#is the new name hellcheer?

[dreamingofmaidensandmonsters]

[cunninghamchrissie]

eddie and chrissy’s house in animal crossing, because a pink bunny named chrissy was just too good to pass up.

eddie decorated the ground floor, there’s a kitchen, a dedicated d&d space, a little studio and a mini library. chrissy decorated the first floor, where there’s the living room, the bathroom and the bedroom. eddie keeps a picture of chrissy on his bedside table bc he’s a sap. 🤍

[sidekick-hero]

It's finally here, my entry for the @steddiesummerexchange. This is a gift for my dear friend @starryeyedjanai - I was so delighted when I found out you were my giftee 💜💜💜 Your prompt 'Steve can't get his inheritance until he marries someone' really tested me and took me out of my writing comfort zone. I hope you like it and that I did your prompt justice! Special shout out to the best beta in the whole world, @acasualcrossfade 💜🙏

Pairings: Steve/Eddie, Robin/Chrissy Characters: Steve, Eddie, Robin, Chrissy, Max, Dustin, Wayne Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake Marriage, Platonic Stobin, Platonic Hellcheer, idiot4idiot, Friends to Husbands to Lovers, Humor and Fluff and a smudge Angst

Summary:

When Steve's grandmother dies, he finds out that he can only get his inheritance - half a million dollars - if he marries someone. It's her way of forcing Steve to live a heterosexual life. Sucks for her that gay marriage has been legalized since she wrote her will. Sucks for Steve that he doesn't have a man or woman in his life to marry. Cue Eddie Munson, roommate and best friend of Robin's girlfriend Chrissy and the guy Steve has had a crush on for years. What could possibly go wrong?

Read on AO3 - the fic is finished and has 4 chapters, the last one will drop June 24

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 1 (5.6k) under the cut

"Rob! Robbie!" Steve yells as he walks into their two-bedroom apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. "Robin Juniper Buckley, where are you?"

He hears the telltale clatter of dishes and sure enough, he finds his roommate and best friend in their tiny kitchen washing the dishes. It's his turn to do them, but his schedule has been hell this week. He's been spending so much time at the firehouse cooking for a crew of five to twelve perpetually hungry firemen and women that the thought of cleaning up their kitchen at home has made him want to cry.

"I'm here doing the dishes, because if I didn't, we could have proven Darwin's theories right here in our kitchen." Despite the scolding words, she doesn't look particularly angry at him, and he figures he'll be forgiven in no time. She knows he's been working himself into the ground lately, pulling double shifts whenever his boss will let him. Living in Chicago is expensive enough, but Steve also has to think about Max's education. There's no way his little sister can't live up to her full potential just because their parents are assholes who stopped caring about their children the second they turned out not to be the perfect son and daughter Richard and Emily Harrington wanted them to be.

He walks up to her and hugs her sideways, resting his head on her shoulder for a moment as he mumbles, "'m sorry, Robs. I'll make it up to you."

She sighs, and he knows he's already forgiven. "I know you will. It's okay. Not like I forgot to do something once or twice."

He leans back to look at her for full effect, waggling his eyebrows. "Oh, like when you started dating Chrissy and were so busy having sex that you barely left your room or her apartment?"

Robin swats at him with the towel slung over her shoulder, but there's a smile on her face at the memory.

"Okay, now that we've established that you're jealous that I have an incredibly sexy and wonderful girlfriend," Robin says, ignoring his indignant Oi!, "do you want to tell me why you stormed in here yelling out my full name, which I've clearly forbidden you to use except in emergencies?"

Her question brings back the excitement that propelled him from the grocery store to her apartment in record time, and reminds him of the news he's been dying to share with her in person, rather than by phone or text message. He needs to see her reaction firsthand.

Taking hold of Robin's shoulders, he locks eyes with her azure gaze, unable to contain the grin that splits his face in two. "She’s gone!"

Robin blinks in confusion, prompting him to clarify. "Grandma Harrington, she's kicked the bucket, bit the dust, you name it."

A puzzled expression lingers on Robin's face momentarily before realization dawns. "No way! She... really?"

Unable to contain his excitement, Steve gives her a gentle shake. "Yes, really. Grandma Harrington finally called it quits."

They look at each other, their grins widening until they both look like madmen. Steve is aware that all of this is probably a highly inappropriate way to react to the death of a human being, but Eleanor Harrington had been the worst human being Steve or Robin had ever had the displeasure of meeting in their lives.

She had visited her son and daughter-in-law infrequently over the years, never giving them much warning when she was coming over and occupying one of their guest rooms for the unforeseeable future. More than once, Steve had come home to find her sitting at the kitchen table or on the sofa, staring at him with her judgmental gaze, disappointed in him before he even crossed the threshold. Any friend who had the misfortune to accompany him was ordered to sit with her and be interrogated, always found wanting as her grandson's companion. Everyone was beneath a Harrington, even Tommy, even though his father was a lawyer. ‘Too many freckles and that awful grin’ was one reason, ‘I don't like the way he looks at you, Steven, too greedy’ was another.

Robin, who had become a permanent fixture in Steve’s life after becoming his project partner in one of their shared classes his junior year, hadn’t fared any better. To this day, Steve has no idea how Grandma Harrington found out that Robin was queer, because at that point Robin hadn't even been out to her parents, only Steve. But when she did, she had spit at Robin. Steve had lost it then, too angry, too hurt to think rationally. He had thrown caution to the wind and come out to her, too, even though the thought of liking boys was still new to him, something he was still trying on to see how it would fit.

He doesn't even know what he expected to get out of it. Certainly not acceptance or even approval, no matter how much a part of him still craved that from his family. The only thing he got was her calling them both horrible names and saying such cruel things that Steve had to hold Robin and wipe away her tears afterwards.

That episode alone was reason enough for Steve to hate the old woman. Never mind that she had raised his father to be a bigoted, heartless man who had never learned what it meant to truly love anyone, not even his own son or daughter.

When their faces begin to ache from smiling, Robin shrugs casually, as though dismissing the significance of the moment. But Steve knows better. He knows the weight of hurt and resentment they both carry because of that woman.

"Rest in peace, I suppose," Robin remarks with an air of detachment, and Steve can only offer a noncommittal hum in response, realizing that any words he might speak would only add to the inappropriate nature of their conversation.

"Alright, so what does this mean for you, Steve?" Robin asks, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "Is this going to change how you deal with your family?" She pauses briefly before adding, "And what about your inheritance?"

Steve offers a slight shrug, his expression turning pensive. "I'm not entirely sure yet, Robs," he begins, his tone serious despite the lingering excitement from their earlier celebration. "I mean, I guess it means I don't have to deal with her anymore, which is definitely a relief. But as for the rest of the family, I don't know. They've never been particularly warm or welcoming to me, you know that. I mean, you’ve been there when they wanted to send me to a psychiatrist to help me get over being queer. I doubt they've changed much since then."

Robin nods in understanding, recalling the numerous tales Steve had shared about his family's cold demeanor and their refusal to accept him for who he is. She reaches out, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I mean, you know she was loaded. So yeah, there is an inheritance, but -" Steve continues, his gaze distant as he contemplates the implications. "There's a condition in Grandma Harrington's will. I can only inherit if I marry someone.”

Robin's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Marry? Seriously? That seems archaic, unfair, and downright manipulative."

Steve lets out a wry chuckle. "Tell me about it. Grandma always did enjoy her control games. It's probably her way of trying to mold me into the perfect, straight grandson."

"You've got to be kidding me! Seriously? You... what, have to marry some woman so you can be the perfectly acceptable heterosexual son and grandson your family always wanted? Fuck off!" Despite the heavy topic, Steve can't help but smile at Robin's outrage on his behalf. He could always count on her. After all, she was there to pick up the pieces when his parents told him in no uncertain terms to either learn to be straight or leave.

He left and lived with the Buckleys until Robin graduated and they moved to Chicago together. It was the best decision he could have made, even if it still hurts some days.

For a moment, they both fall silent, each lost in their thoughts. Then Robin squeezes his hand again. "We'll figure it out, Steve. We always do. And hey, maybe this is the perfect opportunity to really stick it to them."

"What do you mean?"

A devilish grin spreads across Robin's face. "Tell me, does her will say that you have to marry someone, or that you have to marry a woman to get your inheritance?"

Oh.

Oh.

Steve looks at Robin, his eyes wide with sudden understanding. “You’re a genius, Buckley,” he says, grinning. “I think it’s time for us to pay my attorney a visit.”

Turns out Robin is right. It seems that Grandma Harrington wrote her will at a time when gay marriage was still illegal in most states, and never thought to change it after the courts made it legal in Indiana and Illinois in 2014.

Steve's lawyer, who he honestly couldn't afford if it wasn't for the fact that she was an old family friend, agreed to help him pro bono just to give his bigoted parents the middle finger, as her sister was a lesbian. She said that the requirements of the will would be met if Steve married a woman as well as a man. As long as it was a legally recognized marriage, he would get close to half a million dollars. Enough to pay for Max's education, the rest of Robin's student loans, and maybe even a small house here in Chicago for him and Max once she was done with college and wanted to live with him until she was ready to be on her own.

The only problem was that Steve didn't have anyone to marry, woman or man.

His last serious relationship had been in high school, for crying out loud. Not for lack of trying. Steve loved love, but love apparently didn't love Steve back. Robin insists that's because he's sabotaging himself. She thinks deep down he's afraid of getting hurt again, so he only falls for people who a) he can't have or b) are a terrible match outside the bedroom.

She might have a point, he thinks in his more introspective moments. He has no shortage of options, and he always finds someone to hook up with, but he rarely makes it past the second date.

"Maybe you could hire someone?" Robin suggests, sipping her Dirty Shirley. After seeing John for some legal advice, they had gone straight to their favorite bar to hold a strategic summit over drinks.

So far, they have only made it to the drinking part.

Sighing deeply, Steve considers the idea for a second before shaking his head vehemently. "No way. I'm not paying some stranger to marry me. It's probably illegal anyway, and it sounds a lot like prostitution."

He knows it's the wrong thing to say when Robin raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "And what, Steven, is wrong with prostitution?"

"Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with it. A job like any other job,” he hastily assures her.

His answer seems to satisfy her and he knows she's right. It's just that sometimes the things he's been raised to believe, thanks to his extremely conservative parents, are hard to leave behind. They have a tendency to bubble back to the surface when he least expects it.

"That's what I thought. But I get it, it feels wrong to pay someone to marry you."

"Exactly. And I mean, it's about trust. Who guarantees that they won't double-cross me somehow and run off with all the money? I can't risk that."

He looks over at his best friend, his platonic soul mate, whom he trusts with his life and, more importantly, his little sister's life. Right now, he thinks, there’s only one person he could imagine being married to.

"How about we get married?"

He regrets it as soon as he asks.

Not because he thinks Robin wouldn’t do it, but because of the two of them, she is the one in a loving, stable relationship that could very well end in marriage one day. It's unfair of him to put her in a situation where she feels like she has to choose between Steve and Chrissy.

Worst of all, he knows she still wants to say yes to him. He can see it in the soft, sad way she looks at him. They both know they'll spend the rest of their lives together anyway. The simple truth of both their lives is that they would do anything for each other, walk through fire, face any horror the world could throw at them, just to see each other happy. And it's not like they couldn't get a divorce later, so Robin could still marry Chrissy, sure. But it would take something from her.

"Steve, I -"

"No, wait, don't answer that. It was a stupid idea, I shouldn't -"

"It's not stupid, it's just -"

As they talk over each other, their voices clash until they both instinctively reach over, silencing each other with a hand over their mouths at the same time. Their wide-eyed surprise quickly gives way to laughter as they realize the absurdity of the situation.

Steve is the first to recover from their fit of laughter, quickly sobering up to reassure Robin in a mild voice. "Seriously, Robs, I shouldn't have asked you to do this because it puts you in a shitty position. I know how much you love Chrissy and it wouldn't be fair to either of you. Especially when the two of you could finally get legally married. I don't want to take that away from you and make you agree to a fake heterosexual marriage like it was the 80's."

She looks at him with her big blue eyes, impossibly soft, and takes his hand in hers.

"Steve," she begins, her voice as gentle as her gaze, "thank you. For getting it, I mean. It wouldn't be all fake, though. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But you're right, I'm not in love with you and you're not in love with me. And we both deserve to marry someone we feel that way about. In a perfect world, we would. I mean, I don't even know if Chrissy would ever want to marry me, but," Robin stops here, her eyes widening in sudden realization. "Oh my God, Steve!" Robin cries out in excitement and wonder, her reaction clearly colored by the strong cocktails their favorite bar always provided, before her voice becomes softer again, but no less wondrous. "I really want to marry her. I want to marry Chrissy so badly, Steve, I can't believe I didn't know.”

"And I can't believe you're realizing this after I asked you to marry me. Way to keep a guy's ego in check," Steve jokes with a big grin on his face. It's less news to him than it is to Robin, to be honest. Ever since Robin stumbled into their apartment with a piece of paper in her hand with a number on it, gushing about the gorgeous woman she had just met at the bookstore where she works, Steve knew his best friend was completely smitten with Chrissy Cunningham. That was four years ago, and they are still going strong, obviously madly in love.

She throws her arms around him and says, "I'm sorry," not sounding sorry at all, still giddy with her newfound realization. "I'll make it up to you. I actually might have an idea how we can get you your inheritance and still stick it to Grandma Harrington."

"I sense a but."

"But I can't guarantee it'll work."

"And..."

"And you might not like it at first, but honestly, it's genius, you just have to trust me. And if it really doesn't work out, then we'll get married and you'll pay for my 'I'm-sorry-I-love-you-please-stay-with-me-even-though-I'm-fake-marrying-my-best-friend' vacation with Chrissy. And the divorce."

Maybe it's the three beers he's already had, or maybe it's the fact that Robin would actually marry him just to help him out that makes him agree. He's sure he'll regret it along the way, but maybe he should take a leap of faith. If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't. No way to find out but to try.

Drunk Steve is clearly an optimist.

"I feel like I'm going to regret this, but all right. What's your plan?"

Robin grins mischievously, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she leans back, holding Steve at arm's length.

"Steve Harrington, you won't regret this, I promise," she declares, her tone brimming with confidence.

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly, unable to suppress a chuckle at Robin's enthusiasm. "I'll hold you to that, Robin. But seriously, when do I get to know the master plan?"

Robin's grin widens, but then she sobers slightly, a hint of seriousness creeping into her expression. "I need to talk to Chrissy first. It's... complicated. But I'll tell you everything as soon as I can, I promise."

Steve nods, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension swirling inside him. "Okay, fine. Just... don't keep me waiting too long, okay? I've had enough surprises for one night."

Robin reaches out, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I won't, Steve. Trust me, this is going to work out. You'll see."

Despite his lingering doubts, Steve can't help but be swayed by Robin's unwavering confidence. With a nod, he squeezes her hand back, a silent agreement passing between them. Whatever Robin's plan entails, he knows his best friend has his back. And maybe, hopefully, they'll come out on top after all.

Drunk Steve should not be allowed to make any decisions, sober Steve decides.

Because he instantly regrets trusting Robin's secretive plan as soon as he steps into their apartment a week later, only to find not just Robin, but also her girlfriend Chrissy and Chrissy's best friend and roommate Eddie lounging in their living room.

All eyes turn towards him as he enters.

Robin's expression is the most transparent. Though the furrow between her brows is subtle, her lip-chewing and rhythmic tapping betray her worry, likely anticipating his reaction to whatever scheme they've concocted.

Chrissy, on the other hand, wears a radiant smile, her bubbly demeanor suggesting she's delighted about something. Yet, Steve can't shake the feeling that her enthusiasm might spell trouble. While he adores Chrissy and cherishes her friendship almost as much as he does Robin’s, he's well aware of her propensity for stirring up mischief.

Their shared history stretches back almost as far as hers and Robin's. It's a tradition for Robin and him to introduce their second dates to each other, one of their many platonic soulmate privileges. Steve often wonders if this practice inadvertently sabotages any chances of a third date, but he's unwilling to compromise on the importance of his friendship with Robin.

In any case, if someone can't accept his slightly unconventional bond with his best friend, they're probably not the right fit for him anyway.

Eddie's expression proves the most enigmatic. He appears utterly deer-in-the-headlights, his wide brown eyes resembling those of a startled doe. His usually pale complexion now seems even more ghostly. Steve notices how Eddie's fingers have been incessantly tousling his hair, rendering his dark curls resembling more of a chaotic bird's nest. Steve recognizes this as one of Eddie's nervous ticks, alongside fidgeting and rambling. His suspicions of Eddie's unease appear justified as Eddie avoids meeting Steve's gaze, opting instead to stare down at his hands, absently toying with his rings.

Something is going on and Steve has a sinking feeling that he won't like it.

"Um, hi?" He offers tentatively, his gaze flitting between Robin, Chrissy, and the nervously fidgeting Eddie. "Am I missing something here? Is this an early birthday surprise? Because if it is, I hate to break it to you, but my birthday's not for another nine months."

Before Robin can respond, Eddie interjects, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Hey, Steve! Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it? Nah, no birthday party, man. We definitely know when your birthday is!"

"We do?" Chrissy chimes in with a playful grin, clearly jesting, as Steve knows she's the one who meticulously keeps track of important dates in their circle.

Eddie, caught off guard by Chrissy's banter, stumbles over his words. "Uh, yeah, of course! February 23rd. Remember that baseball-themed cake from last year? I almost dropped it on the icy ground!"

Steve remembers it too, mostly because he was so chuffed to learn that in order to save his cake, Eddie had taken the fall instead, choosing to land on his admittedly not very well padded backside so that the cake could live. He had been unable to sit properly at their little gathering all evening. Steve had felt sorry for him, but also fond in the face of Eddie's sacrifice for him.

"It's so good to see you, Steve. You look great today, that shirt really makes your eyes pop. Doesn't it, Eddie?" Chrissy gushes, nudging Eddie's side as he just stares at Steve in a way that makes Steve worry that he's about to go into cardiac arrest.

Eddie's mouth opens and closes like a fish. "Um..."

"Okay, what's going on, Robin?" Steve turns to the only person who doesn't act like she's on drugs or caught red-handed at a crime scene. Or both.

Robin, bless her soul, doesn't beat around the bush. "I told you I had a plan. This," and she points to Eddie of all people, "is my plan."

"That's Eddie," Steve states the obvious, but he feels he can't be blamed. Nothing makes sense, so he's glad for every single thing he knows. Then the rest of her statement sinks in.

Blinking at her, his eyes wide, he says the first thing that comes to mind. "You can't be serious!"

There's no way she's saying what he thinks she's saying. Because right now it looks like her plan to help him get his inheritance involves marrying Eddie. Which, no. No, no, no, no. Not Eddie. Maybe she means some other plan that Steve has forgotten. Like Eddie helping him with Dustin's birthday surprise, which sounded much more likely than -

"I told you he didn't want to marry me," Eddie's voice sounds loud in the stunned silence after Steve's reaction. "This was a stupid idea, I don't even know what I was thinking." Then, addressing Steve with his eyes somewhere to Steve's right, "Listen, man, I'm sorry. I totally get it, no hard feelings, okay? I wouldn't want to marry me either."

