#hellcheersource

[kwistowee]

ugh... this sceeeeeeene 🥰 STRANGER THINGS | 4.01

[artbean]

REBEL GIRL

by @annanevermore (nevertheless_5 on ao3)

“I cut my hair and it’s…not good. I know you can fix it. I should have gone to you first. I was just feeling annoyed and frustrated and suddenly tired of my hair, of all the expectations of looking like this…”

He could almost see her waving her hands at herself, even over the phone. She would make it look cute. He smiled at the mental image.

“Eddie, I need you.”

on to the second @strangerthingsreversebigbang! this one was an absolute blast and i’m thrilled to have put more platonic hellcheer content out in the world. make sure to check out the fic!<3

[astorytotellyourfriends]

one of the best parts of denver fanexpo was snagging a commission spot from brianna garcia so i could get hellcheer having an ice cream date 😭😭 she even said it was one of her fave commissions from the whole weekend 🥹🥰

[khaleesa]

141. “Tell me what you want.”

You have no idea how tempted I was to write a 90s AU for this one with Chrissy listening to the Spice Girls. I hope this is a better alternative! Unbetaed, so as to surprise you. 💗

~*~

What a Girl Wants

"Okay, Cunningham," Eddie called from the hallway, "how do you wanna--?" 

The question died as he halted in his tracks just inside the open bedroom door. One hand fumbled for the door frame because he suddenly felt weak in the knees, like the muscles and tendons and bones and shit had turned to goo, unable to support his weight. He couldn't breathe, his heart slamming around too fast in his chest for his lungs to work. His face felt really hot, too. Jesus Christ, was he about to fucking swoon? 

Well I do declare, could somebody please pass the smelling salts? Because Chrissy Cunningham was in his bedroom, perched at the end of his bed, wearing a nightgown.

Nightshirt? It was more like a really huge blue t-shirt that fell to her knees. Each of the elbow length sleeves was encircled with broad white stripes--like a football jersey. (Unfortunately, Eddie knew more than he wanted to about football; Wayne didn't allow the TV to be set to anything else on Sunday afternoons, even though he mostly napped through games.) A big, white number 7 was screen printed across the front of Chrissy's nightshirt, between the two perky humps of her boobs. 

She, uh, wasn't wearing a bra. Eddie didn't need a high school diploma to know that. Those nips didn't lie. 

His face was so. hot. It was all he could do not to fan himself with his free hand. But that would freak her out, right? He dropped his gaze to her feet. The thick, slouchy tube socks made her strong, slender legs look even shaplier. Shit, this was not helping. 

"Eddie?" 

His eyes snapped back up to Chrissy's face. Her skin was pink and glowing from her shower, makeup scrubbed off, and her hair, still a little damp, fell over her shoulders in waves that glowed sunset gold in the lamplight. Holy hell, she was gorgeous. And alive. And staying with him. Because, apparently, she felt safer and happier in a dumpy Forest Hills trailer than in her parents' big swanky house in Loch Nora. 

Apparently, she liked him. 

Eddie swallowed and croaked, like he'd slipped back in time to puberty, "Uh, yeah, Chrissy?"

"What were you saying?"

What was he saying? Hell if he knew. He'd be lucky to remember his own goddamn name with those big blue-gray eyes of her gazing up at him from his bed. 

(Eddie. His name was Eddie. Short for Edward James Munson.)

And he also remembered what he'd come in here to say. 

"Oh. Yeah." He slapped the door frame and stepped fully into the bedroom. "I was just gonna ask about, you know, uh…" His hand went up to scrunch his hair in back. "...sleeping arrangements." 

Chrissy's eyes got even bigger. "Sleeping arrangements?" she squeaked. 

"Yeah, like…" Eddie jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I can take the couch." 

"I can take the couch!" Chrissy hopped to her feet, more eagerly than Eddie would've hoped for--but this was, after all, why he'd brought it up. 

Trying not to sound as crestfallen as he felt, he asked, "Uh, what kind of shitty host do you think I am, making a guest sleep on the couch?" 

Not that he hadn't made guests sleep on the couch--on the rare occasion he had them. But usually that was just the guys crashing after too many beers and too much weed. No one who required red carpet treatment.

"And what kind of crappy guest do you think I am, making the host give up his bed?" Chrissy retorted. "You're taller than me, Eddie, you'll get a sore neck if you sleep on the couch."

"The lady is as benevolent as she is beautiful, but I won't allow it." He went on, over Chrissy's protest, "Uncle Wayne gets home, at like, three a.m. You'd only get a couple hours' sleep." 

"Oh." Chrissy's brow furrowed, and her full lips pursed. Just when Eddie thought she was going to concede, she said, "But that means you won't get enough sleep, either."

"Well." He wracked his brain for an argument, but he had nothing. "That's true." 

For a moment they stared at each other, Chrissy's eyes wide and imploring, lips parted as if words were about to leap off her tongue, then she huffed out a sigh and glanced toward the closet door. 

"Do you have any extra blankets?" she asked. "I can make a little pallet on the floor here, and you can sleep on the bed."

"Or I can sleep on the floor, while you take the bed. 

Eddie pictured himself curled up against the end of the mattress--a loyal pooch at his mistress' feet. Or a guard dog. Yeah, that seemed about right. But Chrissy's face looked like she disagreed.

Now it was Eddie who sighed, holding out his hands, palms up.  "Please, Princess, I'm trying to be a gentleman here. Can you just let--Wait." He shook his head as his brain stumbled backward to the last thing she'd said, then blinked at her, comprehension dawning. "You mean you're cool with me sleeping in the same room as you?"

Was that a blush creeping across her cheeks as she nodded, not quite meeting his eye and catching her bottom lip between her teeth? (He wished those were his teeth sinking into that sweet, supple flesh.)

"I didn't think you wanted to sleep in the same room as me," Chrissy said, in the surprised hush that had gotten under his skin that day in the woods where all this began. "You were so insistent about the couch." 

Well who'd a thunk chivalry would bite Eddie in the ass? "I only meant I would if you wanted me to."

"I don't want you to."

"And you don't want to sleep on the couch." 

Chrissy looked down. Eddie could see the curl of her long golden lashes against the delicate, faintly purplish skin below her eyes. "Not really. No." 

"Do you want to sleep on the floor?" 

Chrissy's fingers picked at the fabric of her nightshirt. "Well…no."

"That's two votes in favor of Chrissy not sleeping on this cesspit of a floor." 

Her gaze darted up to his, before immediately dropping back to her hands. "I don't want you to either."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and Eddie once again felt hot and mushy, like he was boiling from the inside and would just melt at Chrissy's feet. But while he thought he might have an idea of what she was trying to say, it was just too absofuckinglutely bananas to believe. It was probably just what he hoped she was trying to say. He didn't want to jump to any conclusions and make this more awkward than it already was. 

Still, they were getting nowhere by beating around the bush. (He should not think about bushes.)

Eddie blurted out, "Well, where do you want me to sleep?"

Now there was no denying that Chrissy was blushing as she stared steadfastly down at her feet, which were curling into the carpet. 

"Chrissy. Tell me what you want." 

This time, when she raised her eyes to meet his, her gaze held. She rolled her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and said in the steady tone that had won her the position of Head Cheerleader--and that had told Vecna to go to hell, "I want you to sleep in the bed. With me. But…" Here, she faltered a little. "But only if…you want to sleep in the bed. With me." 

Eddie basically did swoon then, flopping backward onto the bed. Over Chrissy's laughter, he said, "Sweetheart! That's what I've wanted this whole freaking time! But I didn't, uh, want to make assumptions. I make a big enough ass of myself without their help." 

He reached out, and Chrissy placed her hand in his as she knelt beside him on the mattress. "I didn't want you to think I'm…I don't know…fast?" 

"Hmm…" Eddie rolled onto his side and drew her hand to his lips, pressing a smacking kiss to the back of it. "We've been hanging out for less than a week, and here you are asking me to sleep with you. There are those who might call that fast." 

Although Chrissy's cheeks flushed again, her grip tightened on his hand as she lowered herself onto her side facing him.

"Last week felt awfully long to me," she said.

Eddie scuffed his thumb across the ridges of her knuckles. "Yeah. It sure as fuck did." 

