be be spit out and chewed up all over again. "listen" voice strains. hands open and closed, as if rehearsing some older brother (dont hurt him) crap. "i know you have a lot going on up there" and left index finger points to the dark mop of hair that sits heavily like a crown. "but my brother is not your punching bag" syllables pop at the word brother. as its been the only thing jonathan has ever cherished. something always done right.

[underesources]

LATE NIGHT PHONE CALL PROMPTS.

things that can be said during a late night call. some lighthearted , some more serious. a prompt for every occasion! trigger warning for cursing. change pronouns when necessary.

❛ I hope I didn't wake you. ❜

❛ Hello ? Can you hear me ? ❜

❛ It's late, I know, I just wanted to get this off my chest. ❜

❛ I'm really fucking tired of this. ❜

❛ Is this a bad time ? I can call back later. ❜

❛ Please, I just need you to be honest with me. ❜

❛ C'mon, I won't tell anyone. ❜

❛ .. No, I'm pretty sure that's not how that works. ❜

❛ I'll be right there. ❜

❛ No, it's okay. You didn't wake me. ❜

❛ Can this wait ? I haven't gotten any sleep. ❜

❛ Bullshit. I know you better than that. ❜

❛ What do you mean by that, exactly ? ❜

❛ Can you speak up ? I can hardly hear you. ❜

❛ You sound exhausted. ❜

❛ This sounds like something you might regret telling me tomorrow. ❜

❛ I'm not tired. ❜

❛ I think you may be overthinking this just a little bit. ❜

❛ There's nothing to worry about ! ❜

❛ Can I come over ? I just really don't want to be alone right now. ❜

❛ Promise me you won't tell a single soul what I'm about to say. ❜

❛ Shit. My phone's about to die. ❜

❛ You know that I miss you, right ? ❜

❛ Go fuck yourself. ❜

❛ You've got to listen to me. ❜

❛ This can't wait. It's important. ❜

❛ I don't think I follow. ❜

❛ Man, you're not making any sense. ❜

❛ Are you even listening to me ? ❜

❛ Dude.. I never even thought of it that way before. ❜

❛ Look outside right now. Right now !! ❜

❛ Hm. I don't like the sound of that. ❜

❛ Just trust me ! ❜

❛ I know I don't say it enough, but I love you. ❜

❛ You're really starting to worry me. ❜

❛ He's nothing ! ❜

❛ I don't think this is working out. ❜

❛ Be serious. ❜

❛ That's not funny. ❜

❛ I'm not joking ! ❜

[wthdrawn]

looking for alaska (in particular the labyrinth of suffering) was my senior college thesis and thats when i knew i was mentally ill..

[wthdrawn]

dustin henderson no one gets me like you do... thats twin for real.

[vcssl]

     the  monster  got  you .  not  the  first  time  /  maybe  not  for  the  last .  but  you  WALKED  into  its  grip ,  threw  yourself  onto  outstretched  claws ,  trying  to  help  and  failing .  you  always  try  (standing  in  that  field ,  trying  to  save  yourself ,  nearly  getting  everyone  killed .  breaking  three  demogorgons  to  save  your  friends ,  the  kids  you  came  to  save  were  ALREADY  LOST .)  and  you  always  fail .  william  byers ,  incapable  of  looking  after  himself ,  always  in  need  of  saving    lonnie  may  have  been  CRUEL ,  but  he  was  also  apparently  right.   but  you're  not  sure  you  CAN  be  saved  this  time .  it's  dark  /  COLD  /  nothing  feeling  quite  as  solid  as  it  should .  looking  for  safety  and  a  way  out  but  all  you  can  find  is  memory .  literally .  the  upside  down ,  largely  untouched  by  human  hands ,  as  it  was  when  you  first  had  to  survive  here .  the  monster  had  taunted  you ,  promising  no  escape  because  you  have  been  DOOMED  since  you  were  twelve  years  old ,  and  the  only  way  out  would  be  to  change  that .  one  boy  can't  break  out  of  the  hivemind ,  spoken  with  experience  you  don't  care  to  understand  right  now .