The wry chuckle doesn't sit well with Steve, nor does the way Eddie still refuses to meet his eyes, or the fact that he's started walking toward their front door. Before he can think about it, his hand wraps around Eddie's arm as he passes Steve on his way out.

"Eddie, wait." Eddie does, looking at Steve's hand wrapped around his forearm. Steve's grip isn't tight, so Eddie could easily break free, but he doesn't. He just looks, quietly waiting. Still not meeting Steve's eyes.

"I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I was just surprised, okay? A little warning would have been nice." The last part is mostly for Robin, who at least does look contrite at his words.

"It's fine, Steve, really. Don't worry about it. Now, if you'll excuse me. Places to be, things to do, see you when I see you, you know the drill."

Steve could let him go, maybe should let him go, because Eddie is obviously embarrassed and the whole situation has gone south anyway. But Eddie doesn't sound fine, and Steve feels terrible about his lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. Something that is usually Robin's specialty.

So instead of letting Eddie walk out of the apartment, Steve steps in front of him to block his way. "Eddie, please wait. I really didn't mean it the way you think I did, you have to believe me. You're a catch, okay? Anybody would be lucky to marry you."

And okay, wow, he didn't mean to say that, but it's the truth.

"You really mean that?" Eddie asks, pulling a strand of hair in front of his mouth. It looks incredibly cute and Steve wants to kill Robin for putting him in this position. She had said that he would not like her plan and that should have been reason enough for him to stop her. Because now he's between a rock and a hard place.

Either he lies and lets Eddie walk away thinking he's not good enough to be married, even if it is a scam to get his grandmother's inheritance. Or he tells the truth and risks getting his heart broken or their friendship ruined.

Because the thing is, Steve means every word. Steve has had a crush on Eddie for years. He's been able to keep those feelings in check because he and Eddie never spend time alone together. It's always group hangouts, or Eddie being there when he and Robin visit Chrissy, or Eddie joining them when they meet at their apartment. It also helps that Eddie keeps his distance from him. Sure, he's nice enough to Steve, but every time Steve tried to get close to the other man, his efforts were rebuked until he got the memo and stopped trying.

Before he can come to a decision, Robin steps in.

“I’m sorry we’re springing this on you, Steve. I could’ve prepared this a little bit better but Chrissy and I were so excited that we found the perfect solution, we couldn’t wait any longer.”

“And this is the perfect solution,” Chrissy jumps in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Tell him Robin!”

Infected by Chrissy's enthusiasm, Robin’s voice carries an equally excited note. “You said it yourself, you’d need someone we can trust. And you trust Eddie, don’t you?”

Steve can feel Eddie’s eyes on him. “Of course I do.” He doesn’t miss the sharp intake of breath next to him at his decisive tone. Eddie’s a great guy, him rejecting Steve’s advances doesn’t change that.

Of course he trusts him because Eddie never gave him any reason not to.

But he remembers the stories Chrissy told them to explain why Eddie was a little wary of Steve. Apparently, Eddie didn't have it easy growing up. Chrissy wouldn't go into details because it's Eddie's story to tell, but she did mention that people used to treat Eddie like a criminal, a fuckup, trailer trash. Especially the jocks and rich kids at their high school, so since Steve was kind of both, Eddie had been wary of him.

So much so that Steve had overheard Eddie asking Chrissy once, early in her relationship with Robin, why Robin kept bringing that rich asshole jock over all the time. The words had hurt, but Chrissy's explanation had softened the blow. Still, he'd stopped trying to flirt with Eddie after that because he'd figured that even if Eddie came to accept him, he'd never be interested in going out with someone who reminded him so much of all the bullies in high school who had made his life a living hell.

All of which makes it easy to see how Steve's implicit trust could come as such a surprise to him. Which still kind of stings, because Steve had hoped that the last four years had shown Eddie that Steve was not what Eddie expected him to be just because he grew up rich and popular and into sports.

Before he can get lost in his thoughts about Eddie and what he has to do to earn Eddie's trust the way Eddie has his, Chrissy chimes in again, raising a finger. "So you trust Eddie. That's like the most important thing. Second," she raises another finger, making a playful peace sign in their direction, "Eddie's single. Not like Robin."

Ah, okay, Steve can see why Chrissy is so excited about her and Robin's 'plan'.

"'m sorry, Chrissy, for proposing to your girlfriend," Steve sheepishly apologizes, giving her a crooked smile, which she returns with a sunny one of her own.

"No hard feelings. I get it, believe me. Being with Robin means being stuck with you. Just like Robin is stuck with Eddie. Which is the third reason why this is a great idea," she adds, raising another finger. "We all spend a lot of time together already. Nothing really needs to change."

Aside from the fact that Steve secretly wishes things could change between him and Eddie, he's not so sure that's true. But to argue her point would mean revealing more about his feelings than he's comfortable with, so he lets it slide for now.

Objectively, Steve knows they're right. If he didn't still feel... something for Eddie, he probably wouldn't even hesitate. Because yes, he trusts Eddie not to screw him over, and he's also a close acquaintance who's been teetering on the edge of being a real friend for years. But he's also the reason Steve had to leave last year's Friendsgiving party early because Eddie showed up with some guy who couldn't keep his sleazy hands off of him. It drove Steve crazy to see someone else have what he wanted so badly.

In the end, it is the thought of being able to give Max all the chances she deserves that finally makes him look back at Eddie.

"And you're sure you want to do this? Fake marry me, I mean. Because, Eddie... I can't tell you how much I appreciate you being willing to do this to help me out, but... you don't have to do this, okay? It's not your mess or your fucked up family, it's mine."

Finally, Eddie is looking back at him, meeting his eyes.

"I do. Wanna do this, I mean. I know I don't have to, but -" Here Eddie pauses, apparently searching for the right words. After a few seconds he breathes a sigh and continues. "Look, for once, I love the idea of sticking it to an old homophobic hag, so that's a big incentive. Also, I was actually hoping you could help me out as well. Because there's this amazing record store that's for sale, but the bank refuses to give me a loan unless I have some kind of collateral. So I'm kind of hoping that being married will sway them."

At Steve's surprised look, Eddie hastens to add, "I don't want your money! That's for you and Max. Just the fact that I'm married to someone with money will probably be enough. And we can totally do a prenup or something like that."

Eddie sounds anxious, like he's afraid he's said something wrong, when in fact he's doing Steve a huge favor and asking for something incredibly small in return. Steve thinks he can't be blamed at this point, he just has to touch Eddie. So he does, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Thank you, Eddie. Really. Of course we can go to your bank and convince them to give you the loan. It's the least I can do to thank you."

It feels good to be holding Eddie like this, even more so when, after a moment's hesitation, Eddie hugs him back. Even though they've known each other for years, Steve can count the times they've done this on one hand. It's never lasted this long either, and Steve can't suppress his disappointment when Robin interrupts the quiet moment by clapping her hands excitedly, causing Eddie to pull away.

"Oh, I'm so glad we worked it out. Go us!"

Chrissy, just as excited, jumps up and down next to Robin. "I'm so happy for you guys! We can totally help you plan the wedding. It's going to be great, I know it."

Steve and Eddie look at each other in growing confusion.

"Chris," Eddie begins, his voice careful. He's clearly more experienced in dealing with an overly excited Chrissy, so Steve lets him take the lead. "You do realize that Steve and I are only getting married on paper, right? I don't think -"

"You can still have a wedding!" Chrissy interrupts, clearly not deterred by anything silly like pragmatism or logic. "It's still a special day, and you deserve to celebrate it with your friends and family."

Before Steve can say anything - what, he has no idea - Robin jumps in on the ‘you should have a real wedding’ party.

"Besides, it has to look real, right? Why wouldn't you have a real wedding if you were getting married? Everyone would wonder. It's just easier to pull out all the stops and make it look as real as possible so no one will question it."

And that... actually made a lot of sense. Goddammit.

Looking at Eddie with an apologetic look on his face, Steve says, "I guess she's right," and shrugs his shoulders in a ‘I wish she wasn't, but what can you do’ kind of way. Eddie, to his credit, just sighs and nods, accepting his fate with as much grace as he can. He glances at Chrissy, who is almost vibrating.

"Fine. Chris, do you want to help us plan a wedding?"

She actually squeals. "Yes, yes, yes!" Then she rushes over and pulls them into a group hug.

Steve, looking over Chrissy's head at Robin, opens his arm. "Come here, Buckley." It's all the invitation Robin needs to join their celebratory hug.

For just this moment, Steve allows himself to feel as if this is all real, him and Eddie announcing their wedding and their two best friends in the whole world sharing in their happiness. It's a nice feeling, and when he leans his head on Robin's shoulder and looks at Eddie, he finds him looking back with the same soft smile on his face as the one Steve thinks must be on his own.

[ebongawk]

13 for hellcheer, she asks anxiously

13. A Sorry Kiss

Her heart was in her throat when she knocked on his door.

She'd messed up. She'd messed up so bad. She'd been–– God, why did she do that? Why was she such a coward? How could she treat him like that? Like he was–– Like he was a stranger. And, oh God, the hurt in his eyes had nearly broken her heart. Hurt that she had caused.

Hurt she wasn't sure she could fix.

The minute or so it took Eddie to finally answer the door made her want to scream. Or cry. Or run away.

But her cowardice had already caused Eddie pain today. She couldn't–– She wouldn't do it again.

When the door did finally creak open, Chrissy could have sobbed with relief.

The cold, even expression he wore seemed intent on wiping that relief against the wooden floors, however.

"Figured that was you," he said, leaving the door open behind him as he turned away. Disappearing back around the corner of his apartment toward the kitchen.

Chrissy toed her sneakers off in the hallway, even though Eddie always told her it wasn't necessary. Old habits die hard.

She'd proven that today.

Maybe that was the problem, though. Maybe those habits never really died of natural causes. Maybe they had to be killed. Maybe she hadn't tried hard enough to kill those pieces of her past for him. Or maybe she had, but she was so covered in scar tissue that they echoed up from her infinity, regardless.

Silence was settled over the space of his apartment. Infiltrating every available square inch with a pressing weight Chrissy was so unaccustomed to here. Normally, the little home Eddie had carved out for himself in this corner of Chicago was full of light and color and noise. Music or television or just Eddie himself, giving life to his endless stream of conscious thought that he was completely unafraid to voice.

Chrissy was the only one who held fear so close to their chest, it seemed.

If there'd been any doubt that she had hurt him, it was dispelled the moment she found the courage to patter her way into the kitchen. Because he didn't offer her a drink or a snack. He didn't look at her. All she was afforded was the stretch and retraction of his muscles as he put the dishes in the dish drain away.

Dishes they'd washed together just the night before. A byproduct of having cooked together, because she found it so much easier to eat when Eddie was there encouraging her to taste the creation they'd conjured up together.

It was always delicious.

She needed to tell him how much those meals meant to her. How much he meant to her. Even if she hadn't portrayed that in the slightest today.

"Eddie?"

He said nothing. Didn't even turn toward her to let her know he was listening. He just continued dropping silverware into the drawer, clearly taking his time with every individual piece.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

"Can, um. Can we please talk?"

"Not real sure what you could possibly have to say to me, Cunningham." He snorted as she wilted like a crushed flower. Because Cunningham.

He hadn't called her Cunningham since the day after they met again. His stream of pet names for her had seemed endless, and she delighted in each new one he bestowed upon her. Collecting them like little trophies to display on the shelf of her mind.

"Considering, y'know, you don't know me and all."

Gosh. Gosh. Nuggets, she'd messed up. She was–– She was awful, wasn't she? The worst type of person.

She was exactly what her mother wanted her to be. Which was especially ironic, considering she hadn't spoken to her mother in nearly a year.

Eddie stumbled back into her life on the cusp of summer break three-and-a-half months prior. She'd just taken a new job at a little used bookstore a few blocks away from campus. Within walking distance of her dorm, which was perfect since she didn't have a car and had no intention of going home for a three-month nightmare.

He'd burst into that cramped little shop like a windstorm, ripping the breath from her lungs and stilling the heart in her chest.

She knew him, of course. Everyone from Hawkins knew Eddie Munson.

She just didn't expect him to be here, of all places. In Chicago. Miles from home after essentially disappearing as soon as he had his diploma.

With no other customers to entertain, they ended up walking around the store together, Eddie picking out new-to-him paperbacks as he told her how he'd ended up in the Windy City. How he'd moved there with a member of his band, how they were trying to get their music off the ground with half their instrumentals. How he'd been working as a mechanic – citing prior experience, which was a little factoid Chrissy clung to like rubber cement – and moonlighting at a bar a few weekends a month.

In the end, Eddie bought eight new books, Chrissy wrote her number on the back of the receipt so they could catch up, and thus started the most incredible romance story anyone in history had ever experienced. At least, from her perspective, that had to be the case.

They just... They just fit. In that way that didn't happen, not outside of romcoms and books. Yet, as different as they were on the outside, they managed to fold seamlessly into each other's lives. Two vines that had been growing congruently, just awaiting the moment they could finally entangle.

It was the best summer of Chrissy's life. There was no comparison. She could write entire novels about how perfect it had been. She'd actually started one.

And then school started up again. Chrissy resumed her schedule with her new classes, and she and Eddie didn't get to see each other as often. That didn't stop her from doodling his name in the margins of her notes, of course. Didn't stop her from daydreaming about him – about the way his fingers easily strummed the strings of his guitar as he showed her the new songs he'd been writing; the way his lips curled into a smile when he said her name, like he couldn't contain the joy of calling for her; the way he laughed, big and open and honest, when she said something coy or cheeky that he hadn't been expecting.

It was amidst one of these daydreams, in fact, that she had the misfortune of stumbling upon a small group of people she recognized.

Other people from Hawkins.

People like Carol Perkins and Tommy Harold and Melissa Thompson. Mean people, gossipy people. People who had parents that Chrissy knew, because they attended the same church she had her entire life.

She'd hoped they wouldn't say anything. Wouldn't see her. Would simply let her pass by, a blip on their radars of near-familiarity.

But her hair was distinct. Carol made fun of the color constantly, all through elementary school. Told her she had copper hair, like pennies, because her family was first-generation rich, whatever that meant.

(Eddie loved her hair. Told her it was gorgeous every time he ran his fingers through it. That it'd been woven together by sirens who couldn't decide on one color, so they picked everything warm.)

"Oh, my gosh!" Melissa shouted, her voice pitched so high it scraped against Chrissy's inner ears. "Is that Chrissy Cunningham?"

They wouldn't know she'd chosen Chicago because they graduated a year earlier than she did. And, in that lovely gap year, Chrissy had forgotten it was their school of choice, as well.

"Well, well, well," Carol said with a smirk as she smacked her gum. Another old habit that refused to give way to the passage of time. "What's Miss Penny Loafer doing here?"

That rude elementary school nickname still made her want to crawl out of her own skin. Made her want to bleach her hair.

She should have told them to fuck off, like Eddie would have. She should have turned and walked away. Instead she stood there, stuck to the pavement like the soles of her shoes had melted beneath the September sun.

Tommy chastised Carol's crassness with an arm thrown loosely around her shoulders, and the way his eyes roved over Chrissy had her stomach churning.

Don't look at me, she wanted so desperately to say. Only Eddie gets to look at me.

And then, like she'd conjured him from her deepest desires, he was suddenly there. Calling her name from across the street, waving a half-bouquet of daisies that he'd almost definitely picked from the school's garden. Surprising her. Because they didn't get to see each other that much. Because he wanted to see her.

Eddie.

She couldn't say his name. Couldn't rush to his side, or step between him and Tommy's disgusted disbelief as he said, "Ew, what the hell? Is that the Freak?"

"D-Don't––"

Don't call him that.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Carol asked, revulsion lacing every word. "Chrissy, do you know this asshole?"

But, oh God. Oh, God. What if they said something to their parents about this? What if...

What if word gets back to my mom? That I'm seeing Eddie?

Someone she would recognize.

Someone she would hate.

What if she––?

"Hey, toots," Eddie said as he walked up, critical eyes jumping between Carol, Tommy and Melissa. Narrowed in distaste, Eddie pursed his lips. "Damn. Wasn't expecting a high school reunion today. I would've whipped out my Sunday best."

"Kinda hard to have a reunion with us, Freak," Tommy spat in response. "Since, you know, you failed to graduate in our class."

Eddie just grinned. Easy and confident in that way that she loved, even as her entire body stayed motionless and rigid beside him.

"Well," Eddie shrugged, "We don't all have mommies that are willing to pull, uh, special favors for our grades, now do we, Thomas?"

Tommy's expression immediately fell cold, and he took a menacing step toward Eddie for regurgitating the Harold's worst-kept rumor.

"Oh, fuck you, Munson––"

"Sorry, pal, you're not really my type."

"Wait," Melissa said, her finger dancing between Eddie and Chrissy. "Wait. Are you guys, like...?" She twisted her pointer and middle fingers together, eyebrows raised. Both Carol and Tommy's faces twisted with abhorrence.

Eddie laughed, rolling his eyes.

"Uh, ye––"

"No," Chrissy answered immediately. Taking a half-step away from Eddie. Refusing to look at him. "No, um. We–– I barely know him."

The quiet that followed threatened to drown her. To climb down her throat and suffocate her from the inside.

But it was Eddie's half-broken, "Chris...?" that finally pulled her eyes to his.

In the three months they'd been together, Chrissy had borne witness to a lot of Eddie's faces. Happiness shined brightest in her memory, but concentration, frustration, annoyance, contentedness – they'd all flicked over his expression at one point or another.

This was none of those.

This was pure, absolute devastation.

It was so brief, Chrissy almost prayed she misread him. It was like, from one second to the next, he went from absolutely heartbroken to cold and aloof. Affixing that same easy smile, but it was bare of anything behind it. Lips twisting up in a sneer, Eddie gave another easy shrug.

"Got it," he said, giving her an easy salute. She hoped, she hoped, that he really did understand. That he could read her mind, that he knew why she'd so callously denied what they had together.

And then, as he hopped the curb to cross the street, he threw those daisies into the road. Scattering their stems, letting them succumb to the tires of passing cars.

She felt her heart among those flowers, muscle bleeding across the pavement as tires tracked through her blood.

Because she knew, then and there, that she'd messed up. That she needed to repair the hurt she'd caused.

She begged off from Carol and Tommy with some bullshit excuse, sprinted to her dorm to unload her books, and then booked it to the nearest bus so she could get to Eddie.

Now, here he was. Rightfully angry. She suspected it was a thin layer of anger, haphazardly smeared over the top of the sea of hurt she'd caused. The light from a lighthouse bouncing beams off the ocean, shielding the shadows from view.

"Can I––?"

"Why are you even here, Cunningham?" Eddie asked, fury wrapped around every syllable, every letter of his sentence. It struck her in the chest, each word volleyed out like it'd been specifically designed to thrust that hurt right back into her arms. "Crawling back to the source of your shame?"

"I'm not––"

"Don't fucking lie to me," Eddie hissed, finally, finally turning toward her. Speaking so harshly, in a way he never had with her. And she–– She nearly withered under his stony glare. Nearly fell to her knees and cried and begged him to see, to see her. But she couldn't. She couldn't. Right now, more than ever, she needed to be strong. She needed him to understand more than he saw. "You were standing there with two of the worst fucking people to ever live in our shitty hometown, and you lied to them to save your own goddamn image. So don't pretend this means fuck all to you, alright?"