Yet it had brought them to now. He wasn't sure how much time passed with them lying hand-in-hand, face-to-face in his bed, but it was long enough that Chrissy started to yawn. Eddie leaned in to kiss her drooping eyelids. 

"I swear, I'll be a gentleman," he murmured, still conscious that there were still aspects of their sleeping arrangement that they hadn't worked out. Such as, what did she want him to wear to bed? And was she okay with cuddling? Big spoon or little spoon? "I don't expect you to…You know." 

It was Eddie who bit down on his lower lip. Chrissy tilted her head and pressed her lips to it. 

"What if I expect you to…You know?" she asked.

Eddie's heart was beating so hard he was pretty sure it had collapsed a lung. His head swam. This was like being high. Better. "You wouldn't happen to have any smelling salts on you, would you, Miss?" 

Chrissy giggled. 'What?"

"It's a good thing I'm already lying down, is all I'm saying." Eddie shifted on his pillow to meet her eye. "Just tell me what you want, Chrissy, and I'll do it. Anything."

"Right now," Chrissy said, pressing herself against his chest and tucking her head under his chin, "I want you to put your arms around me." 

So Eddie did. 

150 Random Writing Prompts

[foundtherightwords]

Signal Fire - Chapter 1

Summary: Two years after Corroded Coffin finally made it big, Eddie learns that Chrissy's mother has passed away. He returns to Hawkins in the hope of reuniting with her, but would Chrissy be able to overcome her fears and allow herself some happiness at last?

A/N: This is the final part of "Return to Hawkins". I highly recommend that you read the first two parts, especially "Headlights on Dark Roads", before reading this.

Also, since the first one, "Same Streets, New Memories" is in Eddie's POV, and the second one, "Headlights on Dark Roads", is in Chrissy's POV, I thought I'd have their alternating POVs here to balance things out.

Warnings: angst, brief mentions of abuse, homophobia, and drug use, some smut (in this chapter)

Chapter word count: 4.2k

Chapter 1

On tour, every band has its own post-show wind-down routine. Some retire to their hotel rooms with a drink or two and some mind-numbing TV. Some crash on their tour bus on their way to the next city, the next gig. Some meditate. Some talk to their therapist. Others, the really annoying ones, do yoga or hit the gym. Most party, and party hard, putting every substance known to man—and some unknown as well—down their throats, up their noses, and into every bodily orifice they can find.

The members of Corroded Coffin, like ET, phone home.

It had been over two years since they were signed with Metal Blade, two whirlwind years of constant recording, rehearsals, and gigs. Their third album—often mistaken by the new fans as their debut—had gone gold, then platinum. They had opened for Metallica, played at the recently resurrected Lollapalooza, and were about to embark on their first-ever European tour. For a band from a small town in Indiana who, until five years ago, was still struggling in obscurity, it was pretty well done.

Perhaps some of that success was owed to the band's exemplary behavior, both on- and offstage. Perhaps it was because they'd made almost every mistake one could make as a band already. When you've spent nearly 15 years doing everything wrong, the next thing you do is bound to be right. Their shows were always explosive, but there was no smashing of instruments, no biting heads off live animals. They were friendly with the other acts, but as soon as the backstage party descended into chaos and disorder, they excused themselves. When it came to parties, Corroded Coffin was much more likely to be found in the kind that went raiding and fighting evil wizards.

Though there was the occasional speculation about their personal lives, especially that of their charismatic frontman, they remained intensely private on that aspect. Tabloids soon got bored of them. They became known as the good boys of metal. Other critics, less charitable, called them a dad band, squares, or said that, like their name, they were already in the grave. They didn't care. All those years had taught them to manage their expectations. They knew they were never going to be huge, like Metallica-huge. But they seemed set on their way to being a moderately successful band, at least enough to earn a living doing what they love, and how many of us are that lucky?

That night, as they finished their penultimate US show in San Francisco, Jeff, Grant, and Gareth called their loved ones in LA as usual, although they were coming home the next day to prepare for Rock am Ring in Germany. Eddie checked his phone as well. Though it was now late in Hawkins, Uncle Wayne would still be awake, a leftover habit from his days of working nights at the plant, or, if not, he would leave Eddie a voice message—the old man never got the hang of texting, bless him—and Eddie would call him back in the morning.

Wayne had left a message. It only said, "Call me when you get this. Never mind the time."

Had something happened? Had there been an accident? With his heart in his throat, Eddie fumbled with the buttons to dial Wayne's number.

"I'm fine, everything's fine," Wayne said the moment he heard Eddie's voice, and Eddie relaxed slightly. "Except—ah, Mrs. Cunningham just passed away. Couple of days ago."

Eddie's first reaction was to laugh out loud at the sheer anti-climactic feel of it all. Through the curtain of his bunk, he could hear the murmur of Gareth's voice asking his wife to give their daughter a goodnight kiss.

"How'd you know?" Eddie asked. "Did she tell you or—"

Wayne knew who he meant. "No. I still see her in town from time to time, but—no, I saw the funeral notice."

So Chrissy's mom had died. Eddie sat down, not quite sure how he should take the news. He supposed he should feel bad for the woman, at least a little, but all he could feel was relief. Ding dong, the witch is dead. He'd only met Mrs. Cunningham once, shortly before he went back to LA, but it was enough, and he could never forgive her for the damage she'd done to Chrissy. She was the reason Chrissy had decided to stay in Hawkins, the reason Chrissy had given up on them. Now that she was gone... but he was getting ahead of himself. What bothered him was that Chrissy hadn't told him the news herself. She still had his number, he believed. Why hadn't she called? Did she think he would not care? Did she even want him there?

"When's the funeral?" Eddie heard himself asking.

"Day after tomorrow."

"Do you—do you think I should be there?"

Eddie knew Wayne would understand. Wayne knew Eddie would want to talk it out with someone, which was why he'd waited to tell Eddie directly instead of just leaving a message. Eddie was grateful to his uncle for that.

"Look, I don't want to pry into what happened between you and Chrissy," Wayne said. "But she's lonely, I can tell. For a year after you left, she didn't come around, didn't call, nothing. Then one day, I ran into her at the store, and the girl just... broke down. I told her if she needed someone to talk to, I'd be there for her. Now she brings me food sometimes, and we'd have a beer and talk about you."

"Wait, how come this is the first time I ever heard about you and Chrissy hanging out?"

"Chrissy asks me not to mention it to you. She's still..." Eddie was dying for his uncle to finish the sentence, but Wayne only cleared his throat. "But what does an old man like me know anyway? If you can make it, go—even if it's just for old time's sake."

After he said goodbye to Wayne and hung up, Eddie lay back in his bunk. Two years. Two years he had not heard from Chrissy. When he left, she'd asked him not to say goodbye, and so in his mind, things between them had never ended at all. Once the band was settled in LA, he'd called and called and called and sent messages after messages, telling her that he would wait until she was ready to talk, so they could figure things out. She never answered, and after a while, he stopped.

It was fortunate that he had been so busy the past two years, or he might have gone crazy from missing her. The mornings were the worst. At night, he could fall into bed, exhausted after a gig or a recording session, without thinking much of her, but in the morning, there was always a drowsy moment when he expected to feel her feather-light kisses on his ear, and he would strain so hard to actually catch the kiss that he woke himself up.

He'd missed her when he and the guys had gone to see The Return of the King (opening night, Grauman's Chinese Theater), although she had always fallen asleep watching any of the Lord of the Rings films. He missed seeing her curled up on his shitty couch in his shitty apartment in Hawkins. Not that he would trade what they had now for his old life. But it would've been nice if he could've shared it with her. 

And here was his chance.

The funeral was on Thursday. They were leaving for Germany next week. That would give him three days in Hawkins for the funeral and to work out whatever needed to be worked out between him and Chrissy, before rejoining the band in LA.

Two years was a long time. A lot could've changed. But if Wayne was correct, if Chrissy was really lonely and still... still what? Thinking of him? In love with him? Eddie didn't know, but he couldn't let this chance pass without finding out.

***

Eddie rented a car in Indianapolis and drove straight to the funeral from the airport. The closer he got to Hawkins, to seeing Chrissy, the faster his heartbeats got, until he felt like his heart had been switched with one of Gareth's snares. What would she be like? Would she be the same, or had she changed? Would she be happy to see him?