      SOUND .  a  voice .  pulls  at  a  thread  in  the  back  of  your  mind ,  memory  you've  tried  to  forget .  were  made  to  forget .  you  will  not  just  lay  down  and  give  in ,  so  maybe  you'll  fail  again  but  who  would  know ?  this  might  be  a  trap ,  another  monster  in  wait ,  but  you  follow  the  voice .  you  know  it .  you  know  yourself .  castle  byers ,  not  bearing  the  scars  of  destruction  wrought  by  a  broken  boy  and  a  bat ,  rising  out  of  the  dark .  and  inside    fall  to  your  knees ,  to  crawl  in  rather  than  just  look .  jerky  movements ,  hand  TREMBLING  as  you  reach  out  …  can  you  be  scared  of  your  own  ghost ?  apparently ,  YES .  you  don't  want  to  scare  him  back .  " you're  here    i've  got  you . "  hand  rests  on  the  boys  shoulder  for  just  a  second ,  reassurance  he  won't  turn  to  smoke  in  front  of  you  or  fade  away .  you  don't  remember  looking  so  close  to  DEATH .  " don't  be  scared . "   gentle  words,  barely  more  than  a  whisper ,  lean  back  ;  you're  wearing  two  layers  of  shirts  but  you  don't  feel  the  cold  like  that ,  so  you  don't  NEED  both .  tug  off  the  short  sleeve  without  much  thought  at  all ,  it  may  be  thin  but  it's  SOMETHING  and  it'll  swallow  up  the  boys  small  frame  regardless .  offer  it  up .  " here ,  it'll  help .  you  need  all  the  layers  you  can  get . "

[wthdrawn]

william byers almost accepted death, on the fifth day. the same one in which his mother saw a reflection in the desolate wall framing. but (un)fortunately it ran through bloodline. the never ending inability to ever give up. which leads us here. knees shoved against chest, creating the illusion of being so much smaller. a trick of the trade when hiding is a means of survival. "y-you" - the syllables are all broken. to be seen by yourself, what a fascinating thought. but this version was older, wiser. with lips that were plumper and stained a somber shade of rose. with cheek bones that have been chiseled through years of suffering. but most of all, its still there. that pureness in gaze that shifts between them. even as lips shake, you still feel like home.

and when the older version touches him something happens. it’s quick, brutal in assault as it drags you both through each and every crevice. it unlocks /or rehashes one memory at a time. starting with one that holds no remembrance for the youngest byers. ( as its being (re)told once again after all). william byers and michael wheeler sit on a tan couch, decorated in homemade ghostbusters costumes. empty candy wrappers painting a blanket around them.

“we’ll go crazy together right” ...... yea, crazy together.

their palms entwined. "mike", name has never tasted so dry. but he can all but feel it, that touch of their hands together. so much so it makes eyes close. because it means that you have survived. at what cost seems to not matter. there is a small shift, close enough to miss it if not recognized. he watches mike start to cry, its a different sequence. a choked confession that seems to pull them all together.

"I just walked up to you and I asked ... I asked if you wanted to be my friend. And you said yes. It was the best thing I’ve ever done"

tears are on the brink, but its gone. - the scratching of a record player. a dark sheet of black touching down as a strike of lightning. the aroma of fresh rain shifts between them, a potency so strong that it draws an unsteady breath to the tenfold. the ghosted shadows of two best friends disintegrate. instead they are apart now. standing with the look that might just break them. but his shadow refuses to look.

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT YOU DON'T LIKE GIRLS"

shouted in ((their direction)). words that could've held a bullet by the look of pure horror. a calculated misdirect, a wheeler speciality. and he can see it now, how the other version of himself reacts. the choked back gulp, A SLAP TO THE FACE. nails digging in the centerfold of palm. “we love him" said over the battle that continues. he looks to his shadow self. as the statement reads to be a question or a statement. interpretation to the beholder. and he grabs your hand. an all but small dainty thing that could be swallowed up whole “bad memories. we need to leave the bad memories"