"Eddie, no––"

"So why don't you skip your way back to your little popularity bubble, huh? Won't you be happier among the bullshit and sparkles?"

"Listen to me," she said, as firmly as she was capable. Realizing, now, just how deep the wound went. How it wasn't her alone that caused him to bleed. How she'd simply scraped the scab off something older, something that festered beneath the surface of his confidence.

She could see it now. It was in her own stomach, peeled back for the world to see the moment Carol called her Penny Loafer.

Eddie, face still twisted with exasperation, at least took a moment to be quiet for her.

"I am not ashamed of you," Chrissy said. Eddie scoffed, but she pressed on before he could speak. "I'm not. Eddie, I–– You're the best part of me, okay? And I––"

The tears she'd been burying all day finally reared up. Filling her eyes, blurring him before her, and she watched the way he shifted. Hoped, prayed it was him wanting to reach for her, but stopping himself. She was so desperate to salvage this, to explain, that it took another moment for the words to finally get out.

"I was so afraid," she explained around the trembling lump in her throat, "that they'd–– If I told them about us, about you, they'd tell everyone else, and eventually, eventually, she––"

Screwing her eyes shut, the hot tears tracked down her cheeks faster than she could possibly wipe them away.

"She'd find out," Chrissy sobbed, hands coming up and wrapping around her throat, "and she'd take you away from me."

"Who?"

"My mom," Chrissy wailed, scrubbing at her eyes, but the tears just kept coming, and this wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that she was distraught when she was the one who caused the hurt. Why was she like this? Why was she such a baby?

"Chrissy. How the fuck would she take me away from you when you don't even speak to her?"

She'd told him. Of course she had. How else could she explain her issues with food? Her issues with her face? Her body? Her self?

"I don't know!" Chrissy cried, and she felt Eddie suddenly in front of her, his heat rolling off his body. It took so much strength to step away, to deny his comfort. But she didn't deserve it. "But every time–– E-Every time I've ever been happy, even a little bit happy, she swoops in and she takes it. And, God, Eddie, I've never been so happy as when I'm with you. I-I can't lose that, I can't let her––"

Suddenly, before she could once again back away, she felt the sure safety of Eddie's arms as they came around her. Pulling her against his chest, his heart, and holding her there as she cried. Why was he doing this? Why was he comforting her after what she'd done? Why was he the one taking care of her when she'd discarded him as easily as a half-bouquet of daisies in the road?

"Sweetness," Eddie murmured, his voice far too forgiving. "I'm not going anywhere. Alright? She can't take me from you. You're in a different city in a different fucking state, and she has no idea where you or I live. You're safe from her. I'm gonna keep you safe, alright?"

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

Hands sprawled against his chest, Chrissy tried to push away. To squirm out of his arms, because she didn't deserve for him being kind right now. She was supposed to be comforting him, telling him she'd take out an article in the Hawkins Post. Tell everyone they were together, consequences be damned.

Instead, he was walking her over to his small couch, every second with his arms around her chasing her demons further and further into the recesses.

"I'm sorry," she cried as he sat down and pulled her onto his lap. "I'm sorry, Eddie, I'm so sorry. I-I just want to keep you, I swear, I just want to keep you."

"I know," Eddie mumbled into her hair, the words softened against her scalp. "I know, baby. I'm sorry, too. For, uh, jumping to conclusions. For–– For forgetting, I guess, that you––"

"No." Chrissy shook her head, sniffling as she used her sweater to wipe as much of the wet on her cheeks away as she could. "No, don't–– Don't apologize. I'm the one who messed up––"

"I was being a dick––"

"With good reason––"

"We can both fuck up, toots," he said, bringing his thumbs up to gently brush away the escaping tears from beneath her eyes. "We can both let our scars get the best of us sometimes, y'know? It doesn't have to be just you or just me."

"But you wouldn't have killed my flowers if I hadn't been so... so mean."

Eddie cringed around an awkward chuckle, filling her eyes with that warm, dimpled smile. Making her want to melt onto him, into him, until they were fused as one.

"Yeah, uh. That may have been my dramatic side." Blowing out a raspberry, Eddie rolled his eyes at himself. "I fuckin' hate Tommy H., though, I can't be held accountable for what I do around that guy."

"You hate everyone."

"Not you," he assured her, brushing her hair back over one ear and cupping her cheek in his palm. "Never you, peaches, I swear."

Turning her face into his hand, Chrissy kissed his palm. Then, bringing her own hands up to his face, she pulled him into a soft, slow kiss. Trying to convey her apology, then letting it slip up from her lungs anyway when the quiet didn't feel like enough.

"I'm sorry."

She kissed him again, and Eddie groaned, lingering for a long moment before pulling far enough away to say:

"I'm sorry."

Grinning into the next kiss, Chrissy let her tongue dart out to taste his upper lip. Turning her head when he chased her with another, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry," Eddie said again after a quick peck.

"I'm sorry," Chrissy repeated when they were forced to break apart for air. Gasping, she said, "I'm sorry, Eddie, I love you."

She didn't have time to gauge his reaction to this new admittance. All at once, she was engulfed. In kiss and embrace, she was enveloped in Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

"I love you," he groaned for the first time, the words like ancient music. A song she remembered from a past life bubbling up to the surface after laying dormant for decades and millennia.

Never new. Always Eddie.

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"'m soloverry."

"Eddie, that's not––" He kissed her again, and she laughed. She laughed, after everything. He made her laugh. "Not a word!"

"Is now." He grinned, and she could taste his happiness. "Soloverry, sweetness."

Chrissy kissed him, standing atop all that fear and uncertainty a thousand daisies in her heart.

"Soloverry, Eddie Munson."

(a very late) kiss prompt!

[loveshotzz]

I have a pretty good one awhile ago but I don't ever see myself writing it.

Reader and Eddie are good friends, Argyle drops by his trailer to buy, and he ends up flirting with the reader. Later reader and Eddie go to a party, Argyle is there, and in sure you know where it goes from there

Argyle x fem!reader

You can call me names if you call me up

Warnings:18+ Weed dealing, weed smoking, mentions of drinking, slight mentions of hellcheer? (eddie has a crush and we make fun of him for it) kissing, semi public fingering (f! receiving)

Word count: 5.8k

beta’d by @superblysubpar

Authors note: This is my first ever Argyle fic! Thank you @sleepy-princ3ss for letting me write this! I had a lot of fun this one but it’s scary to write a new character so let me know what you think! I also had a good time writing Eddie as our best friend who doesn’t want to fuck us. Wild right? Still, there’s lots of Eddie in here too 💕

The summer heat always feels extra sticky inside Eddie’s trailer this time of year, the stale breeze that floats through his cracked window does nothing to cool you down. Thumbing through the worn covers of the records Eddie keeps in his room you hum along to the last few chords of Ride The Lightning. When the covers of Back In Black and Blizzard of Oz stick together, you grimace as you pull them apart. A crumpled cut of a babe from a Heavy Metal Magazine is the ‘glue’ that was holding them together.

“Eww Eddie! What the fuck?” god, your best friend was gross.

Clumsy loud footsteps bring him to the entrance of his room, bangs sticking to his forehead from sweat, his face flushes an even deeper shade of red when his eyes zero in on what you’re glaring at.

“I - uh,” coughing nervously, he scratches the back of his neck, the chain wrapped around his wrist sliding down his arm, “I don’t - I don’t know how that got there.”

Scoffing with a roll of your eyes you examine it a little more closely, careful not to touch it. The blond hair and the big blue eyes were a dead give away why this had to have been his favorite.

“She kinda looks like Chrissy don’t you think? Like if she got a metal makeover or whatever you’d call this,” snorting when his face turns into a tomato, his own glare takes over his features when he narrows his eyes at you.

“Why are you even snooping through my records, this one just started?” blinking quickly with embarrassment he looks like he’s ready to explode and you’ve never been more pleased with yourself.

Opening your mouth ready to bite back with something that you were sure was going to send him over the edge, the sound of three quick knocks followed by a single fourth one cuts you off before you can even start.

“Who’s that?” confused at his lack of communication with anyone crashing your hang out, he snaps - gesturing for you to step away from his records before he answers you.

He’s halfway out his bedroom door with you quick on his heels when he finally does.

“Jonathan and his friend from Cali are here to pick up real quick,” groaning at the sound of Jonathan’s name, Eddie laughs loudly before signaling for you to shut up with a finger to his lips.

It wasn’t that you hated Jonathan, he was just always such a downer when he’d join in on your smoke sessions.

Opening the door when you cross your arms with a nod signaling you’ll behave, he turns his charismatic Munson charm up to a ten with a wide grin.

“Byers,” giving him a slight bow, he extends his tattooed arm wide inviting them in, “Byer’s friend.”

You see Jonathan first, who gives you an awkward small wave and a tight lipped grin, lifting three fingers you give him the same energy.

“Oh hey man, the name’s Argyle excited to see what kinda weed you got out here,” Jonathan’s cute friend that follows him in was not what you expected as he clasps his hands together rubbing his palms excitedly stepping through the threshold.

Chestnut hair longer than Eddie’s sways as he walks in, the top of it hidden by a flipped bill green cap. Its smooth texture makes your hand twitch, you’re almost positive it’d feel like silk against your fingertips. A big dopey smile graces his full pink tinged lips as his already bloodshot brown eyes meet yours when he finally turns to see you in the hallway.

All the loud colors and clashing designs on his clothes makes the corners of your mouth tug up. Curiosity piqued, you throw him a more flirtatious wave, fluttering your lashes for good measure.

Eddie rolls his eyes from behind him catching onto your antics, but Argyle looks like he’s been turned to stone, frozen in place as he takes in your barely covered frame. Leaning a shoulder against the wall you watch his eyes trail up the uncovered expanse of your legs till he hits the frayed ends of your jean shorts, your spaghetti strap tank top gives him the perfect view of the curve of your breasts barely hidden beneath the thin fabric. Sweat beading off your heat kissed skin.

Clearing his throat he shakes his head when he feels his jaw go slack, glancing worriedly at Eddie who’s already too busy rummaging around the living room looking for his trusty metal lunch box.

“Don’t mind her, she’s just my partner in crime,” waving a dismissive ringed hand in your direction as he digs behind the couch Jonathan just got settled on, Argyle’s face falls slightly at the nickname.

That still didn’t stop him from watching you push yourself off the wall and walk to the kitchen island, sitting yourself on the cleared spot on top. Legs moving to the beat of the music still bleeding out from the speakers in Eddie’s room, you knew he was completely transfixed on you as he rocked back on his heels.

“Got it boys!” cheering himself on loudly, it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“Only you would lose your lunch box full of drugs Munson,” winking at Argyle after you roast your best friend, his smile turns shy when he looks away.

“Bold of you to insult me when you smoke for free,” squinting with threatening eyes, he flips the lid open, the metal connecting with the wood of the coffee table in a loud clunk.

Sticking your tongue out at him he scoffs before turning his attention towards Jonathan pulling out two different bags of the new strains Rick had just supplied him with.

Argyle watches you both with confused eyes, unsure what to think of your banter as he feels the shift in your stare. The heat of it makes all the blood rush to his cheeks when he dares to meet it. Waving him over, you remind him to actually finish walking in. Eyes going wide at the realization, he looks down as he walks over to stand in the space right next to you.

Leaning his back against the formica countertop, your knee brushes the side of his arm with every small kick of your dancing feet. He smells like the kind of weed that makes you feel bad for whatever Eddie’s about to sell them and a hint of an earthy toned cologne. Dark eyes lifting up to yours, his breath catches in his throat when you meet his gaze instantly.

“Sooo, how’s it going?” purposely nudging him this time, you get a smile to finally break across his nervous face.

“It’s uhh- it’s good, Jonathan’s mom is super nice. Her cooking is shmackin,” giggling a little, he told himself it was because of the lingering effects of the weed they smoked on the way here, not because of the way you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth as you listened.

“Oh yeah, dinner at Joyce’s is always a hit. She really is the sweetest,” eyes crinkling in the corners when you grin at him, he was even cuter this close.

“How long are you visiting?” resting your chin on your shoulder when you look up at him, the height difference is still noticeable despite your advantage. His cheeks turn bubble gum pink at your flirty questioning.

“Just for a few weeks, I don’t want to put them out too much you know? She’s got a full house over there with everyone back,” you catch a hint of sadness in his mellow voice. He missed his best friend, that was more than evident. The thought of only seeing Eddie a few weeks out of the year sounded miserable.

“So you and Jonathan huh? How’d that even happen?” The difference in their personalities was astounding, but even you had to admit that Byers came back from California a little more relaxed. Meeting Argyle you’re starting to figure out why.

“Ahh yeah, dudes was like having a total meltdown at school one day about some stuff with Nancy, I felt bad you know, he looked like someone kicked his dog.” Glancing over at his friend he laughs at the memory.

“So I just showed him the ways of Purple Palm Tree delight and the rest was history.” Smirking proudly when he looks at you, his eyes briefly drift towards your lips curled up into their own grin.

“Finally! Someone got Byers to chill out!” Your praise is loud enough to get a side eye from Jonathan and a laugh from his cute friend.

“It’s super nice of you to come all this way to visit Argyle, I hope you make the most of your time here,” sweetness drips from your words making his eyes grow as big as saucers when he catches the slight invitation hidden inside them.

Jonathan finally speaks loud enough for the whole room to hear, snapping your attention away from the pretty stoner boy.

“Are you guys going to the party at Rick’s tonight?” shoving the bag of weed he just bought in his back pocket, his beady eyes dart between you and Eddie.

Argyle’s still in his own world and Eddie’s got a front row seat to his completely smitten gaze dead set on your face. Despite being annoyed with you all afternoon, you’d always been a good wingman when he needed it. Lips pulling up in a mischievous smirk he wiggles his eyebrows at you before answering.

“We are!”flipping the lid to his lunch box shut with obnoxious force, you’re truly shocked he hasn’t broken it yet with his need for dramatic flair.

The sound of metal clanking loudly snaps Argyle out of whatever lovesick daze you already had him in from just from batting your lashes and showing a little interest. His eyes connect with Eddie's, a sheepish look taking over his face from being caught openly gawking.

“We are? what part-“ Eddie glares at you before cutting you off.

“The party I was literally just telling you about before they got here,” he looks pointedly at the boy shuffling his feet next to you.

Argyle’s eyes stay fixated on the dirty carpeted floor doing his best not to stare, completely oblivious to the way Eddie was trying to help him out, not scold him.

Glancing over at the cowering boy, it’s like a light bulb flashes on top of your head when you realize Eddie was trying to help you get laid.

“Ohhh that party! Sorry, stoner memory you know?” bumping your shoulder with his, your lips twist up in a grin when the chocolate of his eyes meet yours, “Totally going”

The look on Argyle’s face is hard to read as a mixture of excitement and fear cross over his features at the same time. Shifting uneasily, he keeps looking at Eddie from the corner of his eye but he can’t stop the smile that slowly spreads across his soft lips, big pearly whites flashing at you.

“C-cool, I’ll totally see you there,” coughing as he scratches the back of his neck before quickly turning his attention to Eddie, “And uhh- you too man, I’ll uh see you there too!” the last part comes out loud enough to be a yell, his nerves making his voice shake.

“Uhhh, yeah man. For sure,” Eddie’s tone is laced with confusion, eyebrows raised in question as he looks at Argyle like he’s growing a second head.

Jonathan looks at his friend with wide eyes, his cheeks turning rosy from embarrassment from his outburst. Shaking his head, he stands up with a pat on his thighs - giving the universal gesture for ‘it’s time to go’

“Alright, well this got awkward. I think we’re gonna head out, we’ll see you guys tonight,” beckoning his friend to follow him towards the front door, he steals one last look at you before almost tripping over his own feet following Jonathan, flashing you a lopsided grin.

Shutting the door behind them Eddie turns to you with a smirk that you want to smack off his face.

“Look if that’s what you’re into -“ you throw a stray Readers Digest at Eddie before he has a chance to finish teasing you.

“Oh? Would you like him more in a pleated skirt waving some Pom Pom’s for Jason and his goons?” jumping off the counter you go for the jugular, your smirk growing when you get the same hard glare from earlier in his room.

“Listen, Caspian likes who he likes. I’m just the guy behind the wheel,” hands raised in mock defense, you snort rolling your eyes walking away with crossed arms.

“Eddie, your dick isn’t the Prince of fucking Narnia,” his boisterous laugh booms over the music and your glad he can’t see the way your lips twitch up at his antics, butterflies making their way inside your stomach at the thought of seeing Argyle’s goofy smile again again.

——

You’ve always hated parties, especially Reefer Rick parties. Messy and way too loud, it wasn’t just the usual crowd at Harrington's, dodging leering stares around every corner, you cling to Eddie’s arm as a deterrent.

“I don’t know what you were thinking wearing that skirt to Rick’s,” laughing at the permanent look of disgust that was stuck on your face as the two of you weave through the crowd, you turn your head up to stick your tongue out.

“You’re gonna give that poor kid a heart attack,” Eddie shakes his head when he sees the Cheshire smile that takes over your face as you approach the makeshift drink station, “Death by bone - Byers!”

Eddie’s outburst makes you jump when your eyes meet Argyle’s from over the keg on the dining room table, the stoned grin on his face faltering when he sees your arm wrapped tightly around Eddie’s. Big brown eyes only grow bigger when he gets a glimpse of the expanse of your legs and another thin tank top covering your chest like earlier, leaving little for his imagination.

The rosy color comes back to his cheeks when you let go of Eddie as you approach with a smile that seemed to be reserved just for him pretty on your glossed lips.

“Hey Argyle,” breathy and smitten, your own cheeks heat up when the corner of his mouth turns up, lopsided just how you like.

“Hey - wow, you look - wow - yeah you look gorgeful,” stumbling over his words, Jonathan looks exasperated with his best friend already, “I mean gorgeous, err — um beautiful.”

Jonathan raises his eyebrows in a greeting at you before taking a sip from his red solo cup, doing his best to ignore the stuttering mess next to him as he greets Eddie with their dude shake.

Argyle catches Eddie’s passive stare and it only seems to make him more nervous.

“Hey man, you look, you look uhh great too!” stammering a little less, his voice raises a few octaves borderline yelling just like in the living room earlier.

“Careful Argyle, keep smooth talking me like this and I’m gonna think you want me and not my friend here,” Eddie winks with a dimpled grin spread wide across his face before he scopes out the scene of the party. Zeroing in on a home base on the couch in the living room that sat miraculously unoccupied.

“Think I’m gonna post up, you know what they say ‘When in Rome’,” he gestures with his head to the spot to Jonathan, “Wanna join? I got a joint with our name on it.”

“Isn’t Rick gonna get pissed at you for selling at his house?” finally tearing your eyes away from Argyle who’s openly gaping at Eddie, you look up at your best friend.

“Pffft, please. It’s not like he’s not going to see the fruits of my labor, it’s fine, trust me. He’s probably already plastered and passed out on his waterbed anyway,” shrugging off your concern he looks at Jonathan expectantly.