His flight was a bit late, and the car rental had taken longer than he'd expected, so by the time he pulled into the church, the service was already underway. He slipped in, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but several heads from the back rows still turned toward him, first with curiosity, and then disapproval. He'd take care to wear black, but now that he thought about it, perhaps black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black leather jacket were not the most appropriate attire in this situation. He could only imagine what he looked like to this church-going crowd—less like someone attending a funeral and more like someone going to a Black Sabbath concert, which, to be fair, is what he looked like most of the time. Even the photo of Mrs. Cunningham set by the lectern, surrounded by white chrysanthemums, seemed to be glaring at him.

Ignoring those looks of consternation, Eddie found a pew at the very back and gingerly sat down, while still scanning the front for Chrissy. He knew the back of her head and her neck so well that he was certain he could pick her out even from behind. But there was no sign of her blond head. Perhaps she had decided to skip the funeral altogether. Given the relationship between her and her mother, Eddie couldn't exactly blame Chrissy. That didn't stop him from feeling a sense of anticlimax though. Where would she be?

Eddie noticed that no family member stepped up to give a speech. Of course, Chrissy's brother, who had been kicked out by her parents at eighteen for being gay, wouldn't be there either. At the lectern, the pastor was droning on about what a kind and generous soul Mrs. Cunningham was and how bravely she had endured tragedy and hardship in the last few years of her life, and Eddie had to fight the urge to snort. Yes, such a kind and generous woman that neither of her children was present at her funeral.

Finally, the service was over, and people started filing out and headed to the cemetery. There was a bit of a traffic jam at the door as they stopped to shake hands with the family. Eddie hung back a little to see if Chrissy was there, but he only saw a woman whose resemblance to Mrs. Cunningham suggested she was a sister or at least a cousin, and standing next to her was the last person he'd expected to see.

Jason Carver.

Despite looking a little thicker around the middle and with a bit of a receding hairline, Jason didn't seem to have changed much since high school. The smug look on his face and the instant loathing Eddie felt upon seeing it were exactly the same as well. What the fuck was Jason Carver doing here? Last Eddie heard, he was married and living in Bloomington. Unless... unless... a terrible possibility formed in Eddie's mind. Two years was a long time. A lot could have changed.

Eddie hesitated, half wanting to slip away so he wouldn't have to interact with Jason, half wanting to interrogate Jason on what he was doing here and where the hell Chrissy was. Just as he was wavering at the exit, he felt a prod at his back, and a woman behind him hissed, "Move along!" He stumbled forward and found himself face-to-face with Jason.

"Eddie Munson?" Jason's mouth dropped. "What on Earth are you doing here?"

"Carver." Eddie nodded with what he hoped was a nonchalant air and deliberately ignored Jason's question. "Didn't know you were in town."

"We just happened to be visiting my parents when I heard the news from Chris—Chrissy. I thought she could use some help."

"So where is she?"

Jason's eyes narrowed as if he thought Eddie wasn't allowed to ask after Chrissy, but he answered anyway, "She wasn't feeling well and decided to stay home. This is very hard on her, you know. First her dad, now her mom. They were close."

Eddie stared at Jason, astonished that despite being with Chrissy for less than ten months, he'd known more about her than this fool ever did after having dated her throughout high school. His fear of Chrissy getting back with Jason seemed ridiculous now. He turned away, got into his rental car, and drove to the Cunningham's house.

***

Eddie drove down Poplar Tree Road, past the horrible cookie-cutter McMansions with their tiny lawns and huge garages that had sprung up all over this side of town in the nineties, until he came to Chrissy's house at the older end of the street. It still looked the same as he remembered from Thanksgiving two years ago, even from the time he'd driven her home after that night they'd spent in his trailer, all the way back in high school, with its unfriendly faux-stone façade that reminded him of Mrs. Cunningham's perpetual thin-lipped, disapproving look.

There was no car in the driveway. He rang the doorbell, then knocked. For a bewildering moment, he wondered if Jason had lied and Chrissy wasn't home after all. Just as he reached for the handle to see if the door was locked, it opened, and there she was.

Eddie's heart skipped a beat. He had been so focused on seeing her at the funeral and so worried when she didn't show up, that he hadn't prepared himself for seeing her like this, in such a normal setting, like no time had passed at all. Relief and joy and agony fought inside him, weakening his limbs.

At first glance, she, too, seemed unchanged. Her hair was longer now, pulled back into a low bun, almost like the ponytail she'd sported in high school, and for a second, Eddie was transported back to '86, back to the woods behind Hawkins High, when Chrissy had looked up at him with those blue, blue eyes. Even the expression in her eyes was the same. It tugged at his heart and made him want to scoop her up into his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, because he was here.

But that vulnerable look was only there for an instant. It quickly disappeared, replaced first by surprise and then by an unnatural, blank calmness, and Eddie felt his heart falter.

"Eddie?" she said, and if he hadn't been watching her so closely, if he hadn't dreamed of seeing her again every night for the past two years, he would've missed the slight quiver in her voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Wayne called and let me know. Why didn't you tell me?"

She took a moment to answer. "I thought you were on tour."

"We just finished our last US show." So she knew they were on tour. She still cared.

"Did you come here all the way from LA?"

"Yeah. I'm going back on Sunday."

Chrissy let out a small "Oh" before they lapsed into an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have come—" he began.

"No, it's fine. I appreciate it," she said stiffly. Then, realizing they were still standing at the door, she stepped back. "Come in."

Eddie followed her into the living room. He noticed that Chrissy was wearing a black dress, but the matching jacket was thrown haphazardly on the couch, and there was a rather sad-looking bouquet of white lilies on the table.

"Why weren't you at the funeral?" he asked.

She turned to him, that haunted, frightened look back in her eyes. "I was getting ready to go," she said, picking up the lilies and trying to rearrange them, her fingers twitching restlessly. "But my dress—the fit isn't right—and these lilies I bought to put in the casket—they wilted—she wouldn't like that—she always wanted everything to be perfect—and I just couldn't—I couldn't—" The flowers dropped from her hands, her face crumpled, and she burst into choking, wrenching sobs.

Eddie was beside her in a flash. He took her hands in his, and when that wasn't enough, he pulled her into his arms, cradling her head on his chest. "Shh, it's OK," he murmured. "It's OK. It's OK."

Chrissy clung to him, her hot tears soaking through his shirt, and slowly, her trembling subsided, and her sobs quieted. He lifted her chin. "She's gone. It doesn't matter what she thought anymore," he said. "And for what it's worth, I think you're perfect, Chrissy Cunningham."

She looked at him, and he could see something else was unchanged too—the trust and love in her eyes, eyes that had lit up his world and guided him through all those long, disheartening years, even before they had gotten together, before he knew what she would come to mean to him. His fears and doubts vanished, and, leaning down, he kissed her. 

As soon as their lips met, all the grief and the longing of the past two years melted away, disappeared into the blaze that erupted between them with all the suddenness and intensity of a wildfire. Their hands were all over each other, his cupping her face, hers curled into his lapels, as they drank each other in like two people dying of thirst. No matter how hard he crushed her to him, she would press back harder, until she stumbled backward and landed on the couch, pulling him down on top of her. Her skirt rode up. Eddie pushed it further up and twisted his fingers into the elastic band at her hips, yanking it down. The feel of her hips writhing under his hands drove him to distraction, so much so that he couldn't even undo his belt, not wanting to move away from her. Luckily, Chrissy noticed his fumbling and lent a helping hand.

But the couch was too small. Her left leg and his right arm were squeezed against the back, and if they tried to make room for each other, they were in danger of falling off. With a growl of frustration, Eddie sat up and swung Chrissy into his lap so she was straddling him. Much better. Only her dress was in the way. He tugged impatiently at it, heedless of the ripping sound, until it was off her shoulder, and he buried his face between her breasts while she braced her palms against the back of the couch and rolled her hips toward him. He lifted himself to meet her.

When their bodies finally connected, Chrissy let out a choked cry, and Eddie almost cried out in relief as well. He'd missed her, but he hadn't known how much until now.