“You good with that buddy?” clapping a hand on his friend's back, Argyle’s brown eyes dart back and forth between you and Eddie, repeating the words “my friend” like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“Yeah, he’ll protect me from all the creeps won’t you,” grabbing his hand, the heat of his palm is an instant comfort against yours. Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth you look up at him from under your lashes. His cheeks turn the color of cherry blossoms when he finally meets your stare, squeezing your hand gently, he looks back at the two boys finding his nerve.

“Yeah I’ll protect this pretty little princess with my life man,” saluting your best friend, Eddie raises his eyebrows seemingly unimpressed before turning back to Jonathan.

“Ready?” ignoring Argyle’s pledge you snort at Eddie’s casual bitchiness.

“Yeah, let's go. Look, be cool man, don’t take anything anyone here offers you, got it? I’m not taking care of you again like that time you ate the mushrooms you found in the woods,” Jonathan looks a lot like the guy you’d always known talking to his friend like he would his little brother with a finger pointed in Argyle’s face.

“There'll be no mushroom consumption on my watch, Byers,” mocking Argyle’s salute, your antics earn an eye roll from Eddie knowing damn well if the offer was given to both of you, you’d fold.

“Alright! You kiddos, have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Eddie grabs Jonathan by the shoulders aggressive enough to have his beer slosh over the lid and you were almost positive that annoyed scowl would be stuck on his face all night.

Watching them till they both got lost in the crowd of bodies, you and Argyle finally dare to face each other. The air between you thickening now that you were alone, and he was still very much holding your hand.

“Do-“

“How-“

It was like a cheap rom com the way you both went to talk at the same time, cheeks heating up as you both look at the ground, a new shyness taking over. Squeezing his hand you encourage him.

“You first,” soft and sweet, you swear you his pupils dilate from the way you look at him.

Argyle gets the same expression on his face Eddie does when he’s forced to talk to Chrissy when she comes to buy weed for her friends. He was silently hyping himself up. Straightening his shoulders he clears his throat before the smile that made your stomach do flips graces his kissable lips.

“Can I get the pretty lady a beveregino?”

A stumbling drunk someone knocks into you before you have a chance to give an answer. Flying into his chest he lets go of your hand to grab at your hips, helping you regain your balance. The slurred apology falls on deaf ears when you and Argyle lock eyes from this close, chest to chest his fingers dig into you just enough to notice.

“I’m not much of a drinker, more of a stoner. Wanna go by the lake? I stole a joint from Eddie before we left,” grinning with pride at your sticky fingers, his lips twitch up, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Woman after my own heart, hell yeah! Let's blow this popsicle stand,” turning you around he keeps his hands on your hips, lips coming close to your ear from behind, “Lead the way my weed smoking goddess”

Goosebumps rise, dancing across your skin at the feeling of his warm breath fanning down your neck as you lead him through the crowd. His hands never leave their spot from your hips, their grip tightening as you get closer to the sliding glass door that takes you out to Rick’s backyard.

Stepping onto the wooden deck he finally lets you go, there’s just a few stragglers outside smoking cigarettes too lost in their own conversation to notice the two of you. The air has lost most of its humidity, leaving the night in a post heatwave glow. The stars gleam bright next to the moon in the clear night sky, reflecting off the water it lights your way as you walk hand in hand down to the lake. Stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye the whole way down, you catch him doing the same thing, both of you giggling every time your eyes meet.

Finding a place nestled next to Rick’s boat house, you were far enough from the party for the loud music and constant chattering to seem like a faint noise in the background. The laps of the water hitting the shore take center stage as you curl your legs under your thighs when you sit like the princess he claimed you to be on the plush grass.

His knee brushes yours when he plops down Indian style next to you, his curious eyes follow yours as you look down at your exposed cleavage. Digging into your bra you pull a perfectly rolled joint with a smug smirk on your face, twirling it around in your dainty fingers he can’t help but throw his head back and laugh.

“I thought chicks only did that in movies, that’s some secret spy shit,.” the smile he gives you makes you want to squirm, “Crafty and beautiful.”

Not used to the kind of confidence he was giving you alone like this, you bite your lip to try and hide your smile as you tuck your hair behind your ears.

“Please, Eddie’s just oblivious,” scoffing, your face feels like the hottest part of the day from words that were sweeter than the ice cream cone you had earlier at Benny’s.

“I think it’s a little bit of both,” winking as he leans back, eyes watching you the way every woman dreams of as you search for a lighter.

“I think Eddie still has the lighter,” the cute pout that pulls at your bottom lip has his fingers twitching.

Holding up his index finger he starts digging through his multicolored jogger pockets.

“No need to worry, I’ve got us covered beautiful,” pulling out a bright yellow Surfer Boy Pizza one, he hands it to you with a lazy lopsided grin.

“My hero,” leaning forward as you snatch it, you dare to press a chaste kiss on his cheek as a token of your gratitude.

His eyes go wide enough to see the whites behind them and that perfect kind of smile that pushes against his cheeks is almost brighter than the moon hanging in the sky.

Scooting closer when you flick the lighter, the breeze that washes over the lake has other plans when it keeps snuffing the flame out. After the third failed attempt Argyle scoots closer, shoulders and thighs touching his big hands cover yours as a shield.

“Thank you,” daring to look at him from this close, his eyes meet yours almost instantly, catching the way they flutter down to your lips and how he has to wet his own after.

Tearing your gaze away, you focus on lighting the joint, the flame catching almost instantly with his help. Twirling it around so it burns even, he lets his hands fall at the same time as you. The palm of yours landing on the top of his, your eyes meeting again as you hollow out your cheeks taking the first hit. He just smirks, not moving an inch, the heat of his body is warm against your skin from this close.

The silence is comfortable as the two of you pass the joint back and forth for a while, fingers brushing purposefully with every hand off. Leaning completely against each other with pinkies hooked between you, he’s the one that breaks the silence when you hit the middle of the joint.

“So have you lived here your whole life?” plucking at the grass next to him he looks up at you with soft eyes as you finish filling your lungs.

“Yep, pretty much. My parents lived in Indianapolis till I was three then moved here for a quieter life,” snorting at the cliche of it, you pass him the joint, “What about you? Always been in California?”

“Yeah, it’s just me and my mom. She’s like the best ever though, so, you know I don’t really need anyone else but her,” taking a big hit of the joint so he didn’t have to elaborate further, you changed the subject.

“Would you ever leave? Like, move somewhere else?” it’s your turn to pick at the grass, the nerves of getting to know a boy getting the best of you.

“What? Like here?” smirking at you when he hands you the joint, your cheeks heat up at what he’s implying.

“No! Don’t move to Hawkins, there’s nothing here,” smiling around the end of the joint you take a hit to distract yourself from his playful stare.

“I don’t know, it seems pretty cool to me so far,” you don’t miss the way his pinky squeezes yours after the sentence leaves his mouth, eyes looking at you pointedly daring you to catch on.

“You wouldn’t survive the winters, I’m sure of it,” looking at him from under the hood of your lashes, your teeth tug at your bottom lip barely hiding your smile when you hand him back the joint.

“What about you? Do you wanna move?” his eyes glaze over when he takes his hit starting to reach the end of it, your bodies buzzing with the high and the excitement of a new crush.

“More than anything, Community College is just really cheap out here and I don’t know what I want to do yet, so the plan is to move anywhere that's not here after I figure that out,” sighing at the thought of finally leaving Hawkins you meet his gaze when you feel the chocolate of his eyes on you.

“I’m going to Community College too! And I also don’t know what I’m doing! Look at us two peas in a pod man,” he’s loud with excitement sending you into a fit of giggles and you lean even deeper into his side as he hands you the joint.

“Just need Eddie hurry it up, he finally graduated but he still has to take two summer school classes. We’re supposed to do this college thing together,” he catches the small frustrated pout you try to hide.

It’s quiet for a minute, the elephant in the room coming back as the sound of the water and crickets fill your ears.

“So you and Eddie like never..?” not bold enough to meet your side eye after the question leaves his mouth, you smirk as you take another rip. Exhaling slowly before handing it back to him.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids so naturally, we tried kissing once. It happened the summer before Junior year,” sticking your tongue out like there was a bad taste in your mouth, the memory makes you shudder, “Too weird, we’re too close.”

Argyle just nods trying to keep his poker face as he takes a hit when he hears that Eddie has actually kissed you before, but you catch on quick.

“Besides, despite the metal appearance,” leaning closer like you were about to indulge in a secret you whisper, “He likes cheerleaders.”

Earning a snort from him the smoke of his inhale flows freely out his nose and mouth as he chuckles at your antics.

“And I like pizza delivery boys, especially cute ones from California,” the weed settles enough to make you feel bold and you watch him freeze at your flirty words.

He slowly meets your gaze, bloodshot eyes scanning your face for any trace of humor but he’s only met with the hungry look in yours staring at his lips, and he swears your brows furrow with want when your tongue glides across wetting your bottom lip.

“Yeah?” his voice cracks when he puts out the remainder of the joint into the ground, angling his body more towards yours.

Nodding, you squeeze your hooked pinky with his silently begging him to give you what you want.

Taking your cue, he leans forward close enough for your noses to touch, the hesitation to fully commit has your lips brushing feather light against his. You can taste the last of the joint as you breath each other in, grabbing a fist full of his shirt when you’ve finally had enough, you close the gap with a satisfied hum when they mold instantly with yours.

It feels like the Fourth of July behind your closed lids, still a month away but the fireworks you swear you feel blur your vision when you lose yourself in him. Begging for more when your tongue swipes across his bottom lip, he groans low when he gives you everything you want. Tongues and teeth clash together desperate like years of pining finally come to an end despite it being less than a day, maybe it was the weed or maybe it was him, but it feels like it’s everything you want and more.

The initial intensity dwindles as you start to move lazy and slow against each other. Taking his time, he savors every giggle and gasp he pulls from you. Your hands find their way into his long hair, it’s even softer than you imagined when your fingers run through it. His hat falls off when you give it a gentle tug at the base of his neck.

Working up enough courage to pull you on his lap, he swallows your moan when you feel the bulge in his pants. The lace panties you wore just for him and the thin material of his joggers is the only thing between you and what’s underneath. Your skirt sits bunched up at your hips with his hands and you can’t help it when you rock against him, feeling every inch of him against your clit.

Pulling you down closer, his lips take a break from yours to make their way over your jaw and down the curve of your neck. Nipping and sucking against all the sweet spots that sit nestled just behind your ear. A high pitched whine escapes you when he applies just the right amount of pressure with his teeth, smiling against your skin, his nose nudges against your earlobe, a soft “Yeah?” sending your nerves down your spine.

His hands make their way to your thighs squeezing at the soft fat before his fingertips drag their way across the expanse of them finding their new home at the curve of your ass. Toying with the sides of your underwear you collect his lips again with your fingers holding onto his chin.

Rocking with a little more force when your tongues meet again, his hands grip you harder making you bite his lip in response.

“You- you can touch me,” your voice is quiet when you dare to say the words out loud, his lips stopping abruptly against yours.

“A-are you sure?” his eyes look black even in the moonlight when they meet yours from over the bridge of your nose.

Nodding against him, you encourage his hand as your lips meet his again, pulling your panties to the side he groans loud into your mouth when he’s met with your slick folds coating his fingertips.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe you’re real,” staring up at you, he’s mesmerized at the way you shudder when the pads of his long fingers rub circles on your clit.

Mewling when he lets the tip of his middle finger poke at your entrance, you dig your nails into his broad shoulders when he finally pushes one in, your velvet walls gripping him hard, pulling him deeper. His hips jut up at the sensation only adding to how good it all feels.

“G- god Argyle don’t - don’t stop please,” your demand comes out as a whine when he adds a second finger, curving them slightly brushing that spongy spot inside of you.

“I like that, I like when you say my name like that,” the pad of his thumb meets your bundle of nerves as you start to shamelessly ride his hand, the need to cum taking over all the bashfulness from before.

“Yeah?”

Nodding against the side of your face he nips at your jaw before taking your lips, the strokes of his fingers becoming more deliberate.

He manages to say, “Do it again” between kisses as he curves his fingers once more, getting him exactly what he asked for.

Kisses turn sloppy as you get closer to your release, your hands leave their place on his shoulders to dig at the roots at the nape of his neck, tugging the way that earned you a moan the last time.

He increases the speed of his fingers, the sound of how wet you are is loud enough to be embarrassing but it only makes him twitch inside his pants as he thrusts up, your mouth falling open against his.

“I’m gonna - god - I’m gonna cum,” pulling his hair hard enough it should hurt, he only pushes himself deeper in response, the new intensity sending you over the edge.

“Yeah? Good, come on let me feel it,” his voice is hardly recognizable the moment those words come out of your mouth. Deep and thick with want, it has your thighs shaking as you drench his fingers, face buried in the crook of his neck you let your orgasm wash over you like a storm.

“Jesus, you look like an angel right now,” his voice comes out like a whisper, almost like he’s saying it to himself.

His hips stop their movements as his fingers slow their pace when he feels your body start to calm down, pulling them out despite the fight of your walls they keep fluttering around nothing from the aftershock.

Your gasp is quiet against his skin when you don’t feel so full anymore. You’re too stoned and too tired to open your eyes when you hear the sound of him sucking his fingers clean.

“You’re sweeter than fucking pineapple, I swear,” chuckling at his own revelation your lips tug up into a smirk finally having the strength to meet his gaze.

“You like pineapple?” you had no idea the question would elicit such a strong response until his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Do I like pineapple? Do I like -“ Jonathan’s panicked voice rings out over the lake interrupting the out of body experience Argyle was about to have about fruit.

“Come on guys, Rick kicked Eddie out for selling at his party!”

[a-strange-inkling]

I can's stop making Hellcheer shit. Lol.

I used a photo from Grace's new photoshoot for the CC album, so technically Chrissy is on the cover. But I couldn't decide on the album name. Also the reason the mixtapes have more than just 80s metal, is because I'd like to think that Eddie and Chrissy enjoy many musical genres; historically every music genre was influenced by another. The mixtape titled Leather and Lace is Eddie and Chrissy's joint mix. I headcanon that when Eddie goes on a tour in '95, they take turns adding one song each, then mail the tape back and forth until Eddie comes home. The songs are themed to express their yearning to reunite.

…

i’m actually crying right now

chrissy’s nye dress

the album

the ‘i love you more than i hate billy joel’ line on the tape

the shared mix tape

this is all certified old haunts canon 📝

thank you, i’m so moved 🥹

-inky 🤍

[foundtherightwords]

The Hollow Heart - Chapter 1

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

A/N: This was inspired by the moodboard for "Vecna's Bride" by @a-strange-inkling. I saw the title and the Gothic imagery and my imagination just ran wild.

I changed the names to differentiate them from my Regency AU and better fit the Gothic vibe, so Chrissy is now Christabel (after the poem by Coleridge; the fic title and chapter titles are also quotes from the poem) and Eddie is Kas, because I took some inspiration from the D&D lore of Vecna and Kas (big thanks to @waterfallsilverberrywrites for helping me with that!) When I did a poll, the consensus was that Eddie's Gothic name should be Edmund, but... I prefer Kas :P (I already have plans to use Edmund for another AU.)

Chapter warnings: none (but Eddie doesn't appear in this chapter yet... please bear with me)

Chapter word count: 3.9k

Chapter 1 - At the Old Oak Tree

Christabel ran.

In the distance, she could hear the shouts and cheers of the hunting party, the excited barking of the dogs, and the occasional gunshots, cracking sharply in the crisp autumn air. She was not far enough. Lifting her heavy wool skirt above her knees, she pushed deeper into the bushes. The dead leaves from years past formed a soft carpet under her feet, muffling the sound of her steps, while the leaves of this year, despite having turned all shades of gold and crimson on the trees, had not yet fallen, so she need not worry about being discovered from their crunch underfoot. She hoped the party was not headed this way. After all her endeavors to snatch a moment alone, she intended to savor it to its fullest.

Christabel Cunningham hadn't had many opportunities to be alone in her twenty-three years on Earth. The only daughter of a wealthy New York businessman, she had been since birth surrounded by nurses and governesses and servants, who took care of her under the watchful eyes of her mother. Her father had died, quite suddenly, of a heart attack, when Christabel was only a child. Christabel did not miss him. To her, he was but a dim, distant figure, always away on business trips, or holed up in his study when at home, hiding from his wife, leaving Christabel to bear the brunt of her mother's nagging. The sole mark he'd left on Christabel's life was her name, given to her by him in a fit of romanticism, much to the disapproval of Mrs. Cunningham, who preferred classic names like Elizabeth or Catherine or Amelia. His death didn't leave much of a void behind.

Her mother, an ambitious and exacting woman, embittered by her failure to have a son and by becoming a widow so young, had poured all her affection and thwarted dreams upon her daughter, smothering the girl with them. She dictated everything Christabel wore and ate and read and play, and all the friends Christabel made and all the parties Christabel attended had to be approved by her. And so Christabel had grown up with her books and her dolls, lonely but never alone.

In truth, she hadn't been allowed to attend a lot of parties. As she grew up and learned more about her father's will, Christabel discovered a more mercenary side to what she'd once thought was her mother's overprotectiveness. As the trustee of her daughter's inheritance, Mrs. Cunningham could enjoy a lavish lifestyle, a townhouse on Fifth Avenue, a summer cottage in Newport, the latest fashion in her wardrobe and the most luxurious dishes on her table. But as soon as Christabel was married, she would be in charge of her own fortune, and Mrs. Cunningham would be left with half of what she was used to. Christabel believed that to prevent this, her mother would have locked her away forever, like Rapunzel in her tower.

But social standing has its advantages. Afraid of the wagging tongues of the town, the whispers behind closed doors that she was keeping her daughter from society to hold on to her money, Mrs. Cunningham had reluctantly allowed Christabel to make her debut when she came of age. Since then, her days had been filled with balls and theater trips in the winter, tennis matches and yacht races in the summer, giggling friends and fawning suitors, still under the watchful eyes of her mother. It was tedious, but Christabel had endured it because it was better than staying at home, surrounding by the dark walls of her room and feeling her mother's disapproving stare on her at all times. Besides, that was what was expected of all the debutantes. Smile, dance, flirt, ride, sketch or sing a little, play a little piano, speak a bit of French, a bit of German, be amusing but not sarcastic, be vivacious but not feisty, be modest but not withdrawn, and hopefully make an advantageous match, and then have daughters and watch them go through the same thing, over and over again.

Christabel knew she would not break free of this cycle. Her whole life she had been taught to do what she was told, to never question, to never put a foot out of line. But as her own, feeble form of rebellion, she made it a point to refuse every proposal she'd ever received—and there had been plenty of them. With her delicate features, dewy skin, wide blue eyes, and strawberry blonde hair, Christabel always turned heads in every room she walked in. It was true that her nose was slightly upturned and her front teeth were slightly crooked, but these flaws were seen as charming, not defective. And if her manners were at times rather listless and uninterested, well, her inheritance could more than make up for it. So a lot of men had fallen in love with her, or at least with her beauty, or with her money, and had proposed, but she had refused them all.