It had never felt like this between them. Even their last night together, over two years ago, had been slow and dreamy, tinged with the bittersweet note of heartbreak, not this savage, desperate clawing at each other's clothes, not this panting, gasping need to get closer and closer until they were one. He no longer knew where or who he was. All he knew was her—her skin silken and scorching in his palms, her lips quivering in his mouth, her arms and legs wrapping tightly around him, her hips moving so in sync with his that he couldn't tell where she ended and he began.

When the release came, it was messy and clumsy and wrong, and it felt so, so right.

Eddie didn't know how long they remained on the couch afterward, with his arms around her and her head on his chest, while their matching breaths and heartbeats slowed and became their own again. After what felt like either an eternity or no time at all, Chrissy spoke. "Eddie," she said, and he almost cried again at the sound of his name in her voice, the whisper of her breath against his skin. "That was—"

"—amazing," he said, placing a gentle kiss on her lips that soon became not so gentle anymore.

When they drew apart again, he brushed some strands of sweat-damp hair away from her forehead and thought, even with her tear-stained cheeks, swollen lips, and half-torn dress, or perhaps precisely because of those things, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"Yes, it was, but..." As soon as the word "but" was out of her mouth, his heart went cold. "But it doesn't mean—"

"Please don't say that it doesn't mean anything," he said, tightening his grip around her.

"No." She placed her hand on his chest and looked at him with such tenderness that his heart turned over. "But it doesn't mean what you want it to mean either."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She didn't answer right away. She moved off his lap, pulled her dress up, and smoothed her hair back without looking at him. He adjusted his clothes as well, feeling strangely chilled and lonely. That all-consuming fire between them was gone.

"You should go," Chrissy said. "My aunt may come back here from the cemetery to check on me." So the woman he'd seen at the funeral was Mrs. Cunningham's sister. "And Jason too," Chrissy added.

Hearing her say Jason's name so casually stirred up some unaccustomed emotions inside Eddie. Anger? Jealousy? At the church, he had been sure Chrissy couldn't have gotten back with Jason. He was not so sure now.

"Are you—you and him—" He knew he had no right to ask. He and Chrissy had broken up; whatever she did or whoever she chose to see was her own business. He hated himself for even asking, yet he couldn't stop the question.

"Don't be ridiculous. He's married, remember? He and his wife are in Hawkins visiting his folks, and he's been kind enough to help me with the funeral arrangements, that's all."

So you trust him enough to tell him about your mother's death, but not me, Eddie thought, but what he said was, "You got all your exes lined up pretty conveniently, don't you?"

"What do you mean?" Chrissy asked, her face wary.

"Well, there's Jason helping with the funeral, and here's me for—what? A quickie on your couch?" He didn't know where the vitriol was coming from. Perhaps he was hurt that Chrissy had not turned to him in her hour of need. Perhaps he was hurt that she could push him away so coldly and matter-of-factly, after what they'd just had.

Chrissy's eyes were like two blue crystals. "Don't try to be nasty, Eddie," she said, expressionless. "It doesn't suit you."

Eddie looked away. Hot shame rose within him. He'd come back to comfort Chrissy, yet the moment she didn't swoon at his feet, he threw a tantrum like an overgrown toddler.

"What do you want from me?" Chrissy continued, when he remained silent. "My mom just died. Did you expect me to throw my arms up in the air to celebrate and then ride off into the sunset with you?"

"No!" Eddie shouted, though that was exactly what he had expected. "I just wanted to—to comfort you!"

"I don't need your comfort," she said, her jaws set.

Her words lashed at him like a whip. He was reminded all too vividly of her words when she broke up with him, when she'd chosen to stay in Hawkins instead of going with him to LA. I can't keep letting you fight for me. They still smarted, after these two years.

"But you need Jason's help, is that it?"

She flinched. "That was different."

"How?"

"He doesn't—I don't—" She picked up her jacket, then threw it back down again, unable to find the right words.

Eddie jumped up from the couch and seized her arms. "You don't have to be strong all the time, you know. Why can't you just let me take care of you? I want to! I want—" And because he didn't know what else to do, how else to show her, because he still wanted her, all of her, so much he could hardly bear it, he kissed her again. For a moment, her mouth opened and her body melted into his, and all the hurt was forgotten once more—

"Chris?" Jason's voice rang out across the foyer.

Chrissy pushed Eddie away just as Jason stepped into the living room. "You OK? The front door's open—" He paused upon seeing the two of them, their faces crimson like two teenagers caught by a parent. Jason's handsome features hardened as his eyes bore into Eddie. "Munson? What are you doing here?"

"Leaving," Eddie muttered and staggered to the door without a look back. He didn't want to see Jason succeed where he had failed—in comforting Chrissy.

Coming back was a mistake. There was nothing left for him here.

Chapter 2

[hellcheersource]

WELCOME TO HELLCHEERSOURCE

We are your brand new source blog dedicated to works celebrating Eddie Munson & Chrissy Cunningham, and the actors who portray them, in Netflix’s award-winning series, Stranger Things. Original creations will be posted on this blog and we will work to reblog as many Hellcheer creations as possible, so that they are retroactively all in one place.

We track: #hellcheeredit and #hellcheersource so feel free to tag us in your gifsets, fanart, graphics, fanfics, and other creative endeavors!

Interested in becoming a member? Fill out the information below and submit it here.

MEMBER APPLICATION:

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[mostly-jensen]

Hey @staff @support @wip where is @hellcheersource ? It seems to have been unceremoniously deleted. Can it please be restored? Thank you!

[sloelimbs]

so, i was actually debating for a while about whether i was going to write anything about this - because it feels cringey to acknowledge my own accomplishments - but then @hellcheersource asked me if i had anything posted for aesthetic chills on this blog. and i don't, so.

i wrote this story a year ago. or, i started this story a year ago. i finished it a couple of months later, i think. it ended up being just over 59k, which remains the most i've ever written solo. as of shortly after midnight on the 24/06/23 it sits at a couple hundred away from 24k hits. i've never loved any of my writing before i wrote this stupid story, because in this year i've met people who were so instantly my tribe it's felt like we've always known each other. special mentions to @lokinightfury @jenniebellie @barriss and @kwistowee who... honestly, genuinely, have changed me for the better.

anyway. i love all you stupid hellcheer nerds. you mean a lot to me. and yeah, maybe i'm a little tipsy. that can just be our secret. here's a snippet in case you want to read it:

“Chrissy, what the fuck?” She’s starting to think he doesn’t know any more exciting words, but Eddie is a sight for sore eyes and she feels that stiffness - the fake - drip off her in visceral oily tendrils. Like something she hadn’t noticed creeping up her leg until it’s torn her shin to shreds. Something alien just waiting for her to drop her guard and--. “Chris? C’mon, don’t go all,” Eddie’s hands spread in the space she’s been staring at for God knows how long, “space cadet on me now.” No, she thinks, not after last time.  “Can I come in?” It tickles a memory for her. Do you have anything… stronger? Like it’s the same act of rebellion folded in on itself.

[kwistowee]

@stcreators event 03: comfort (scene) insp.

[artbean]

@eddiemonth day 19: sci fi/tech

> PLAY IT AT YOUR ARCADE

inspired by the cover for don bluth’s “dragon’s lair”—see the original below the cut!

[astorytotellyourfriends]

happy valentine's 💖💘💝

[khaleesa]

Hallo friend. Have one of the writing prompts from the list you reblogged:

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

What a great prompt! I had so much fun writing this one. Thank you! And thanks to @bratanimus for betaing.

(TW: disordered eating.)

~*~

Faint Heart, Fair Lady

"Chrissy, take ten!" 

The voice seemed to come from a long way off. Chrissy might not have heard it if it hadn't said her name. Blinking away blackness at the edges of her vision, her eyes, a little blurry, focused on Coach Johnson, who wasn't very far away at all. In fact, she was standing right in front of Chrissy, front and center on the basketball court. She could feel the eyes of every other member of the cheer squad--her squad--in formation all around her, staring. 

Judging. 

Tightening her sweaty grip on the handles of her pompoms, slack at her sides, Chrissy perched them on her hips and pushed out her chest. "I'm fine, Coach. Just a little light-headed. I don't need a break." "You're clearly not fine," said Coach Johnson. "You're sluggish and out of sync. You're sweaty but pale. You look woozy--"

Chrissy latched onto that. "I am a little woozy, that's all. It's so hot…" 

After school practices in the un-air-conditioned gym in August were like cheering in a sauna. The propped-open doors at each end didn't do much to help catch the breeze.