When Mrs. Cunningham found out about these refusals, Christabel always had a believable reason to convince her mother of her decision—the family had an unpleasant reputation, their fortunes were not equal, or the boy himself did not have a promising enough prospect. Mrs. Cunningham was appeased, for a while, but after two seasons and Christabel remained unmarried, she began to grow uneasy and warned her daughter of the perils of spinsterhood.

To all her admonishment, Christabel said nothing. It wasn't that she wanted to be an old maid for the rest of her life, far from it. But unlike other young women, who dreamed of marriage as a celebration of love or even as a way to further their social connections, Christabel saw it as a means to freedom. And none of the men in her circle could give her that freedom she so thirsted. They all grew from the same stocks, the same root. If she married one of them, she would move in the same circle, lead the same life, beating a tired circle from Manhattan to Newport and back again, perhaps with the occasional trip to Europe, but still seeing the same faces, doing the same thing as everybody else, and never be free of her mother.

For that summer season, Christabel had tried to convince her mother to go to London or Paris, or, if they had to stay, then she was secretly hoping—as hateful as it sounded—to catch the eyes of a European aristocrat, many of whom were flocking to America in search of an heiress to restore their family fortune. Europe would be the ultimate escape. However, her mother disliked traveling, and although Christabel's inheritance was sizeable, it was not large enough to draw the attention of an impoverish earl or baronet.

At least her mother had accepted Mrs. Carver's invitation to their summer mansion in Tuxedo Park for two weeks of English-style country party. There were to be riding and shooting and picnics in the woods, all culminating in a costume ball on All Hallows' Eve. They had just come back from Newport, worn out and looking forward to some quiet days to recover before the winter season, so Christabel had been afraid her mother would refuse, knowing her dislike of the outdoors. But an invitation to the exclusive Tuxedo Park was hard to come by, and when Mrs. Cunningham learned the party was thrown for Mrs. Carver's eldest, Jason, who had just come back from Yale, nothing could have kept her away.

Jason Carver. Christabel sighed. All the debutantes were in love with him, though to Christabel, he had always been just a good friend, nothing more. She'd never imagined he would set his sight on her, not when he was always surrounded by so many other girls. So it had come as a complete shock when, after a dinner party at the Carvers' mansion, Jason had asked to speak to her alone in the gazebo overlooking Tuxedo Lake. There, while the moonlight rippled over the water, turning the surface of the lake into a broken mirror, he had taken Christabel's hands in his and, tremblingly, haltingly, asked her to marry him.

For the first time, Christabel had hesitated.

Jason was one of her few childhood friends her mother had approved of, as the Carvers' Manhattan residence was not far from the Cunninghams'. He had always been kind and attentive to her, and unlike some men, she knew he cared not a jot for her inheritance, since the Carvers was one of the richest and most prominent families in the city. A marriage between her and Jason would send her mother to Heaven.

That was the problem, of course. Christabel never wanted to do anything her mother wished.

"If we are to marry, can we live here?" she'd asked. It sounded as though she had accepted him already, but she didn't care. She looked around at the untamed parkland of the mansion, with the woods surrounding it on all sides and the sparkling lake in the distance. It may not be far enough from her mother, but it would be something.

"Of course!" Jason had said, squeezing her hands. "We'll come here for the summer, and—"

"No, you mistook me. I don't mean for the summer. I mean permanently."

Jason had laughed at that, thinking it was a joke. "We can't possibly live here! I have my business in town, and there's nobody here for half of the year anyway. Why would you want to live here?"

Christabel had tried to say that she wanted to live in Tuxedo Park precisely because there was nobody there for half of the year, but one look at Jason and she knew he wouldn't understand. Nobody would.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she'd said and withdrawn her hands.

She'd half-hoped Jason would try to get her to change her mind, that he would say they could live anywhere as long as they were together, but he had only shaken his head, said, "It's not meant to be then," bowed, and gone back inside, leaving her alone on the shore of that moonlit lake. Of course. No amount of love could be enough to compel a man to throw away his whole life like that, and even if he had made the offer, she couldn't possibly have accepted such a sacrifice. Perhaps it was for the best.

Still, that hadn't stopped things from being rather tense and awkward between them when they set out for the hunt that morning. Christabel had never enjoyed hunting, but she jumped at any chance to be outdoors, to be able to walk and run and move freely without being criticized for not acting ladylike enough. And another reason—her mother, having no interest in hunting and riding, always stayed behind on such occasions. That morning, though, Christabel could feel Jason's mournful eyes on her whenever she turned. She'd only wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but it was difficult when she was surrounded by the hunting party with their guns and dogs and servants. It was only when they came across a flock of partridges and the others' attention was diverted that she managed to slip into the woods.

Now, as she walked through the trees, Christabel pondered her situation. Would it be so bad, being married to Jason? It would at least let her be mistress of her own life... except that life would still be tied to another's. No, if she simply wanted to claim her inheritance, she would've married the first man that proposed and had done with it. This regret was simply because she had started to feel anxious about her future. Could she go on like this until her mother died? Could she live as a spinster, becoming brittle and bitter in her old age, facing the pity and contempt of others? Christabel felt the old, helpless anger toward her father blaze up inside her once more when she thought about the predicament he'd placed her in. What was the use of ensuring no one could touch her inheritance, if she had to saddle herself to a man to claim it?

She passed through the line of trees and came to a clearing on the side of a hill, gently sloping toward a small glen, where an old oak tree spread its cape of gold leaves over a murmuring brook. It seemed something straight out of a Washington Irving story—all that was missing was a covered bridge. Tucking her skirt into the top of her gaiters, Christabel threw her arms over her head and sprinted down the slope, letting the cool air fill her lungs and clear her head.

Near the bottom of the slope, her skirt slipped out of the gaiters and tangled around her legs. Her ankles twisted under her and sent her tumbling down. She rolled head over heels the last few feet before skidding to a stop right by the oak. Luckily, the hill wasn't steep, and her fall had been more embarrassing than painful. She cursed under her breath. When they received Mrs. Carver's invitation, Christabel had begged and begged her mother to let her have a split skirt for the occasion so she could move about with more ease and perhaps even learn to ride a bicycle, as some of her friends had, but Mrs. Cunningham had insisted that her old riding habit, with its long trailing skirt, would do just fine. Christabel shouldn't do much walking or moving about anyway, Mrs. Cunningham had argued. Men wouldn't be interested in overly energetic girls. And as for riding a bicycle, showing off her legs in those newfangled bloomers, like some common hoyden? Forget about it.

"Are you all right, miss?" a voice said somewhere over her head.

Christabel looked up and saw a pair of blue eyes. A man had stepped out from the other side of the oak tree and was looking down at her. She suddenly became aware that she was sprawled on the ground with her skirt hiked up over her knees. She bolted up and pulled her skirt down, face burning crimson.

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly fine, thank you," she sputtered, struggling to her feet.

Her ankle turned painfully. The man reached out a hand to help her. His grip was firm and strong.

"Thank you." Christabel peered at him more closely. He was dressed for a day out in tweed and stout boots, but with a walking stick, not a gun. "Are you with the Carver hunting party?" she asked, for she did not remember seeing him. He was a little older than Jason and her circle of friends, in his late twenties or early thirties perhaps, tall, with a fine-boned, elegant-looking face. But what startled her the most was his eyes, as clear and blue as the sky above, fixed upon her with an expression of fascination and interest quite unlike anything she'd received from her suitors. She reached a self-conscious hand to her hair, trying to dislodge any dry leaf that may have gotten stuck there.

"Carver? No, no, I'm a guest of Dr. Brenner."

Christabel's eyebrows shot up. Dr. Brenner was an eccentric who had inherited one of the largest fortunes in New York, but rather than continuing to run the family business, he had devoted his time to studies of the occult and other esoteric sciences. Unlike most of the residents of Tuxedo Park, who only kept their mansions here as holiday homes, he lived in a cottage deep in the woods year round, engaging in all sorts of obscure experiments, never interacting much with his neighbors. They tolerated him out of respect for his family name; some saw him as a harmless old fool and even invited him to some of their parties to show him off to their out-of-town friends, much like the ornamental hermits that the English aristocrats of old often kept on their grounds. Unfortunately, the Carvers were not one of these open-minded people, so Christabel had never met Dr. Brenner. She had to admit that she sometimes felt envious of him and the male privileges that allowed him to give up his family business, but not his wealth, and pursue his true passion. Alas, no such luck for her.

And here was this man, claiming to be a guest of the mysterious doctor! Her curiosity was pique immediately.

"Are you?" she asked, with interest. "I didn't know he ever invited anyone here. You must be a man of science or some sort of scholar, for him to allow you to encroach on his solitude. What is your business with him?" Then she colored again, realizing how intrusive her question was. Usually she never allowed herself to behave so casually with a gentleman, but there was something about this man that freed her from the confines of propriety. Or perhaps it was the scene around them, the wild woods and the open sky that had no use for etiquette. Still, the habits of upbringing were hard to shake off, so she cast her eyes downward and murmured, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to pry."

"Not at all," the man said with a friendly smile. "As a matter of fact, my family came from this area before it was developed, and Dr. Brenner is helping me to research our history. I'm just looking for the ruins of their village."

"Oh. That sounds very interesting."

"And if there's anyone who must be pardoned," the man continued, "it should be me, for I have been so presumptuous in talking to you without so much as an introduction. You must allow me to make amends, Miss—"

"Cunningham. Christabel Cunningham," she said.

"What an unusual and beautiful name." The man looked into the distance. "The lovely lady, Christabel, whom her father loves so well. What makes her in the wood so late, a furlong from the castle gate?" he recited in his rich, musical voice whose reverberation seemed to reach Christabel's very core.

She laughed to hide her blush. "A very fitting quote. Only it's not so very late, and while the Carver mansion is grand, it is far from a castle," she said. "And I'm simply taking a walk, not praying for my betrothed. In fact"—the noise from the hunting party had ceased, and she realized it must be nearly time for luncheon—"I'm just heading back now."

"And alas, I am no Geraldine," the man said. "But may I accompany you anyway?" He extended an arm toward her.

Christabel hesitated, thinking what her mother would say about walking in the woods with a stranger. But surely, there was no harm in it. The hunting party was not so far away, and she could always tell the truth—that she had gotten hurt, and this man was helping her. She took the proffered arm, and they started walking toward the Carver mansion, not following the route Christabel had, but taking the longer way, along the lakeshore, Christabel hobbling to keep up with the man's long strides. There was a dull ache in her ankle, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to complain.

"I see that you are an admirer of Coleridge, like my father," Christabel said.

"Your father must be a man of great taste then."

Her smile disappeared. "I wouldn't know. He died when I was very little." She caught herself again. Why was she telling this man, whom she met not five minutes ago and whose name she still didn't know, all these things about herself?

"Oh, I am so very sorry." The man took off his cap, revealing longish blonde hair that fell over his forehead in soft curls. His eyes were full of sympathy. "I know how difficult it is, losing one's parents. My own parents—" His voice hitched. "They died when I was very young as well. An earthquake, in San Francisco."

Christabel's heart panged with sympathy. "That must be horrible."

Those brilliant blue eyes dimmed for a moment. "It was."

"So you live in San Francisco?"

"I do, yes."

"What is it like?" she asked eagerly. Outside of Newport and occasionally the Catskills, she had never been anywhere. She had never even left the state of New York.

Before the man could answer, she put her weight on the sore ankle by mistake and let out an involuntary yelp. He turned to her, all solicitous concern. "Have you hurt yourself in the fall?" he asked.

"I must have," she replied reluctantly.

Tucking his cap into a pocket, he knelt down, took her ankle in his hand, and gently turned it this way and that. "Does this hurt?"

"Only a little," she said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, that won't do." He put one arm around her and the other under her knees, scooping her up easily as though she weighed no more than a feather. "I should have noticed sooner," he said. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right." Christabel was feeling a little dazed. None of her suitors had ever picked her up like that—indeed, none of them ever touched so much as the hem of her skirt without asking for permission first. She found that she didn't mind being handled, didn't mind the lack of permission-seeking. Nestling against his chest, she glanced shyly up at her gallant rescuer. Despite his slender frame, he was carrying her across the uneven terrain with no effort at all. The sun was shining upon his blonde hair, turning it into a gold helmet, and his blue eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her. She was glad they were taking the longer route.

But all too soon, the shingled walls of the Carver mansion appeared behind the trees, and the hunting party came into view. Christabel was afraid her rescuer would put her down the moment they came upon the others, but if anything, his hold around her seemed to tighten.

"There you are, Christabel," Jason said, stepping forward. "We were about to send out a search party—" His countenance changed upon seeing her in the arms of the stranger. "What happened?"

"Miss Cunningham had a bit of an accident," the man said. "I happened to come across her and took the liberty of escorting her home."

"How fortunate," Jason said, his voice icy. He all but yanked Christabel out of the other man's arms, as though she was a child, or worse, a doll, a toy to be fought over.

"I'm perfectly all right, Jason," Christabel said, fighting to put her feet on the ground. "It's just a sprain."

Jason relented and put her down. Christabel turned to her rescuer, who was replacing his cap on his hat, preparing to go. "Thank you so much," she said. "I hope I haven't delayed you from your quest."

"It was my pleasure. It's not every day a beautiful lady fell from the sky and landed at your feet, is it?"

She couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her face. "I still don't know your name."

"Haven't I told you?" He looked confused.

Christabel frowned, trying to recall. "No, I don't think so."

"Ah." He tipped his cap at her. "Henry Creel, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Will I see you again, Mr. Creel?"

He flashed her another of his dazzling smiles. "You can count upon it." Then, with a bow in the general direction of the hunting party, who was staring at him, he turned and disappeared into the woods.

Chapter 2

As usual, if you want to be tagged, drop me a line! Any likes/reblogs/comments will be greatly appreciated, thank you!

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 14: And the Winner Is...

Word Count: 1000

Rating: T

Pairing: Hellcheer

CW: Language

Summary: It's time for a new generation to take on the talent show at Hawkins Middle School

Song is Mr. Brightside by The Killers

@corrodedcoffinfest

The auditorium at Hawkins Middle looks smaller than Eddie remembered it as he and Chrissy step inside. Though, he had been smaller the last time that he was here for his own talent show in the eighth grade. 

“We are not sitting front and center,” Chrissy says to Eddie, shaking her head. “I won’t do to her what my mom did to me. Stressed the hell out of me to see her there.”

“I remember Wayne sat over here,” Eddie responds, nodding his head towards the right of the auditorium. That night sticks out in Eddie’s mind for a few reasons, but one of the best was seeing the proud smile on Wayne’s face after the original Corroded Coffin’s very first performance. 

“Here is good,” Chrissy agrees, and the two of them take seats right of center, a few rows back. 

The auditorium hasn’t changed much since Eddie went here, a fact he learns as he looks around the smaller-than-remembered space. But something does catch his eye that makes him smile. He taps his wife’s shoulder twice and points up to the catwalk where the two of them bumped into one another over twenty years ago. 

“Think Em is up there looking for us?” Eddie asks.

Chrissy laughs. “I can’t see her dragging her precious darling up there with her. And I doubt she’s going to let it leave her sight.”

Emily Munson’s new purple guitar is the light of her life. Eddie thinks she might even love it more than he loved his Sweetheart back in the day. Honestly, he’s surprised he hasn’t looked into Em’s room and seen the guitar tucked in bed next to her while she sleeps. 

“Her precious darling has a name,” Eddie teases. 

“I am not calling that thing ‘Cobain.’”

“Says the woman who named her car,” Eddie goads.

Chrissy pouts and looks up at her husband.

“Don’t bring Roxy into this.”

Eddie laughs and wraps his arm around his wife’s shoulders. 

The lights in the auditorium dim and the principal steps onstage.

“Welcome to the 2004 Hawkins Middle School talent show! I am Principal Newman and I’m so glad that you could join us this evening to witness the extraordinary talent our students have.”

The first few acts are entertaining enough—for a middle school show. Everyone in the audience knows they’re really sitting through everything else until the student they came here for is on. Finally, that time arrives for the Munson’s. 

“Please put your hands together for Guitarfly!”

Matching proud grins grace both Eddie and Chrissy’s faces as the curtains part to reveal their daughter and three of her friends.

Emily stands at the microphone, Cobain ready to go as she adjusts the strap over her shoulder. The young Munson’s dark curly bangs are held to each side by a glittery butterfly clip and a touch of eyeliner makes her blue eyes pop—makeup and eye color both courtesy of mom. Emily is wearing a black Corroded Coffin shirt that’s been cut and altered to hang off the shoulders of her small frame. Her denim skirt is layered over cropped red leggings, trimmed with lace at mid-calf. Her black high tops complete the look as she takes her place center stage. 

The drummer counts them off and Emily licks over her lips right before she puts her pick to the strings and leans in towards the microphone. 

Comin' out of my cage and I've been doin' just fine

Gotta, gotta be down because I want it all

It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss

Eddie watches his daughter in awe. He knows he never looked half as cool as she does on that stage. Pride threatens to choke the emotional father as he sees she’s having an absolute ball. 

Jealousy

Turning saints into the sea

Swimming through sick lullabies

Choking on your alibi

But it's just the price I pay

Destiny is calling me

Open up my eager eyes

'Cause I'm Mr. Brightside

He didn’t care that no other act got a standing ovation, when the song ends, Eddie jumps up and applauds. So is everyone else in the auditorium, but his cheering means the most to the teen girl behind the microphone. 

After the final acts, the judges—a teacher, assistant principal, and a lunch lady—converge to discuss the results. 

Eddie knows it’s just a middle school talent show, but he wants this for his daughter so badly. If the judges couldn’t see how talented Emily and her friends are, then Eddie thinks they need to get some sense knocked into them. 

Once the results are in, Principal Newman comes back onstage with the name of the winners on an index card. Eddie slips his hand into Chrissy’s, and she can’t help but smile to herself at how nervous he is for their daughter. The epitome of a doting father if there ever was one. 

“And the winner is…Guitarfly!”

Eddie’s ass is out of his seat before the principal can even finish saying the name of the band.

“That’s my girl!” Eddie cheers.

Emily takes the trophy from the assistant principal and looks over to her parents in the crowd. The louder Eddie applauds, the redder her face becomes. She gives them a small wave before she and her friends lift the trophy up in the air. There’s another smattering of applause and Principal Newman thanks everyone for coming. 

Still grinning from ear to ear, Eddie turns to Chrissy as they stand up and move to leave the auditorium. 

“How did we get the coolest daughter ever?” Eddie asks as he holds the door open for his wife.

“Because she has the coolest parents ever,” Chrissy answers. 

“Hell yeah,” Eddie says and slings an arm around her shoulders as they make their way towards the exit. “A rockstar and a cheerleader? There was no way this kid wasn’t going to be fucking awesome.”

[corrodedcoffinfest]

Week Three: Masterlist

Week Three is over! We're over halfway finished now. You all did so great, and I appreciate your participation so much! This week, we covered 7 prompts and there were 53 total entries: 52 Fics Written, 0 Pieces of Art & 1 Other Works submitted.

Don't forget there is also an AO3 Collection if you'd like to use it!

Color-Coded Ratings Key: General, Teen, Mature, Explicit.

Day Fourteen: And the Winner Is...

Fic Submissions:

take a break to win by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: T | WC: 773 | CW: exhaustion | Tags: overworking, famous corroded coffin, friendship

JULY 14: and the winner is... by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: T | WC: 982 | CW: Strong language, a lot of American football talk and subsequent confusion | Tags: Jeff (Richardson is his last name in this particular story), Eddie, Gareth and Grant, and one very badass Violet Richardson, Jeff's eldest daughter

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 14 - And the Winner Is... by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 616 | Tags: Angst, brief FOI references, introduction of Phil the Manager, Wayne being the best uncle/dad in the world

Getaway Car by @thisapplepielife | Rating: M | WC: 1000 | CW: Mild Sexual Themes, Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Steve is to Corroded Coffin Music Videos as Alicia Silverstone was to Aerosmith Videos in the 90s

My Occupation is Syncopation by @dreamwatch | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: language | POV: Gareth | Pairing: Steddie (background) | Tags: banter, Gareth wears glasses, not as often as he should, 90s Corroded Coffin

Day 14: And the Winner Is… by @munson-blurbs | Rating: T | WC: 518 | CW: mention of poverty and bullying | Pairing: Jason Carver x Tammy Thompson (bear with me here) | Tags: Jason Carver, Tammy Thompson, Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin, Grammys, 1990s

The New Generation by @corroded-hellfire | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: Language | Pairing: Hellcheer | Tags: It's time for a new generation to take on the talent show at Hawkins Middle School

Day Fifteen: Let's Talk About That Fic Submissions:

homework by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: T | WC: 990 | CW: none | Tags: therapy, gareth pov, personal growth, self-discovery

JULY 15: let's talk about that by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: Dustin Henderson. That’s pretty much it. He’s the content warning. Eddie should know better than to listen to his wildly overconfident ideas. There’s also a mention of fire and injury, but no one is seriously hurt. | Tags: Corroded Coffin, Hellfire boys, Nancy Wheeler

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 15 - Let's Talk About That by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 994 | Tags: Older!Eddie, Wayne, Angst, hurt no comfort, death and grief, Eddie-centric, dialogue heavy, Jo pulls a Flanagan for the umpteenth time

Got You Good, Kid by @thisapplepielife | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: CW: Language, Smoking, Mentions of Unplanned Pregnancy, Eddie Being a Bit Lot of a Dick | POV: Gareth | Pairing: Gareth/OFC (Off-Screen), Background Steddie | Tags: Modern Day Setting, Road Manager Steve Harrington, Eddie and Gareth are BFFs, But Gareth's Keeping Secrets, So They're Fighting, Fucking Interviewers, Fucking Paparazzi, Fucking Eddie

Day 15: Let's Talk About That by @munson-blurbs | Rating: T | WC: 877 | CW: mention of vomiting and getting sick (not described), stage fright, takes place in 2024, older Corroded Coffin, loosely based on Joseph Quinn's Tonight Show experience | Tags: Eddie Munson, Jeff, Grant, Gareth, talk show, flashbacks

Stream Punk by @corroded-hellfire | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: Language | Pairing: Eddie x Reader | Tags: Modern AU - Corroded Coffin hosts a live stream and fans notice you walk through the background

Day Sixteen: Struggling Fic Submissions:

always struggling by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: T | WC: 971 | CW: none | Tags: steddie, post-break up, modern era, open ending but assume they get back together, pre-famous corroded coffin

JULY 16: struggling by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: T | WC: 911 | CW: Strong language, tiny bit of angst, surgery mention but no graphic depictions of, don't worry | Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth Emerson

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 16 - Struggling by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 901 | Tags: Modern!Corroded Coffin, Older!Corrded Coffin, memes, friendship, bickering and banter, pop culture/social media reference (link at the end of the fic)

Headlines by @thisapplepielife | Rating: M | WC: 1000 | CW: Substance Abuse, Addiction, Minor Mention of Pregnancy | POV: Gareth | Pairing: Gareth/Di (OC, Off-Screen), Minor Steddie | Tags: Clawing Your Way Out Of Rock Bottom, Tough Love, But Love

Day 16: Struggling by @munson-blurbs | Rating: M | WC: 877 | CW: drug abuse (cocaine), alcohol abuse, addiction, some comfort | Tags: Eddie Munson, Jeff, Grant, Gareth, Corroded Coffin, Wayne Munson, addiction, drug and alcohol abuse, tour life

Disenchanted Lullaby by @dreamwatch | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: depression, chronic pain, referenced drug use | POV: Eddie | Pairing: None | Tags: Eddie Munson, slice of life, introspection, the comedown after touring, loneliness, ennui

This One's For You by @corroded-hellfire | Rating: T | WC: 658 | CW: Language | Tags: A letter from Eddie to you. Yes, YOU.

Day Seventeen: "This One's For You" Fic Submissions:

love doesn't wait by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: M | WC: 685 | CW: implied/referenced sex | Tags: famous corroded coffin, side steddie, jeff's love story, love confessions

Serenade by @medusapelagia | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: None | Pairing: Steddie

JULY 17: this one's for you by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: T | WC: 969 | CW: Grief, loss of a friend | Tags: Hurt/no comfort, Eddie Munson, Gareth Emerson, Elliot

Stayin' Alive by @thisapplepielife | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie, Mention of Pre-Robin/Vickie | Tags: Post S4, But Eddie Lives, But Is Still Recovering, Getting Together, First Kiss, The Band Has a Surprise For Eddie at The Hideout, Steve Harrington Just Wants To Help, Henderson Too

Know When To Hold 'em by @dreamwatch | Rating: T | WC: 999 | CW: death of a parent, depression, grief, referenced drug abuse | POV: Steve | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Wayne Munson, Eddie needs a hug, protective Steve, hurt/comfort

Day 17: This One's For You by @munson-blurbs | Rating: T | WC: 541 | CW: I cried writing this, canon-compliant, breaking the fourth wall | Tags: Eddie Munson, love letter, fanfic writers

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 17 - This One's For You by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 638 | Tags: Grief, Peace, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Intentionally Left Vague, Character Death (You can read it as Eddie visiting his mom OR Jeff visiting Eddie.)

Rock 'n Roll All Night (Or Until Bedtime) by @corroded-hellfire | Rating: G | WC: 1000 | CW: None | Pairing: Eddie x Reader | Tags: Snowed in during a blizzard, Eddie’s daughter Eliza proves just how like him she is.

Day Eighteen: Freak Fic Submissions:

Get Lucky by @mrsjellymunson | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: longing, self-deprecation, ogling, allusions to sex | POV: Grant (Unnamed Freak) | Tags: Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, Grant, The Hideout

frankie by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: M | WC: 930 | CW: temporary character death | Tags: canon-adjacent events, frankie pov, eddie munson lives

JULY 18: grant by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: chronic illness, celiac disease (which was fucking hard to get a diagnosis in the 90s), a tiny mention of weight loss if you squint, food aversion | Tags: Grant (Unnamed Freak), Eddie Munson, Gareth Emerson, Jeff, gn!Reader

Charles III by @thisapplepielife | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: Language | POV: Goodie (Freak) | Pairing: None | Tags: Band Practice, Goodie & Gareth, The Birth of a Nickname, He's Goodie Goodwin the First

The fourth member of the band by @medusapelagia | Rating: T | WC: 994 | CW: None | Pairing: Freak & Eddie

Day 18: Freak by @munson-blurbs | Rating: G | WC: 643 | CW: canon scene, Grant (Freak) is neurodivergent, anxiety | Tags: Grant, Eddie Munson, Gareth, Jeff, Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, Hellfire, Corroded Coffin

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 18 - Freak by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 961 | Tags: Friendship, new friends, a bit of self deprecation, teenage angst, typical teenage snark, Freak #3 is named Dave, whats the friendship thing where you think someone's a raging bitch/asshole and then that ends up being your best friend? yeah that...

Hello, I've Waited Here For You by @dreamwatch | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: period typical attitudes to women, period typical homophobia, internalised fat shaming, period typical sexism, sexist language | POV: Matt (Freak) | Pairing: Steddie, Matt/OC | Tags: Falling in love, CC is a family, secret relationship

That's Not My Name by @corroded-hellfire | Rating: T | WC: 687 | CW: Language | Pairing: None | Tags: Why is it that no one knows his name?

Other Submissions:

Eugene Faulkner: Fluff Alphabet @hawkinsmafia | Other Type: Character Alphabet | Rating: G | CW: None | Pairing: Eugene Faulkner x Reader (no assumed gender)

Day Nineteen: In the Garage Fic Submissions:

from garage to library by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: M | WC: 930 | CW: mild language | Tags: they're really just trying to make it, they're all idiots

JULY 19: in the garage by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: Some douchebag neighbor (typical Hawkins), strong language. No slurs but the dude isn’t real nice. Hashtag SatanicPanic | Tags: Corroded Coffin, Tim Emerson, Douchebag neighbor Marty (def not based on a real life douchebag neighbor Marty from my childhood or anything, nooo)

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 19 - In the Garage by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 690 | Tags: Older!Corroded Coffin (it's the late 90s...), the pure boys will be boys energy, car speak thats probably wrong

Sweet Talkin' Lola by @thisapplepielife | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: Language | POV: Jeff | Pairing: None | Tags: S4, "Welcome to Hellfire" Missing Scene, Misheard Lyrics, Band Practice

Day 19: In the Garage by @munson-blurbs | Rating: G | WC: 732 | CW: Principal Higgins is an ass, anxiety about being accepted, divergent from FoI | Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Jeff, Grant, Principal Higgins, Corroded Coffin

Untitled by @br0ck-eddie | Rating: T | WC: 322 | Pairing: None

Check Him Out by @corroded-hellfire | Rating: T | WC: 977 | CW: Language | Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader | Tags: Eddie gets a nice surprise at work when you come in with a car problem.

Day Twenty: Under the Covers Fic Submissions:

under the covers by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: E | WC: 962 | CW: angst with an unhappy/open ending | Tags: friends with benefits, gareth/eddie, unrequited feelings, anal sex, mention of steddie

JULY 20: under the covers by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: T | WC: 944 | CW: Protected p in v sex, angsty sex, the accidental slip of someone else’s name | Tags: Gareth Emerson x fem!reader, Gareth x unnamed female groupie

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 20 - Under the Covers by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 937 | Pairing: Eddie Munson x OC | Tags: Unofficial official Hymn of Heaven, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Eddie is simping hard, Fluff, allusion to monsters and nightmares, DnD references

Louisiana Rain by @thisapplepielife | Rating: E | WC: 1000 | CW: Sex, Brief Mentions of Past Trauma/Loss | POV: Gareth | Pairing: Gareth/Di (OC) | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Marriage, Post-Corroded Coffin, Gareth & Eddie are BFFs, Traveling Sucks, Delayed Flights, Coming Home, That Middle of the Night Quiet

Untitled by @br0ck-eddie | Rating: T | WC: 308 | Pairing: None

Day 20: Under the Covers by @munson-blurbs | Rating: T | WC: 656 | CW: None | Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Grant, Jeff, Erica Sinclair, Lucas Sinclair, Mike Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, birthday party, cover band

Safe Haven by @corroded-hellfire | Rating: G | WC: 922 | CW: fear of thunderstorms | Pairing: None | Tags: fear of thunderstorms

Rambin' Gamblin' Man by @dreamwatch | Rating: M | WC: 1000 | CW: period typical homophobia (alluded to) | POV: Steve | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: secret relationship, sharp suits, Steve Harrington is stupid for Eddie Munson, Fluff but make it lustful

[devondespresso]

Since We're Alive Now

T | 5843 words | also on ao3 (soon) | cw: referenced/implied self-image issues, swearing, brief references to physical injury, strong self criticism, and canon typical tone in some areas but with happy ending

April Fools from the @strangerthingswritersguild !! This fic is for @medusapelagia sorry its a littttttle late, I hope the extra 2k to the word count makes up for it dgaskdgkjhdkla

I picked the prompt "platonic hellcheer: fixing their hair", hopefully its the one you gave me or if not, i hope you at least enjoy this instead! 💕

_

Chrissy walked towards the hospital doors with her pink pocketbook in one hand and the black guitar case in the other. A man on his way out noticed her and held the door, and she hurried to catch up with a polite thanks. He nodded, distracted, looking once at the state of her appearance, twice at the guitar case with her. She ducked into the lobby and pretended not to notice.

Chrissy sped up to the reception desk and asked the lady there for a visitor’s pass, smiling like she wasn’t bothered by the stress acne dotting her forehead and cheeks and chin, like she didn’t know her hair looked terrible, unwashed and unbrushed. Severely unkept, without a good mirror to glance at before entering a room full of strangers that’d easily recognise her from photos on the news. 

The woman looked at Chrissy, with an extra loaded glance to the guitar case, then looked down at her computer. 

Chrissy moved her pocketbook over to also be held by the guitar case hand, then brought up her freed hand to check her watch.

“I’m very sorry, but visiting hours are closed for Mr. Munson. You can try again tomorrow, sweetie.”

Chrissy looked up at the lady sitting and looking back at her with a sugary sweet authority. 

Chrissy checked her watch, and, yeah, she got the time right.

“Tomorrow, Miss Cunningham.” she smiled.

She checked the watch one more time, just to be sure she was right.

“What time tomorrow?”

“The visiting hours listed on the board for non-family members of special patents, now, Miss Cunningham, I’m very sorry, but there is a line.”

Chrissy looked across the room at the bulletin board, then back towards the two people behind her. She apologized to the people behind her, and slipped out of line towards the board. 

She set the case gently on the chairs lined up along the wall, keeping it close and still on the chairs in front of her, and searched the board for the hours.

Special patients… special patients… none of them said “special”. There were no new lists either, but there was a new-ish note, just to the side of the regular described hours. 

‘During these uncertain times, staff reserve the right to limit visitation for the protection of patients or their visitors. We thank you for your understanding.’

Chrissy stared at the note, reading it again to be sure.

‘uncertain times… limit visitation… protection of patients or their visitors.’

A bunch of freaking bull.

Chrissy huffed and leaned away from the bulletin board, glaring at the desk for a second before looking back at the guitar case on the seats.

She picked it back up gently, not wanting it hitting against anything despite the outside being scuffed to hell and back already, and looked back around the room for another way. 

She wandered closer to the other end of the reception desk, and on the back wall, among photos and other nurses celebrating long careers at the hospital, was a name Chrissy recognized.

Margret Briggs, and very likely Robin's infamous “second favorite person on the planet”: Miss Maggie. 

Chrissy went up to a different receptionist and politely got her attention.

“Excuse me, sorry, is Miss Maggie working today? I'm friends with Robin Buckley, she mentioned–”

“Oh, you just missed her– give me one second, sugar.” The receptionist got up and went straight to a door behind the counter, opening it to lean inside and yell, “Hey, Maggie! One of your demon children is in here!”

Chrissy startled a laugh, and the receptionist shared a playful smile. Miss Maggie came out the door a few seconds later.

“Friend of Buckley,” The receptionist hummed with a playful jab, “This one's all your's Maggie.” 

“I think you mean ‘thank you Maggie’.” Miss Maggie said, then waved Chrissy over to the very end of the reception desk, meeting at the little employee doors attached to the counter.

“Hey, doll. Christine, right?” hummed, seemingly unfazed that they'd never met before. 

“Chrissy, yeah, I– um… Has something happened to Eddie Munson? He’s not getting worse or anything, right?”

“Not that I know of– I’m not in charge of any of his charts but…” She threw a loaded glance at the far side of the reception desk, then back to Chrissy. “But I’ll check for you real quick.”

She dipped back behind the counter and to one of the unattended computers.

“Thank you,” she sighed, “He mentioned they were still keeping him for a while. For observation or something, but I figured that meant he'd still be, I don't know, relatively stable?”  

“Every now and then we get patients the state wants to oversee, they don’t give us much good reason but it doesn’t hurt anything… The paperwork is a pain in the ass, but that’s nothing to do with the patient–” she paused, caught reading something on the screen. “Munson’s fine. I've got a note about some kind of incident with a visitor, though.” 

She read it again with careful confusion, then stood up, “Looks like nothing serious, friends’ spat, but there's no way they mistake you for him.” She looked up from the computer and over again at the reception desk. “Did you come find me first, doll?”

“Um, no, I tried the front, and she said visiting hours were closed. Normally I never had any trouble…” 

Miss Maggie’s face soured for a second, then she shrugged. “Well, at least that's an easy fix, then.”

She leaned over to grab a blank visitor's pass and began writing, asking Chrissy a couple questions to fill it out. She finished with a loopy signature and handed the pass to her. Chrissy moved her pocketbook over to the same hand as the guitar again, and took the pass.

“Thank you so much, I…”

“Not a problem, doll, you always come ask for me if you need something. It's a lot easier to help you kids when you aren't making a scene.” she laughed.

Chrissy smiled and thanked her again, waving to her and the receptionist before heading down Eddie's hall.

Chrissy reached the room and knocked on the door.

“No vacancy.” Eddie’s muffled voice said from the other side, and Chrissy huffed before opening and leaning in through the door.

“You sure there isn’t room for one more?”

“Heeeey, Chris!” he yelled, stretching out the word and throwing in the nickname like they’d known each other for way longer than a month or so. “Hey, you’re hair’s down, looks great.”

“Yeah, didn’t feel like doing it today.” She said at a more reasonable volume, but she still couldn’t help the huge smile tugging at her cheeks. She ducked into the room and closed the door behind her, only to turn back and find Eddie now sitting up properly with a deathgrip on the bed rails.

“Chrissy.” Eddie said, staring at the case before looking up at her face. “Did you go back?”

“You wanted your guitar, right?” she said, walking over to the other side of the room to put it away.

“Yeah, I asked Nancy to grab it, next time she was in the area, specifically because she wouldn’t have something making that a completely miserable visit.”

Chrissy set it down, holding back an eye-roll and sealing her mouth shut.

“I also told her it could wait if something came up–”

“Well something did,” she said, keeping her voice light, “Steve’s bites flared up and Nancy wanted to check in, so I told her I’d get it.”

“Then it could’ve waited, Chris.” he sighed, “No one’s robbing the half-broken satanist’s dumpster–”

“Maybe there's a chance I actually wanted to go.” she snapped, then paused and took a breath. She picked up a chair and dragged it over to the side of the bed. “Your trailer is– I don't know, nice to me. I told Nancy I'd get it, like, hours ago, and now I'm here before visiting hours are up.”

Eddie watched as she sat down, got that look on his face where you could tell he was thinking but couldn’t guess what. She looked back, and he nodded.

“Well, thanks, Chris.” he said quietly, dropping back to the half-up position of the hospital bed and looking back at his guitar. “Nice to have her back in the room with me again.” he smiled.

“She complained the whole way, y’know, you’re going to have to make it up to her.”

“Oh, I am, aren’t I?” he sighed, with convincing fake exasperation that was broken towards the end with a smile. “Most metal concert in the world and I couldn’t even use the real version of her.”

“Looks like you’ll just have to play it again.”

Eddie glanced over at her, sad for a second before turning back. “Yeah, probably should. Make better memories and all that recovery shit.”

“You should get the rest of Corroded Coffin in on it.” she said, resting her elbows on the bed. “Can’t be the most metal without them, too.”

“Christopher, you wound me.” he ‘gasped’, hand on his chest like clutching pearls, and had he not been sternly advised to rest Chrissy assumed he’d be halfway across the room right now. “Am I alone not metal enough to have that title?”