"Exactly. Put a cool, wet towel on your neck. Drink water. Get some fresh air." 

When Chrissy started to protest, Coach Johnson lay a hand on her shoulder and spoke softer. "You're not in trouble, Chrissy. I'm not kicking you out of practice or off the squad. Or demoting you from captain." 

Behind her, Chrissy heard gasps and whispers from the other cheerleaders. If she'd been pale before, now her cheeks burned flame red. She'd worked so hard to make captain this year, and Dana Holloway probably thought this was her chance to take over.

"I just want you to take care of yourself." Coach Johnson released her shoulder with a squeeze.

Chrissy staggered out of the gym as fast as she could, but her legs were heavy, slow, like in those dreams where you needed to run away but couldn't. Her vision blurred. She blinked against what she assumed to be tears, but her eyelids were dry. As she pushed through the swinging door and stepped into the hallway, the darkness was creeping in again. 

A buzzing in her ears; she swept her eyes around the hall for the source of the sound, but there was no one, nothing there, school out for the day and the students and staff gone home. Everything looked wrong, orange and white tiles tilting toward her, too close, at a strange angle to the striped walls. Or was it her who was wrong? 

She saw her own hands flail outward, scrabbling for balance or something to grab onto, so pale against the orange linoleum square. Was she falling? It didn't feel like falling. She was moving downward in slow-motion, there was gentle pressure at her back, around her waist, like a pair of strong arms supporting her.

Then, only black. 

~*~

"Chrissy. Chrissy, wake up." 

The voice seemed to come from up close. Very close. Like, right up in her face. It said her name, but wasn't a voice she recognized. 

"Chrissy." This time, the up-close voice was accompanied by a hand on her cheek. The skin was warm, a little rough. Fingertips lightly tapped her cheekbone. "Come on, Chrissy, wake up…" 

Her eyelids fluttered open, the black receding as she blinked up into a face she did recognize, framed by a wild, dark mane of hair. A pair of worried brown eyes peered down at her. 

"Eddie?" her voice creaked from her throat.

Eddie Munson--third-year senior, loudmouth, social pariah (except when dealing weed)--was touching her face. 

Eddie Munson was…holding her. 

"Surprise," he said in a sing-song voice. 

It certainly was. They were posed like the Gone With the Wind poster, for goodness' sake! Chrissy tried to push herself upright, but although her feet were on the floor, her legs were like jelly. She settled for raising her head.

"What happened?" she asked.

“So, uh, the strangest thing. I was coming out of detention…" 

Figured. 

"...and, uh, you fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

"I didn't want your attention," Chrissy snapped. 

Eddie's hand left her face and he held it up, palm out. A gesture of innocence--a word that didn't fit with what she knew of him at all. "Just a joke. But, uh, you're probably not really in the mood for jokes, huh?"

She shook her head--a bad idea, as it made her dizzy. "Not really." 

With unexpected gentleness, Eddie eased her to sit on the floor. The linoleum was dirty, but blessedly cool against the backs of her thighs and calves, bared by her green practice shorts, and Chrissy pressed her palms to it, taking deep breaths as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.

"So why'd you faint?" Eddie asked. 

Chrissy opened her eyes to see he'd dropped to a squat in front of her, a black metal lunchbox and backpack beside him.

"Did the sight of me make you swoon? I hope it was that and not, like, low blood sugar." With a toss of his head, he added, "Please tell me it was the dashing good looks and not the diabeetus?" 

Chrissy really wasn't in the mood for jokes, but Eddie had come to her aid, and she felt a little bad for being rude to him before. She opened her mouth to tell him she'd overheated during cheer practice, but her stomach let out a deep, rumbling growl. 

Eddie's round eyes darted comically to her stomach, then back up to her face. "That came out of you?"

"I didn't bring my lunch today." That sounded like she'd forgotten it, right? 

"Okay? They sell food in the cafeteria. I mean, they call it food, anyway."

"I didn't bring any money, either." 

Eddie gaped at her like he was illustrating the meaning of incredulous in the dictionary. "Do you mean to tell me that your boyfriend, God's gift to Hawkins High, just let you go hungry? What a dick."

"It's not a big deal to miss lunch now and then." Chrissy crossed her arms over her chest. 

Who did Eddie think he was, criticizing her boyfriend? She couldn't decide whether she was more annoyed about that, or the realization that Jason hadn't even noticed that she wasn't eating lunch, because it was so normal for her. He used to ask, but at some point, he'd stopped.

"Believe me, I've missed lunch more than a few times," Eddie said. "But then I don't go do back handsprings and stand on top of human pyramids with one foot in the air." 

"Only when you've had lunch first?" 

"Thought you weren't in the mood for jokes." The corner of Eddie's mouth edged upward in a grin, and Chrissy felt the muscles of her own face mirror his expression.

"Apparently I am." 

He was kind of funny. Not like she'd thought he'd be, from the unhinged rants she'd witnessed in the cafeteria.  

"I'd offer you some of my lunch," Eddie said, indicating the lunchbox, "but unfortunately, all that's left in it is, uh…" He made a show of casting his dark eyes up and down the hallway, before leaning in to stage whisper, "weed." 

Was he joking? Was she still unconscious? This whole thing had the bonkers quality of a dream. Maybe this was just what talking to Eddie was like. She never had before today, at least not that she could remember.

"Wait here," Eddie said. 

With the jangle of his wallet chain, he bounded off down the hall like someone who didn't run often—or ever—disappearing around a corner. Chrissy could hear the squad in the gym, chanting, Pump, pump, pump it up, pump that Tiger spirit up! She should probably get back. It had to have been ten minutes by now. How long had she been unconscious? If Coach Johnson was really so concerned about Chrissy, why  hadn't she come to check on her? Before she could work up the energy to push to her feet, Eddie clattered back around the corner clutching something in each hand.

"For the lady," he said, a little winded, bowing and presenting with a flourish a can of 7 Up and a packet of peanut butter crackers. 

Chrissy's stomach clenched. It wasn't a diet soda, and peanut butter was so fattening, and crackers were just empty carbs. But…she hadn't eaten anything all day. A little bit would be fine, wouldn't it? She'd burn off the calories when she went back to cheer practice.

"You didn't have to do that, Eddie," she said.

"Ah, but I did. For you are the Queen of Hawkins High, and I am but your humble servant." 

He bowed again. Was he making fun of her? Eddie made fun of the athletes all the time, but maybe he didn't have an issue with cheerleaders? Whatever was happening, Chrissy didn't care when she cracked open the 7 Up and took a cold, sweet, citrusy sip. It was the best thing she'd tasted maybe ever, until she bit into a peanut butter cracker. 

"Thank you so much," she said. "I feel better already." 

Eddie picked up his lunchbox and slung his backpack over one shoulder. "I, uh, hate to lunch you and leave you, but I gotta get to practice." 

"Practice?" 

"Uh-huh. My band." 

He stood staring at her, like he was waiting for her to say something. As Chrissy swallowed another sip of soda, a memory sprang from some dusty corner of her mind. 

"Corroded Coffin!" 

Eddie's face lit up. "Wondered if you remembered the middle school talent show." 

"With a name like that, how could I forget?"

He ducked his head almost bashfully, hair falling into his face and hiding his grin.

"Take care of yourself, Chrissy." He turned  to go, then the soles of his Reeboks squeaked on the linoleum as he wheeled back. "And if the queen should ever again find herself with neither lunch nor money, she has only to ask, and I'll happily split half my sandwich." 

"I thought you only had…" Chrissy's voice dropped to a hush. "...weed." 

Eddie's delighted cackle followed him through the hall to the exit. The door had just shut behind him when the gym door swung open and Coach Johnson poked her head out. 

"Chrissy! There you are. You look better." 

"Surprise!" Chrissy heard herself say in a sing-song voice not quite her own. 

As she took another drink and pushed to her feet, her gaze drifted down the hall in the direction Eddie had gone. Her heart beat an erratic rhythm that she wasn't sure had anything to do with her fainting spell. 

And that was the most surprising thing of all.

150 Random Writing Prompts

[foundtherightwords]

Headlights on Dark Roads - Chapter 1

Pairing: Eddie x Chrissy (No Vecna/No Upside Down AU)

Summary: Eddie and Chrissy are in a relationship, having reconnected after they both moved back to Hawkins. However, Laura's disapproval still looms over them, and when Eddie has an opportunity to reunite and revive Corroded Coffin, Chrissy has to make a difficult choice between going with him to LA and staying in Hawkins to take care of her ailing mother.

A/N: So this is a soft continuation of my one-shot "Same Streets, New Memories". I tried to make it possible to read this as a standalone, but it would probably help with understanding some of the context if you read "SSNM" first. Also, be warned: this doesn't have a happy ending. I'm so sorry :((

Warnings: angst (oh so much angst), abuse (Laura Cunningham is her own warning), implied/mentions of ED, implied/mentions of homophobia, some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter word count: 4.7k

Chapter 1

"Eddie, wake up," Chrissy whispered, her lips brushing Eddie's ear as she leaned closer to him. In response, Eddie groaned and buried his head deeper into the pillow. Chrissy smiled. Eddie always reverted to being a kid when it came to waking up. "I brought breakfast," she said. "Or lunch." She still wasn't quite sure what to call it. It was usually Eddie's first meal of the day after he got off his shift at the Hideout, which made it breakfast, but it was also eaten around one or two in the afternoon, which made it lunch.

"I don't want breakfast. Or lunch," Eddie grumbled. He grabbed her waist and pulled her down on the bed, before rolling on top and planning a sleepy kiss on her lips. "I want this."

"Come on, let's get up and eat. I have practice this afternoon."

"Call in sick." The kiss was getting decidedly less sleepy now.

Chrissy laughed in mock outrage. "I can't, I'm the coach!"

"All right then, Coach Cunningham." Eddie lifted his head, his eyes twinkling. "What time's practice?"

"3:15."

He glanced at the alarm clock by the bedside table and grinned, the playful Munson grin that never failed to melt Chrissy's heart. "Plenty of time," he said, and kissed her again. This time, she kissed him back, luxuriating in the feel of his mouth against hers, of her hands in his hair.

When they finally sat down to the burrito wraps that had gone cold, Eddie said, "I have the day off. Do you want to grab dinner later and come back here to watch Fellowship?"

"Again?" Chrissy had enjoyed the movie when Eddie first showed it to her, though she didn't find the prospect of sitting on her butt for nearly three hours that appealing. From then on, whenever Eddie wanted to rewatch it, which was constantly, her stipulation was that they added at least one bathroom break.

"I'm going to watch it once a week until Two Towers comes out."

Chrissy shook her head affectionately. "I do believe you're going to break that tape."

"No, it's the extended version! Come on, I won't even be mad if you fall asleep—again."

It was hard to escape his enthusiasm.

"OK, but I can't stay. I have to drive my mom to physical therapy tomorrow," she said. Ever since Eddie moved into this apartment, she'd only stayed overnight a handful of times, always arriving after putting her mother to bed and coming back before she woke. After her stroke, Laura could still move about with the use of a walker and a wheelchair, but she would know if Chrissy wasn't there and would complain about being left on her own.

Eddie's face fell, but quickly brightened up again. "Guess who I ran into at Guitar Center the other day?"

When Eddie took that second job teaching guitar at the music store in Bloomington, he'd joked "Those that can't do, teach." He was so cheerful these days that he often made jokes like that, and Chrissy's heart swelled again when she remembered how he had been when they first ran into each other—so beaten-down and bitter, compared to how he was now.

"Who?" she asked, nibbling on a tortilla chip.

"Gareth, looking for a hi-hat! He said I've inspired him to get back into drumming. Can't imagine why, after all the horrible stories I told him about our gigs back West." Eddie was being flippant, but Chrissy could see from his sparkling eyes that he was happy for his friend.

"I bet his wife loves that," she said with a grin.

"She does, that's the thing! Their kid loves it too! So every weekend, Gareth would just take the kid into the garage and bang away on the drums while Nicole has time to herself. Win-win."

"That's great."

"I was telling him, if we can get Jeff and Grant to come home for Christmas, maybe we'll have a Corroded Coffin reunion show at the Hideout."

"Oh, could you?" Chrissy squealed. "That means I'll finally be able to see you guys live!"

"And that'll be incentive enough for me," Eddie said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.

He finished his wrap and pushed the other one toward her. Chrissy's stomach flipped on reflex, the old queasiness whenever someone asked her to eat rearing its head again.

"Oh, I'm already full from the chips and salsa," she said automatically.

A crease of worry appeared between Eddie's eyes, but it only lasted for an instant. "I can't possibly eat all of that though," he said, pulling the burrito back. "Half?"

"...OK."

Chrissy took her half of the wrap. Eddie scarfed his half down, confirming her guess that he'd lied about not being able to eat the whole thing. But this was the one lie from him that she would always forgive. She and Eddie had never discussed her problem with eating, though she suspected he had already guessed from the way she pushed her food around the plate whenever they dined out together, from the way she was always bringing food to his place but never seemed to want to eat any of it herself. He never pressed her about it, but would always say he wanted to try this or that dish and ask her to share with him. She knew it was his subtle way of getting her to eat a little bit more, and was grateful for it. For him.

Once done, Eddie cleaned up the wrappers from the kitchen table, went to the couch, and picked up his guitar.

"Is that a new song?" Chrissy asked between bites, as he strummed through the first few chords.

"Not really. I started it a while ago. The day we ran into each other in the woods, remember?"

How could she forget?

"I can't figure it part out." He played some more, humming along, and shook his head irritably.

"I think it sounds great."

"You think all of my songs sound great," Eddie said, but he looked pleased.

Chrissy finished her burrito and got up to wash her hands. "By the way, what are you and Wayne doing for Thanksgiving?" Eddie's comment about Christmas had reminded her.

"I'm not sure," he replied, jotting down some notes. "Usually one of his buddies from the plant would invite us to their house, or we'll just have a symbolic turkey sandwich."

"Turkey sandwich?!" Chrissy exclaimed. "That's a crime!"

Eddie laughed. "It doesn't make sense to have a big feast with just the two of us," he said, and proceeded to tell her about the year when, determined to give Eddie a proper Thanksgiving, Wayne had bought a turkey, attempted to deep-fry it, and almost burned their trailer down.

After Chrissy had wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes and gotten her breath back, she said, "Would you two like to come to dinner with me and my mom then?"

She tried to say it lightly, but apparently, she'd failed, because Eddie stopped strumming the guitar and looked up at her. "Are we at the meet-the-parent stage already?" His eyes were laughing, but there was a breathless quality to his voice that matched how she was feeling.

They had been together for nearly eight months, eight wonderful, glorious months, since that day they ran into each other in the woods behind Hawkins High, of all places. If Chrissy had been superstitious, she would've said it felt like fate.

She hadn't even meant to ask Eddie out. She'd invited him to a basketball game only to catch up but hadn't expected him to actually show. But he had, and when she saw him lingering at the gym's entrance, looking out of place amongst the suburban parents with his long hair and leather jacket, a bubble of warmth had burst in her chest. After the game, they'd gone to the Hideout, where they'd just talked and talked and talked, about everything and nothing, and when she dropped him off at his trailer later that night, she'd leaned over to finish the kiss she'd started way back in '86, and that had cinched it.

Even now, eight months later, that warm bubble still expanded through her whenever she looked at him. Sometimes, she would be kicking herself for running from him all those years ago. But then again, Chrissy was a firm believer in timing. If they had gotten together back then, back when they were too young and fragile to handle this, it would've ended in disaster, or worse, they would have drifted apart and become strangers, just another face in the crowd.

Still, it would have been nice if they could have met a little sooner.

"I've met Wayne," she reminded Eddie.

"Yeah, but—that's different. He's known about us from the beginning." The easy way he said us set her heart fluttering. "Your mom, on the other hand—"

He was right to worry. Chrissy knew her mom suspected she was seeing someone, and she was thankful that since the stroke, Laura hadn't gone out much and therefore was no longer familiar with the rumor mill of Hawkins, or else she would have found out the truth and thrown a fit. The only boyfriend of Chrissy's that Laura had ever approved of was Jason, and she still nagged Chrissy about breaking up with him, although it had been nearly seventeen years and Jason was now happily married.