“Are you not more powerful with Jeff and Grant by your side?” she mused along, imitating his silly accent.

“I knew it, you like Jeff more than me!” he cried, flopping over to one side with the back of his hand over his temple.

Chrissy snorted and hummed a vague agreement.

“Scandalized, betrayed– the ultimate betrayal! The greatest betrayal known to man or woman!” He continued, flopping over to the other side, other hand doing the same pose, “By my best friend no less! And also by Chrissy!”

“You jerk.” she laughed, and laid her head down on her arms pillowed below her.

“Alright, I hear your pleas.” Eddie continued, dropping the arm and looking at her over-earnestly, “You can regain your title by admitting that I’m the most metal… twenty-year-old super-super senior with interdimensional bat bites that you’ve ever met.”

“Deal.” Chrissy laughed, “But a metalhead still belongs with his metal band.”

“Of course. Every good metal band needs someone vaguely louder and charged with murder.”

“And with long hair, of course.”

“Yes, exactly, poor Gareth’s at least a year or two away from anything like this.” he preened, “If one of the nurses doesn't chop it all off before then. Mrs. Mitchell called it a rat’s nest, and I don't really have a mirror here but I don't think she's that far off.” he laughed, fiddling with the end of a curl escaping over his shoulder. Chrissy’s gaze followed the strand up to the rest of the hair, and while, yeah, there was a mess of strands outside of their curls that tied into a matted mess, a lot of what the nurse called a ‘rats nest’ was just frizz. And untamed was not the same as irreparable.

“I can brush it real quick.” she hummed.

“Thought you said you didn’t wanna do hair today?”

“I didn’t want to do my hair.” she corrected, pulling a strand of hair down out in front of her face, twirling it  “I kind of just… didn’t want to think about how I look.” She let it fall onto her face, then tucked it back again.

Eddie hummed and sunk down in the bed, hair bunching up across the bed and actively making the ‘rat’s nest’ look worse.

“Yeah, that's okay.” he muttered, then continued, “You don’t exactly brush out curly hair anyway, but thanks for offering, Chris. I’ll probably just have to buzz it again and start over. Or start back at an ugly ass bob.” he laughed, cynically.

“Or,” she said, sitting up to prove she's serious. “You could just let me try to get some tangles out first, because it's really not that bad.”

“Chris, seriously, it’s a mess. Don’t waste your time.”

“It’s never a waste of time.” she said, getting up to find the bag of hygiene stuff in the corner.

“Chris–”

“Ah ah ah, let me explain myself.” 

Chrissy dug out a wide comb and then a small compact mirror from her purse before running back to the bed. She held out the mirror and leaned over next to him, pointing the mirror so they’d both be able to see.

“Chris…”

“Hold the mirror.”

Eddie reluctantly held the little compact mirror, much lower to be easier on his body, and pointed it at his face.

“Pretty sight, isn’t it.” he said sarcastically.

“Yup.” Chrissy said earnestly, pulling a bundle of hair out in front and combing through it with her fingers, and hoped Eddie would use her mirror to let himself see it, “It’s just a little tangled down here, I can work through that part for you, and the rest of this–” she combed through the dense fuzz gathering around the shape of the curls like a glow, “This is just extra frizzy from everything. It's like half the amount of tangles the nurse was thinking, just chopping it would be overkill even if it was that bad.”

“Okay, well if I've got a personal stylist, then.” he joked, snapping the compact closed and handing it back, “But only if I can return the favor.”

“Sure.” she smiled, “But you first, scoot over.”

Eddie nodded, taking the arm she offered for assistance in moving. “So on a scale of one to ten how close is this to a classic slumber party?”

“About a seven.”

“Oh, only a seven? What are we missing?”

She laughed and thought about it as she sat on the bed behind him. “Mm, we could use some music. Madonna, The Go-Gos, Cyndi Lauper, all your favorites.”

“Mhm, you know me so well.” He grumbled, playing annoyed.

Chrissy separated out a section of hair and started working through knots gently with her fingers. Eddie did his best to keep still, head only turning slightly, probably without realizing, as he looked around the room thinking of something to do. Not nervous, just allergic to being perfectly still.

“Your book’s on the table back here, if you're looking for it.”

Eddie only hummed so she could know he heard her. 

It stayed quiet for a few more moments.

“How’d–”

He shifted slightly to sit differently, and a few strands of hair stayed caught in her hand and got pulled. On reflex he went to touch the spot that hurt, but his bigger injuries stopped him halfway.

“Sorry–”

“Its fine, my bad.” he huffed, then, purposely casual, “How’d it go with Carver?”

Chrissy shrugged. “I mean… he’s taking it better than I expected, I guess.”

“Not freaking out?”

“Nothing like that,” she hummed, “He was still upset in the beginning, kept trying to come up with excuses for me, ironically.”

Eddie hummed to show he was listening.

“So I told him even if none of this happened, I couldn’t stay with someone who wouldn’t listen to what I had to say about it all. And now he’s just… quiet, I think.”

Eddie turned his head slightly to talk to her. “Quiet as in he stopped the conversation? Or stopped talking to you… at all?”

“He still talks to people, and me, if we have anything to talk about, but he’s… lost in thought, I guess, most of the time. Unless there's some special reason to get happy.”

“Huh.” he said, leaning over in a thinking position, forgetting he was supposed to stay still.

Chrissy set the comb down on the bed beside her.

“Yeah, it’s pretty strange. He was always so expressive even before we got together, and I know some of the distance is normal breakup stuff, but since talking with me… it’s like there’s something… actually wrong.”

Eddie shook his head. “I think he’s thinking. Nothing wrong with him, not that you did, or– You did it, but not…” Eddie paused for another second to get his speech straight, then sat back up and turned to her. “He’s thinking about everything. What he did, and what it means now. Now that he can’t tell himself it’s what you would’ve wanted. And if the bastard's lucky–” he cringed right after he said it, then recovered with a breath. “If we’re lucky, he’s questioning what he wants to believe about other people, now that you’re more person than what he was expecting.”

Chrissy nodded, and gestured back to his hair.

“Right, sorry.” he said, sitting straight again.

“You’re fine.” she hummed. “That’s good, then, if he really is thinking things through. He never seemed like the type of person to want to hurt anyone.”

“Yeah, turns out you can’t really judge someone until the world is ending.”

“It’s not that. You can’t judge someone under that kind of pressure.” she said, gently pulling excess strands out of a particularly big knot.  “It’s more like… he has what it takes to do good, and he just… didn’t. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t know him well enough, but I’d like to think he’s going to get better.”

“Lovely optimism, but I wouldn't hold your breath.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” 

Eddie shrugged, and it was quiet for a good few moments before Eddie started talking again.

“I’d imagine as far as breakups go, this one’s gotta be one of the wildest rides.” he said, and Chrissy could hear the stupid grin he had to be wearing.

“Yeah, it hasn’t exactly been the fairytale romance he was hoping for.”

“God, yeah, he’d probably have a better time in a fucking Shakespearean tragedy. Like, imagine how bad you gotta screw up for your ex to start shooting the shit with the murder suspect.”

Chrissy cracked a smile. “Excuse you, I am willingly shooting the shit with a loud fantasy-loving dork.”

“Augh, you wound me, Christine!” he yelled, throwing his head back, throwing a limp wrist up over his forehead again.

She burst out into a real laugh and pushed him back into place again. “I might for real if you don’t sit still.”

“Again with you and your ruthless betrayals.” he joked, sitting back up again. “Are you this cruel with all your clients?”

“No, only the girls at the slumber party who do too much boy talk.”

“Oh my god, what jackass brings up boyfriends at a slumber party?”

“If you find him, let me know.”

Eddie straightened up, arm coming up as far as he could go in and attempted a mock salute. “When I find the culprit, dear lady, he shall be banished!”

She giggled at his antics, gently parting his hair into two fluffy sections. “Not banished. I just need to let him know his hair’s all set.” Then she tossed both halves of his brushed hair over his shoulder for him to see.

“Holy shit, are you sure this is better?” He laughed, patting the frizz down.

“It's not matted, that’s all I promised.”

“You’ve tricked me, this was your grand scheme! You lured me in with your fabulous looks and promises of detangling, only to trap me in a deal, all to get me to do your hair!”

“Oh yes, it was my plan all along!” she mused with him, getting off the bed to grab her pocketbook.

Chrissy dug around until she found the small hairbrush she kept in there. It wasn’t exactly the best tool, but it’d be enough.

They settled back onto the bed, Eddie sitting more comfortably by the head of the bed, legs folded in so Chrissy could sit close enough in front. Eddie took the pocket hairbrush and a section of her hair and started working through the few tangles gently.

It stayed peacefully quiet for a good few minutes as he focused on not pulling any hair. Then, when there was more smooth hair than knots and he seemed more confident that he wouldn’t hurt her, he started talking.

“If bringing up a guy again won’t get me banished…”

“Of course it won’t.” she laughed, turning slightly to give him her attention.

But he stayed quiet, brushing her hair like he hadn’t heard her.

“It’s a staple of slumber parties, actually,” she continued, less energetic but just as soft, “Madonna, boy talk, and just… regular talk. Secrets, if we want to.”

Eddie hummed, and stayed quiet a second longer.

“Did… have you talked with Harrington lately?” 

“Yeah, he’s okay, said he was taking it easier after the flare up as a precaution.”

Eddie hummed absently, stuck in a thought as he ran the brush needlessly through untangled hair, like either he hadn’t thought to stop or wanted to pretend he didn’t.

“Has anyone told you about me? What kind of person I am?”

“I don’t think so?” She turned around, “You’re talking about our friends? Not assholes that don’t know you?” 

“No, yeah, definitely– definitely people that know me.” he laughed, cynically.

“Who’s talking shit about you?”

“Nobody’s talking–”

“You’re saying it like you're waiting for someone to drop some dirt on you!”

“I’ve got the dirt on me!” he yelled, then took a breath and lowered his voice. “Harrington just figured me out. And it pissed him off.”

Chrissy searched his expression for any more context, but Eddie was too busy sifting through it himself to leave any to share. Chrissy put a hand on his knee, and waited.

He shook his head and looked away.

“I’m a hypocrite.” he said, then looked up and away to continue with a mocking melody. “The goon that talks himself up as something more honorable than he is, could even dream of being. A spineless rat wearing purpose like a costume.” His wide cynical smile slowly shut and clamped down into a pressed frown. “That sort of thing.”

“Did he say that?”

“No.” Eddie finally looked at her again, all fronts of humor lost. “During that whole fucked-up adventure, alternate dimensions and evil wizards and shit, I learned about myself, that I'm a coward at best. And at worst? I’m a delusional coward playing hero to make myself feel better.”

Finishing his declaration with a concrete certainty. Like he had it all figured out. Like the picture he painted looked anything like him. Like she wouldn’t have slapped him sick for saying that about anyone else.

“So now you know. He doesn’t strike me as a gossip, but, uh… I'd rather you hear it from me. I am nothing if not honest about it now.” he picked up the hairbrush again, gesturing for her to turn around so he could ‘finish’ brushing her hair. 

Chrissy turned around again, folding her knees in crisscrossed, and making sure to look at the blank wall across from them.

“So he didn’t tell you that, you decided it. And Steve got mad that you said it.”

“He made me realize it all. He was just mad at my stupid decisions.” Eddie continued, relaxing as he wove his story to the empty room, but still not loud enough to reach anyone else. “I was dropped into a real-life quest, and with real shit on the line, I realized all I think to do is run. I told him, in the middle of it, I didn’t know why– I thought I’d accepted it. So I could go ahead and fix myself before it cost us anything.”

Chrissy could feel the bed shift as he moved to sit another way again, set the hairbrush he was using on the bed beside her. 

“But I hadn’t, I just wanted… I wanted to prove it wasn’t there. And he had to have known, he told me not to– but I saw my chance and I took it anyway. 

“You mean the bats.” 

“I mean jumping into a volcano so I could be a martyr.”

“Buying time for Dustin and the others.”

She waited for his response, but he said nothing, and brushed at the ends of her hair. 

Chrissy kept her gaze on the wall in front of her, tracing the designs of the wallpaper so she wouldn’t turn around. “You couldn’t know how necessary it was in the moment. You might’ve been the only reason it worked."

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is it?”

“That I didn’t want to survive!” he yelled again, then the brush hit the hospital floor. “My body did but my mind wanted to be a hero, wanted to be Obi-wan, Aragorn, Kas, anybody that wasn’t too scared to help, pulled along for the ride because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, with nothing to add to the group of heroes.”

Quiet rang out behind her, and Chrissy made sure to keep her gaze stuck to the wall against her desire to look and understand. Instead, she slid a hand out behind her, palm up as an offer, and Eddie took it, cold hand taking hers quietly.

“You’re being too hard on yourself–” 

“I nearly killed myself trying to be something I’m not! And isn’t that fucking pathetic? To try and die to be like a storybook hero– I would’ve been fine if all that storybook shit was a bunch of bull, I could’ve watched the world be more depressing than fantasy, but–” he sighed, his voice starting to shake, “But he’s real. Dragged my sorry ass out of hell and doesn’t even have the decency to be a real dick about it. I just–”

He cut himself off with a big breath. Chrissy squeezed his hand, and he huffed, maybe sad, or maybe a laugh. It was quiet for a second more, and then a weight eased onto her shoulder. She looked over slightly to find Eddie resting the crown of his head against her sweater, and he took a a weak inhale to steady his voice.

“Since, like, second grade I imagined that, yeah, if I were faced with an evil wizard, or an army of minions, or whatever fantasy shit I could play as– I was sure I’d be the type to stand up and fight it, because I knew fear, I knew strategy and combat better than any asshole on the basketball team, and once Hellfire started to be more freshman than anything I figured I’d be the Aragorn to the Hobbits– but now that it’s happened? Playing is the only thing I seem to know how to do. When I wasn’t running for my damn life, I was playing shit like a game, picked the piece I wanted without telling anyone, and then got surprised when life doesn't work like that, and the party already had its hero.”

“And he knows. He can fucking smell it on me, maybe they all can. That i wanted that role so bad i missed the fucking point of it. And now that I’ve accepted it, actually accepted it… I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t lie to the guys, to Dustin, keep playing some kind of bravery now that I know it’s all bull– I can’t host a campaign for Dustin if he knows the kind of person I am when that shit is real, every round of combat he’d know what a hypocrite I am. Maybe I should just stop–”

“Hey, hey,” she turned around, too fast and so uncoordinated that she nearly hit his leg, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m stopping you there.” 

“If you had seen me, Chris, you’d believe me.” he muttered back, matching her volume, “Probably wouldn’t hate me, I don’t really know if you… do that shit.” He cracked a smile, almost like a little laugh at the awkward wording.

“Well, even if I was humanly capable of hating people, because hate is such a strong word,” she smiled, leaning into the joke, and Eddie huffed, “I still don’t think I’d hate you for this.”

“That is probably… the most Chrissy answer possible.” he laughed again and wiped at his face.

“Yeah, maybe…” She let out a deep breath, “You want to know what I think?”

Eddie hesitated, sulking and thinking for a few moments, then shrugged. “Yeah. Color me curious.”

Chrissy nodded and took a moment to put her thoughts together. Because she could give a good pap-talk, could find something nice to say about every girl in her squad, but Eddie would immediately be able to tell if she tried a pep-talk, and he’d hate it. So Chrissy spoke slowly.

“I think… you’ve taken a picture of yourself, and you’re treating it like a mirror.”

Eddie looked up, eyes questioning for a second before opening his mouth to ask, for good reason, because pictures and mirrors were a Chrissy problem, because Eddie used that metaphor not even a week ago with her. But Chrissy held up a hand between them, asking for just another second to explain further, because Eddie didn't have the pictures or mirrors specifically, but metaphors and analogies were an Eddie language.

“You have a picture of yourself… and it’s real– and other people can see it, if you show it to them. It's a picture, not a painting– But it’s one picture, and you’ve stared at it too long–”

Eddie caught the connection but didn't like it, leaning out of the conversation with a huff, looking off to the side, far away from her face, with well-restrained frustration.

Chrissy grabbed his shirt and pulled him back over, making sure he’d look her in the eye.

“You stare at it too long, because someone back down the line told you you had to,” she gritted out, “That if you just stare at these pictures hard enough, you'll finally figure out what everyone else sees, and you’ll finally find what’s wrong with you.” 

Eddie didn’t look away but she clearly hit a nerve, so Chrissy dropped her hand, softened her tone.

“Because if you can find what’s wrong with you, you can fix it, and then you’ll be happy. Or… better. Or deserving– whatever it is. But it’s a picture. And even if it’s showing you everything as it is, even if you're right about everything you’re seeing, it's just one side of you, and it could never capture all that you are.”

Eddie sat and stared at her, expression guarded, but only in that way that you couldn't control. The urge to stay unbothered or undecided as you thought, to pause the moment so you could take in everything and breathe.

Eddie nodded, barely there, just a slight move on an inhale. His eyes flicked back and forth between her and the walls before his face soured, slightly to keep that same guard up, and he ducked his head down into both hands, a curtain of frizzy hair covering his face. 

Chrissy waited for a second, but he didn’t move. So she set a hand out on the bed in front of him, and he shifted one hand free from propping himself up, grabbing hers on the bed and holding on.

“The people that love you most will always see more than a picture of you. How you look when you’re doing things that you love, how you help people that are lost in their worst nightmares.” She smiled, the memory both sweet and sad, “I remember thinking– with everything going on, the one thing I remember best when I first really talked to you? Was how bright you are.”

Chrissy smiled, looking down, and brushed her thumb absently against the big chrome rings adorning the hand still holding hers.

“You've got the whole… all black, tough guy, stomping on tables, big denim and leather but when you take that off you're just… so bright. You know you're a lighthouse but you're also a candle, keeping the light around when the powers gone out. You couldn't know what was going on with me, but you knew there was something, and you cared enough to make me laugh in spite of it, just by being yourself. You don’t know how to take down the evil wizards or fight an army of monsters because a group of heroes is not who you fight for. And to be useful to someone else’s story was never what made people love you.”

Chrissy paused for a breath or two, then lowered the crown of her head to rest on top of his.

“If I had died, my last wish would've been to go back to your trailer’s living room. Or that bench beyond the field, or to sit at the lunch table full of people that you make an escape for, whatever place that'd bring me back to that glowing life in you. And if you can’t see how beautiful you are, I’ll be your eyes until you do.”

Eddie kept a death grip on her hand, a grip she tried to match, and a tear or two ran down her face. She wiped them away with her one free hand, and with her other she loosened her grip, then moved the thumb side to side, softly brushing against the skin on the back of his hand.

“Cheater.” Eddie mumbled to the bed, voice raw and quiet. “S’plagiarism. Half your damn speech.”

She huffed lightly at his joke, and smiled. “Well, I still mean it.”

“Of course you do.” he whispered, then shifted his head a bit. Chrissy sat up straighter again to give him space to move, but he didn't shift again.

Eddie's thumb started tracing the back of her hand, repeating the motion she unconsciously stopped. Chrissy started it again, and put her head back on top of Eddie's.

“I don't think plagiarism is the right word. Maybe inspiration.”

Eddie laughed.