"Look, if your mom doesn't want me and Wayne there, you don't have to invite us."

"She just has to accept that I'm a grown-up now and can be with whoever I want," Chrissy said, sounding more confident than she felt. "She's lucky I'm bringing you home at all."

"Wow, I'm honored." Eddie was still teasing, but his eyes were soft.

"I'm serious. I've never—"

She trailed off. What she'd wanted to say was, I've never been so sure of anything in my life. Or anyone. But she was afraid of coming on too strongly.

She hadn't been sure of any of her exes. Jason... they'd gone out because she'd felt it was expected of her, the head cheerleader and the captain of the basketball team. God, could I be any more superficial? Her exes in college and after were the same, people she dated because she thought she was supposed to be dating, or because she wanted to defy her mother. She hadn't even been sure of her ex-husband. She'd married him only to get away from Hawkins, away from her mother.

But Eddie, Eddie was different. Even back in high school, when she had been on the verge of shattering under a thousand different pressures—pressure from her mom, from Jason, from school, from college, from her friends, pressure to be perfect, to maintain the façade of the Queen of Hawkins High—within five minutes, Eddie had managed to put her back together without even knowing what was bothering her. He'd only seen that she was bothered and had done everything he could to cheer her up.

Yes, even back then, Chrissy had known she would be safe with Eddie, and she knew it even more strongly now. She could see his affection in everything he did, from little things like sharing his food or calling her in the morning even though he just got off work and should be in bed (though, to be fair, she'd had to pester him to get a cell phone), to big things like moving into this apartment.

When he first got the apartment, Eddie had insisted that he didn't want to mooch off Wayne any longer ("Plus, have you seen his cooking? I got a heart murmur just looking at it!"), and that they needed a place for themselves. It was true that, after a month or so into their relationship—Chrissy had never considered that they were simply "dating"; from the first moment, it had felt like a serious relationship—things had gotten rather awkward after several heavy make-out sessions in her car, when both had bumped their heads on the ceiling and against the window.

"We can't go back to my trailer, Wayne's home," Eddie had said, burying his face in her bare shoulder.

"And my mom's home too."

They had giggled together then, feeling ridiculous that they were forced to sneak around like two teenagers. Despite the illicit thrill of it all, it had become apparent that they needed some privacy. So Eddie had found a cheap studio apartment in town. Chrissy had helped him move in and bought all the little things to make it homey, like the throw blanket on the couch to the little potted plants on the window sills that Eddie had promised to keep alive but was likely to forget, so she made sure to water them whenever she stopped by. And one day, when she'd come to him sobbing from a particularly bad fight with her mother, he'd given her the spare key. Just like with everything, Eddie saw what she needed without having to ask.

Now he was looking at her with those knowing, loving eyes, and Chrissy realized she didn't have to say anything at all.

"We can always have Thanksgiving here, or at the trailer," he said. "Just the three of us."

"I can't leave my mom alone on Thanksgiving!" Chrissy protested. "Look, if you don't want to come—"

Eddie watched her fidget with her fingers, and an impish smile peeped out at the corner of his lips. "OK, we'll be there," he said, "if your mom promises not to call a priest to have the house blessed."

"Only if Wayne promises not to organize an exorcism for her," she shot back with a smile of her own. He laughed and pulled her into his lap.

"I meant it about having Thanksgiving with me and Wayne though," he said, more gently. "If you feel like getting out of the house."

"I know." Chrissy leaned in to meet his lips, her worries vanishing in the warmth of his kiss.

***

Only with Eddie's assurance like a talisman in her heart that Chrissy felt she had the strength to breach the subject of Thanksgiving to her mother.

"I'm inviting some people over for Thanksgiving, is that OK?" she asked the next day, while they were on their way to the physical therapy center.

"Who?" Laura asked suspiciously. "Not Ryan and that—that—"

"Nate, mom, his name's Nate," Chrissy said.

"I don't want to hear his name!" Laura screeched.

Ten years ago, her younger brother, Ryan, had come out to their parents before he'd left for college. They'd cut him off immediately. Ryan had confided in Chrissy before that, but as she was in Chicago at the time, struggling to find a job after dropping out of nursing school, she couldn't do much to help. She'd only learned of the falling-out much later, when Ryan called to let her know he'd moved to Toronto with his boyfriend, Nate. Ryan hadn't even come home for their father's funeral. She still kept in touch with him with the occasional emails and phone calls, but to Laura, he might as well be dead.

"No, it's not Ryan," Chrissy continued, ignoring Laura's hysterics. "This is—someone from high school."

"Not Jason?!" Laura immediately forgot her erstwhile prodigal son and looked so excited that Chrissy felt the usual hot burst of annoyance in her belly. Always Jason.

"No. His name's Eddie." Chrissy prayed that her mom didn't notice she had deliberately left out the last name. She quickly added, "I don't think you know him. We didn't exactly move in the same circles back in high school. He's been living in California, but he just moved home to—to take care of his uncle. It's just the two of them." This was what she and Eddie had agreed to tell her mother, and Eddie would make sure Wayne followed the same script. It sounded better than saying he moved home because his band failed.

Laura narrowed her eyes at Chrissy. "If you weren't friends in school, why would you invite him?"

"Oh, I ran into him in town and just felt sorry for them, I guess," Chrissy said in what she hoped was an offhanded way. "If you'd rather not have guests—"

"Invite who you want, I don't care." Laura turned to the window with a look that said she did care, a lot, and was hoping Chrissy would feel bad and back down. But Chrissy knew her mother too well to fall for her passive-aggressiveness. She took Laura's statement at face value. 

***

As she put the finishing touch to the Thanksgiving dinner, Chrissy wondered if this was a mistake.

She wasn't worried about Eddie and Wayne. They would be able to take whatever Laura threw at them, she was sure. The only thing was... sometimes she felt like keeping Eddie as her own little secret, her safe place, her sanctuary away from her mother's constant demands and criticism. Introducing him to Laura would threaten that. But she couldn't keep sneaking around forever. She couldn't do what Ryan did and simply turn her back on their mother the moment she showed her disapproval. Chrissy wanted her mother to accept Eddie, or at least accept the fact that she was seeing him.

It started well enough. Eddie and Wayne came right on time, bringing a pumpkin pie, a bottle of wine, and some cider. Chrissy almost laughed when she saw the effort Eddie had made with his appearance—he was clean-shaven, he had left off his rings and wore a long-sleeve shirt to cover up his tattoos, and he had even tied his hair back, making him look like one of those hipsters, whose pretentious looks had started to spread even to Hawkins. Laura pressed her lips together and eyed him up and down but said nothing. Wayne's eyes twinkled as he looked over the house—so big and yet so cold and impersonal, compared to the cozy little trailer he and Eddie had shared—but he was perfectly polite and amiable. It was true that he slipped up and introduced himself with his last name when he shook Laura's hand, but thankfully, she didn't seem to register the last name "Munson". He even had the genius idea of inquiring Laura after her health, which was her absolute favorite subject, and kept her engaged until it was time to eat.

Things started getting a little tense when they sat down at the table and Chrissy carved the turkey. "Stick to the white meat, Chrissy, it's better for you," Laura said, watching Chrissy load up her own plate. "And that's too much stuffing."

Her cheeks burning, Chrissy spooned some of the stuffing back. She saw something flash across Eddie's face—annoyance, anger, or perhaps sympathy—but it was gone in an instant, and he squeezed her hand under the table as she sat down. She squeezed back with a grateful smile.

"Well, this all looks amazing," Wayne said, rubbing his hands together. "My compliments to the cook." Chrissy gave him a grateful smile as well.

Wayne more or less singlehandedly kept conversation around the table going, asking Laura about her physical therapy, talking about his own back problem, drawing Chrissy and Eddie into the discussion whenever the uncomfortable silence threatened to descend again. Laura, however, seemed preoccupied. She kept looking from Wayne to Eddie as if trying to place them. It had been over twenty years since Eddie's dad, Al, left Hawkins, but the name Munson still had a certain ominous ring to it. Chrissy could only pray that Laura wouldn't remember.

Then, when Chrissy brought out the pie, Laura stopped pretending to be polite and began the interrogation.

"What did you do in Los Angles?" Laura asked.

"I'm a musician," replied Eddie. They had agreed not to mention his job at the Hideout, only saying he was teaching music in Bloomington. Laura gave one of her eloquent sniffs to show mild disapproval, but made no further remark.

"Where do you live?"

Chrissy remembered, with a start, that they'd forgotten to discuss this beforehand.

"On Mulberry," she chimed in before either Wayne could answer, using Eddie's current address. "In one of those new buildings they just put up by Melvald's, you know?"

But Laura wasn't listening. Her eyes widened, then narrowed again, and Chrissy recognized, with dismay, all the signs of her mother's temper rising.

"Munson! You're related to that criminal Al Munson, aren't you?" Laura said, all but pointing an accusing finger at Wayne and Eddie.

Chrissy felt her knees go weak. Under the table, Eddie's fingers crushed her hand. Only Wayne remained calm.

"Yep, my no-good brother," he said with a shrug. "Have to say, leaving Hawkins was the best thing he ever did. Otherwise, Eddie might not have turned out so well. Is that right, Ed?" He laughed and gave Eddie a hearty slap on the shoulder.

Chrissy glanced at her mother. Her face was thunderous, but Chrissy knew Laura's vanity would prevent her from kicking invited guests out of the house, even if those guests were related to criminals.

"Excuse me, I have a headache," Laura said, making a show of closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. "Chrissy, could you help me get to bed, please?" Ever since her stroke, Laura had moved from the big master bedroom to the guestroom on the ground floor so she didn't have to climb the stairs, but she still insisted on Chrissy's assistance.

Chrissy allowed herself to breathe out. She knew that once Wayne and Eddie left, Laura's wrath would come down on her full-force, but at least her mother didn't make a scene. "Sure, mom."

Upon returning to the dining room, Chrissy found Wayne and Eddie had already started to clear up the table for her. She tried to take the plates out of Eddie's hands, but he persisted.

"Let me help," he said. Then, dropping his voice, he asked, "Do you want me to stay?" Even safely hidden her room, Laura's anger still radiated all through the house like a thundercloud.

"No, I'll be fine. Take Wayne home. I'm sorry. I knew this was a bad idea—"

Eddie shook his head. "It's not your fault."

"I'll call you later, OK?"

She gave him a quick kiss and went to thank Wayne for coming. "No, thank you for inviting us," he said, shaking her hand warmly. "You'll be alright." It wasn't a question, and as Chrissy took the old man's callused palm in hers, she wished she could believe the same.

Chrissy could have sworn her mother was listening behind the door, because the moment Wayne and Eddie left, Laura appeared in the foyer, looking just like she had the day Chrissy broke her ankle during cheer practice, or the day Chrissy came home after dropping out of nursing school, or the day Chrissy told her she'd filed for divorce. It didn't matter that Chrissy was in pain, scared, and lost, it was her fault. Her fault for not sticking to her diet and gaining weight. Her fault for not working hard enough and staying in school. Her fault for not working hard enough at her marriage. Always her fault.

"How could you—" Laura began.

Chrissy held up a hand. "Mom, I don't want to talk right now, OK? Go back to bed." She walked toward the kitchen.

"Don't mollycoddle me!" Laura screamed. "I am your mother!"

Though she knew she would regret it, Chrissy turned around to face her. "You told me I could invite whoever I want—"

"Yes, within reason! Not those thieves and drug dealers—"

"They're not thieves—"

"Are you sure? Count the silver again."

"Shut up!"

Laura's slap cracked like a whip in the foyer. Chrissy reeled back, clutching at her cheek, more from shock rather than pain.

"Just because you're a grown woman, doesn't mean you're allowed to speak to me like that, you little—" Laura snarled, but Chrissy didn't stop to hear the rest. Grabbing her phone and her keys from the side table, she ran out, slamming the door behind her.

***

Later, when she was curled up safely on Eddie's couch, in Eddie's arms, Chrissy's tears finally dried.

"You can't go on living with her," Eddie said.

"She needs my help."

"She hurts you!"

"It was my mistake, I shouldn't have—"

"Don't say that." Eddie sat up to look at her. "I told you, none of this is your fault."

Chrissy put her head on his shoulder, resolutely putting all thoughts of her mother out of her mind. "Can we not talk about this anymore? I just want to stay the rest of the night with you like this, not saying anything, not doing anything."

Eddie wrapped his arms around her again, and she felt his lips on her hair. "Move in with me," he said.

Now it was Chrissy's turn to sit up. "Do you really mean that?"

"Yes," he replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've been meaning to ask. You'll still be close enough to take care of your mom, if you want, without having to put up with her—bullshit."

The familiar warm feeling bubbled up in her chest again. She caught his hand, which was still stroking her hair, pressed the open palm to her mouth and kissed it. Then she leaned forward to kiss his mouth as well. "I'd love to," she said, smiling against his lips. Eddie smiled back and was pulling her closer to return the kiss, when his phone rang shrilly.

"Shit," he mumbled. "I know I shouldn't have bought the fucking thing."

But a phone call this late on Thanksgiving could mean something important, so Chrissy reluctantly let him go and pressed the phone into his hand. He glanced at the number and flipped the phone open.

"Hey Jeff, what's up man? No, no, it's OK... yeah, happy Thanksgiving. How are things in LA?" On the other end of the line, Jeff said something. Eddie's eyes widened, and he slowly sat up, leaning forward. "You serious? ...When? Before Christmas? Shit... No, I can make it. Of course I'll make it! What about Grant? Great. Yeah, yeah, I'll let you know ASAP." Another pause, then Eddie said, more quietly, "Jeff, this is awesome. Thank you. Talk to you soon, OK?"

He hung up but remained seated in the same position, looking straight ahead, his eyes dazed.

"Eddie?" Chrissy said, putting a hand on his arm.

At her touch, Eddie seemed to come back to his senses. He turned to her. "Jeff just ran into an A&R rep from Metal Blade," he said. "They want to meet with us in LA. As soon as possible."

The name of the record label meant little to Chrissy, but she knew how big this was for Eddie, for Corroded Coffin. After getting dropped by their label a year ago, this was all they had been hoping for. She tightened her hold on his arm, and he put his own hand on top of hers, grasping it as if to anchor himself.

"I'm a little scared, to be honest," he said with an embarrassed smile. "What if it doesn't amount to anything?"

"It's not going to amount to anything if you don't go," Chrissy said. "You'll be great. I know it."

"Grant's on board. We're only a drummer short—"

"Why don't you ask Gareth?"

Eddie stared at her. "I don't know about that—he's got a job—family—"

"Just ask him. The worst he can do is say no."

Eddie's eyes got brighter and brighter with excitement as he contemplated the idea. "Yeah, why not? Shit!" He laughed and pulled Chrissy in for a tight embrace. "You may be getting that reunion show earlier than expected, sweetheart. Corroded Coffin's getting back together, with the original lineup!"

Chapter 2

[anths-girl]

Looking for some assistance from my fellow Hellcheer-ers!

I've been re-reading a lot of my fave hellcheer fics (and I mean A LOT!!!), but there's one specific fic - which I know I have, but for the life of me...I can't remember it's title! I've literally been scouring for MONTHS now, and I still haven't found it!

I can't give a lot of detail to help find it, apart from the fact that it was one of the stories where Chrissy survives Vecna's attack on her, and then helps the Party with the rest of the battle. BUT - and THIS is the one thing I remember the most, and also WHY I loved this fic so much - Chrissy is a total badass during the final fight. So much so, that she almost single-handedly attacks Vecna in the Upside Down Creel attic, actually tackling him right out the window in this total blaze of glory. That's the one thing I recall the most about this story.

So...can ANYONE PLEASE help me find this fic again???? 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

P.S. Tagging some of you in the hope of getting the word out? Hope that's okay?

@deliriumsdelight7 @floggingink @gingertumericlemon @uwusillygirl @hellcheersource @hellcheerficdatabase

[hellcheersource]

a hellcheer source blog ohmygod happy days!!!

It's gonna be fun! Lots of good things are coming. Thank you for your enthusiasm and your kind message!