“Yeah, y’pulled calling a grown-ass man ‘beautiful’ out of thin air.”

“What, do you not think you're pretty, Munson?” she challenged, ducking her head down to try and peer through his hair. 

“Oh, I'm just ‘pretty’ now?”

Chrissy bursted out laughing, and Eddie shot up, pushing back some of his hair to play into the theatrics even more.

“What happened to ‘beautiful’, Chrissington, hm?”

“You know what I mean–” she giggled.

“No, no, I see how it is–”

“You're beauuuuuutiful~~”

“Noooooope.”

“Gooooorgeous~~”

“You're flattery cannot convince me–”

“Ooo, ravishing!!”

“Oh my god–” he made a dumb gagging sound, sticking out his tongue and everything.

“Oh, that's where we draw the line.”

“Yes, god, never say that about me again.”

“Ravishing~~”

“NOPE!” He yelled, slapping hands over his ears, “Can't hear you!”

“Don't yell!” she hissed through another huge smile.

“WHAT? I CAN'T–”

“Stoooop,” she pulled his hands off his head with a laugh, “You’re going to get me kicked out.”

“Oh, sorry, forgot breaking the rules was a fate worse than death.”

“Stolen metaphors aside,” she said, coming back down from the chaos, “You’ll trust me on this, right?”

Eddie considered, catching his breath, residual joy and tears both lingering on his face. 

“Y’know, instinct says not to, but…” he hummed, then cracked a small smile, “Flattery works incredibly well with me, so I’ll take your word on it.”

[heartbreak-sandwich]

💌Red Letters to Nowhere💌

A/N: This is the first chapter of my Stepbrother! Billy Hargrove x Mayfield! Reader fic! There will be many, MANY more flashbacks and encounters with other characters (Steve Harrington x Reader, Nancy Wheeler x Reader, and Eddie Munson x Reader to name a few) and some other relationship mentions throughout (like Harringrove and Hellcheer!). I hope you enjoy reading as much as I have writing. 💕

Read on Ao3 ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 2 📖 Master List 🌈

💌CHAPTER ONE: Move-In Day💌

Hawkins, Indiana. You’d never heard of it. To make matters more nerve wracking, you, your mom, and your little sister, Max, were moving to the middle of nowhere to shack up with her new husband and his son. You had met Neil Hargrove a few times when he came to visit from California, and he seemed nice enough. That’s the keyword – seemed. There was something intense about him that made you uneasy, and Max agreed that even though your mom seemed to be head over heels for the mustached, steam pressed, ordinary tryhard of a man, the two of you would keep a calculated distance from him pending further review.

The car ride was excruciatingly long, and you and Max each had your own walkman to keep you company, trading tapes every so often and sharing whatever snacks you could snag at the last gas station you happened upon. Your mom didn’t seem to realize the two of you were immersed in your high-volume music as you watched her lips move, undoubtedly chattering away about all of the fun features of the new town you were doomed to spend the impending school year in. Max rolled her eyes and shifted in her seat, her gaze drifting out the window and eventually coming to a close for yet another nap after receiving the report from your mom of “Only two more hours until we’re there!”

Deciding the only thing more painful than dreading the uncertainty of where you were headed was actually hearing confirmations of the bleak outlook to be endured, you decided to follow Max’s lead, eyes closing, letting the sounds of Alice Cooper lull you into the last nap you would take on your way to your new home in Hawkins.

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“And these are your new sisters,” Neil explained with no trace of enthusiasm to his son in the driveway of your new home. “Billy, don’t be rude. Shake hands,” he instructed sternly.

Billy held out his right hand for you to take, his jaw clenched, expression unchanging as he let out a flat, “Welcome home.” His handshake was firm, and he didn’t make eye contact with you or Max as he stood before you.

“Thanks,” you replied, testing a small smile. Again, his expression didn’t soften.

“Why don’t you go help Susan with some of the boxes,” Neil muttered to Billy, the stern coldness in his eyes revealing that this was more of a command than a suggestion.

“Yes, sir,” Billy responded, already stepping down the driveway toward your mom’s car.

Once Billy was out of earshot, Neil turned to you and your sister and put on his best impression of a smile. “I hope the drive wasn’t too long for you girls,” he offered.

“It was okay,” you answered him, attempting to mirror the almost smile. The three of you basked in the awkwardness before Max piped up with a question.

“Will we be sharing a room?” She already knew the answer because your mom wouldn’t shut up about how excited the two of you should be to get your own bedrooms for the first time in your lives.

“Not at all,” Neil answered almost cheerfully. “Why don’t I show you two around, and you can get settled while we bring in your things?” Neil held out an arm, gesturing toward the front door of your new home, and you and Max trudged forward with your backpacks and snacks in tow.

The house wasn’t large, but it was more than you were used to, coming from the two bedroom, one bathroom townhome you had shared with your mother and sister for the last six years. Four bedrooms, – one for you, Max, Billy, and your mom and Neil – two bathrooms, a fireplace, and a separate kitchen, living room, and dining area. You even had your own yard complete with a tire swing, and you knew that would be a big bonus for Max.

“I hope you won’t mind sharing a bathroom with Billy,” Neil sighed almost apologetically. “He keeps things clean, so you won’t have to worry about that. But if you have any trouble at all with him, you just let me know.” Neil’s eyes were icy and cold as he spoke, his teeth gritting together at the end of his sentence. You were a bit taken aback at how he talked about his own son.

“What…kind of trouble?” His expression softened immediately, and he tried again at his smile.

“Well, you know, boys will be boys. He’s a good kid, but sometimes his attitude needs some…adjusting,” he explained.  “I’ll be outside helping your mother. If you need anything, don’t be shy.” Neil rapped a couple of times on the doorframe and exited your new room. You felt all tension dissipate the moment he was gone, and you took the time to glance around your new space. You had enough room for all of your posters. A queen size bed rested in one corner with shelves above it, a full size closet at the end of the bed, and a window with a desk underneath it on the wall opposite the sleeping corner - perfect for studying after school. You could get used to this.

You were pulled from your thoughts with the muffled clatter of a box being set on the wooden floor beside your bed. Turning around, your eyes met his for the first time. You couldn’t help but notice he looked almost…scared?

“Sorry. I’ll be more careful with the next one.” Billy’s hands turned to fists at his sides, thumbs fidgeting over his knuckles, his jaw clenching at the close of his words. His appearance was unlike any guy you’d ever seen in person before.

He looked like something out of the cover art of one of your mom’s romance novels she always had tucked away in a spot she thought you and your sister wouldn’t think to look. His blonde, shoulder length curls were carefully coiffed into one of those trendy mullet styles, plush pink lips outlined a perfectly white smile, his skin still golden from the California sun, and his eyes sparkled cerulean like the surface of the ocean with a depth you couldn’t quite reach. You could tell he was stacked and muscular through his clothes, and his jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. Still, there was something about him that seemed on edge.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassured. “I don’t think there’s anything breakable in there.” He nodded in acknowledgement and turned to exit your room. “So,” you called after him, “what’s the high school like?” You just wanted him to know you were approachable and that you had no intention of making his life Hell, especially since you were all forced to exist in the same house from now on.

“Probably worse than you’re imagining,” Billy scoffed, turning slightly back towards you. When he noticed your nerves amping up at his comment, he sighed. “It’s not that bad. Small, easy to find your way around, and everyone is…nice enough, I guess.”

“Oh, that’s good. I’ve never gone to a new school before, so I’m probably just overthinking it,” you admitted, finally slipping your backpack off and letting it plop down on the bed. Billy turned to fully face you again, his hands in his pockets, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine. Plus, you’ll know at least one person. And if anyone tries to give you shit, tell them they can answer to me.” You weren’t sure what that meant, but it did make you feel a bit more confident about your upcoming first day at Hawkins High.

“Uh, okay. Well, thanks for that.” You breathed out a small laugh, and Billy’s smirk bloomed into a smile.

“Don’t mention it,” he drawled before giving you a wink and disappearing back into the hallway to fetch another load of boxes. You didn’t have time to process the fact that you’re pretty sure your new step brother just winked at you before Max poked her head around the corner of your doorframe.

“Hey,” she whispered, catching your attention. “What did he want?” She looked back toward the hallway where Billy had just retreated, and you motioned for her to come in.

“He was just bringing some stuff in, so I asked him about the school.” Max was invested now, also having expressed her worry of starting in a new class already a month into the school year.

“What did he say?”

“Mixed review, really,” you answered, both of your expressions changing to that of confusion.

“Okay…well, do you know what to expect at all?”

“Not really. But he did say if anyone messed with me to tell them they could answer to him.” Max’s eyes widened.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She sat down on your bed, shuffling the toes of her shoes on the floor below.

“No idea,” you answered, meeting her gaze.

“Great.” Max sighed and stood up once more. “I guess I’ll start unpacking my new room.” She fluttered her eyelashes, hands waving in mock excitement. You laughed, knowing she was doing her best sarcastic impression of your mom gushing about your new home. You both rolled your eyes before she giggled and made her way back down the hallway to her own space.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your first dinner was awkward, to say the least. Neil had ordered a pizza for everyone since your bandwagon arrived close to mid afternoon, and your mom didn’t have time to cook a full meal even though she insisted she didn’t mind. You rushed to the door to help Billy bring in the boxes from the delivery boy who he happened to know from school.

“Troy, this is my …” he hesitated, breaking eye contact with the boy on the doorstep and looking down at the ground with a sigh, “new sister, Y/N.” You smiled tentatively, and offered a half wave, taking a couple of boxes off the top of the stack from Troy.

“Troy Holstad. Nice to meet you,” he obliged before giving Billy a perplexed look. Billy nodded once curtly and took the remainder of the boxes from Troy before waving him off with a “see you at school,” and closing the door. He nudged your arm to get your attention and spoke softly.

“There you go. Now you know two people,” he reasoned, beaming at you before shuffling back toward the dining room and adjusting his expression back to that of a sullen teenager. Billy carefully set the boxes down in the middle of the dining table, and you did the same. Everyone thumbed through the different boxtops to find the flavors they wanted, your mom and Neil opting for supreme while Max grabbed two slices of pepperoni, and you and Billy each took a slice of Hawaiian.

“So, Y/N, your mother tells me this is the start of your senior year,” Neil declared, his voice resonating in the silence of the dining room.

“Yeah, it is,” you replied around a mouthful of melted cheese and pineapple topping. You felt uneasy in your stomach when Neil glared daggers at you, looking up from his plate where he was using a knife and fork to cut his pizza. He sighed audibly as his nostrils flared and started again.

“Y/N, I know this is new for you, and we haven’t had much of a chance to talk about rules and expectations. In my house, we operate on a system that upholds the home and the image of the people in it appropriately. What is that system, Billy?” Billy sat up straighter in his chair, not looking up from his plate as his father addressed him..

“Respect and responsibility,” he recited, his voice almost shaking as his jaw tightened once more.

“That’s right,” Neil agreed. “Now that you’re a part of our family, you’ll learn to respect your elders and develop a keen sense of responsibility, just like the good, caring, all-American kids I know you can be.” Neil’s hard smile appeared below his mustache as he continued. “First of all, we address our elders with courtesy. When I ask you a question, you respond accordingly. Isn’t that right, Billy?”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered, his eyes still glued to his plate.

“I’m sorry,” Neil hissed. “I couldn’t hear you.” He leaned closer to the table, eyes searing into Billy as he awaited his response. Billy straightened up even more, his eyes snapping up to meet his father’s.

“Yes, sir,” his voice ricocheted in the dining room this time, his face flushing as everyone soaked in the awkward silence. You caught Max’s eye and noticed she looked afraid and perplexed as your mother kept her gaze on Neil, trying to seem like she was listening intently to him.

“See, girls, Billy knows the drill. If you have any questions, I’m sure he can straighten them out for you. I know you’re not used to this whole thing, having a man of the house, but you’ll adjust.” Neil gestured to the pizza on the table, his smile still active as he announced, “Let’s eat!” Max looked up at you from the corner of her eye, and you shook your head slightly, signaling for her not to say anything as you took another bite of your pizza. You side eyed Billy whose gaze seemed far away as he quickly finished his dinner.

“May I be excused,” Billy asked with perfect posture, taking the napkin from his lap and piling his used utensils on his plate.

“Yes you may.” Neil waved Billy off as he stood up, pushed in his chair, and took his plate to the kitchen to be washed.

You felt anxious as you saw Neil eyeing Max while she ate, and you held your breath as he spoke again.

“Tomorrow, we’ll practice using a fork, young lady,” he said sternly as Max’s cheeks burned, embarrassed to be holding her pizza at that exact moment. Neil paused and tilted an ear in her direction, hinting that he was expecting a reply.

“Y – yes, sir,” she choked out quickly, setting her pizza back down on her plate. Your mother cleared her throat and started asking Neil more about the school, the town, and how his new job was going. You let the two of them chat away as you gave Max a worried look, seeing her pick up her knife and fork to cut out a bite of her pizza. You stood up and grabbed your plate and jumped, the sound of a fist pounding on the dining table startling you off your feet. Your mom and Max gasped simultaneously as you met Neil’s eyes.

“Where do you think you’re going, Y/N?” You caught your breath and stuttered in response.

“I – I’m sorry. May I be excused?” You looked at your mom in panic, but she averted her eyes, looking at anything but the situation before her.

“That’s better.” Neil smiled again. “Of course. Don’t forget to clean your plate.”

“Thank you…sir.” You glanced at Max once more, hoping she would follow suit so she wouldn’t be yelled at. You hurried to the kitchen, rinsing your plate in the sink and setting it out on the dish rack to dry. You steadied your breathing as the tension melted away now that you weren’t in a close proximity to Neil. 

After the awkward and almost frightening dinner, all you wanted to do was talk to your sister. You knew she would be looking for an escape after enduring Neil’s intensity, so you put on your coat and grabbed your paperback copy of The Outsiders, leaving the house through the front door.

You shuffled through the dried leaves across the lawn to the only tree in the yard and perched yourself on the tire swing, propping your feet up and opening your book to your marked page. A few lines in, you heard a clanging sound followed by a sigh, and your eyes followed the noise over to a blue Camaro with the hood up. Billy was standing over the engine, using the back of his hand to swipe stray curls out of his eyes, a dirty rag draped over his shoulder.

He didn’t seem to notice you were there as he worked, tinkering with a wrench, grunting and sighing every so often. You pretended to carry on reading while you watched him work. After all, looking wasn’t a crime, and he was quite the sight to see. After a few more minutes, he set his wrench on the edge of the Camaro’s hood and grasped the hem of his sweat-speckled t-shirt with both hands, lifting it up and over his head, tossing it on the roof of his car. Your cheeks turned scarlet at the sight of his toned chest and chiseled abs sparkling with a sheen of sweat in the crisp October air.

Your gaze snapped to your book quickly, and you glued your eyes to the words on the page, determined not to look up again. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you swore you could hear the blood flowing in your ears when a voice startled you.

“Hey, are you okay?” You jolted upright at Max’s question.

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” you breathed.

“Sorry. Are you okay?” She repeated her question, concern behind her bright blue eyes. “You look really flushed.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” you answered, forcing yourself to keep your eyes far away from where Billy was working on his car. “What about you?” Max used the ropes of the swing to lift herself up, and you moved aside to make room for her on the tire.

“I’m fine. What the hell is up with him?” Max looked almost afraid while the two of you recounted Neil’s strange behavior at dinner, coming to the conclusion that this move might not have been for the best like your mom kept insisting.

“All we can do is follow the rules and stay out of his way, I guess,” you sigh, feeling defeated. “I don’t know how far he’ll go, but Billy seems to be pretty scared of him,” you almost whisper, leaning in closer to Max. She glanced over at Billy who was still fixated on his car.

“A guy that big scared of his dad? I don’t even want to think about why,” she shuddered, her eyes dropping to the ground.

“Hey.” You touched her shoulder, and she looked up at you. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Got it?” She gave you a small smile, nodding her understanding, but you could see the anxiety behind her eyes. “We’re going to be okay.”

“I know,” she assured you. You smiled at her and grabbed the ropes of the swing to climb out of the tire. Tossing your book onto a pile of leaves next to the tree, you stood behind Max and gripped the ropes as you walked the tire backwards before giving it a hard push. Max giggled as she swung back and forth, spinning slow circles and crying out, “You’re going to make me dizzy!”

The two of you laughed together as the sun started to set on the town of Hawkins, Indiana, and even though you weren’t sure what the coming days would hold, you knew you had each other to ease the burdensome future in your new home with your new family.

[ebongawk]

hii !! i hope you’re well - number 6 and hellcheer for the kissing thing when you have the time please 🫶🫶

6. A Kiss of Relief

Look. He hadn't gone into this whole thing with the expectation of dying. To say he had any expectations at all would be an absolutely asinine claim of which he'd never take ownership.

And yet, as he looked up at Dustin through the portal in the ceiling of the boys' locker room, all he could think was, it has to be me.

There isn't enough time. I won't let her die.

The knifepoint of his spear sliced so easily through the climbing rope they'd dug out of the school's storage locker. Dustin's shout of disdain mostly lost in the screaming bats that had broken through the gymnasium windows.

He'd ask himself when he became the sacrificial beacon of the group, but that, too, would be a stupid question.

Eddie remembered the exact fucking moment.

The group had poured in through the trailer door, exhausted not even beginning to encompass the weight of the entire world that rested on their weary shoulders. Everyone had all but collapsed onto the nearest soft surface, and Eddie gave up his bed so Nancy, Max and Chrissy might have somewhere to sleep. Promising to take first shift, to make sure the music kept playing.

Because it was music that kept Max and Chrissy from literally floating to their deaths.

He'd accidentally discovered that with his ass.

Mere days before, when Chrissy had come over to buy special K and had instead fallen under the lich's spell. When she'd risen off the ground, his pleading screams of her name lost to the impossible trance inflicted by her attempted murderer.

When he'd bumped into Wayne's shitty old record player in his retreat, the needle scratching against Rumours and Fleetwood Mac's Songbird starting up.

Rumours had a home now in Chrissy's Walkman, and Eddie offered to make sure Stevie Nicks kept up her soft lullaby for the first few hours.

He didn't wake anyone else. Instead, sat on the floor beside his bed, he absorbed the way Chrissy's hair spilled across his pillow like a sunrise. A firestorm quieted in the night, softness punctuated by the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as notes and lyrics kept the nightmares at bay. She let out these tiny little sounds every now and then, a song pulled from the back of her throat as much needed rest finally fell through her bones. Maybe the thought shouldn't have felt so insane. But still, he took himself aback when he gazed at her and a new realization dawned across the horizon of his consciousness.

I would die for her.

Shocking, yeah. But, as it settled like creeping fog across the forest floor of his brain, it felt right, too. And Eddie, terrified of that ridiculous fucking implication, had written it off as exhaustion.

As he pedaled away from the school as quickly as he possibly could on that blackened bike, though, he realized just how true it was.

Goddamn it.

The bats swarmed, screeching their ear-splitting song as they dove and gnashed their nasty little teeth. They dove, sending the bike flying, and Eddie didn't remember the tumble. Only that he was on his feet again, spear and shield gripped in sweaty hands as he turned toward his reckoning.

He didn't even feel the first bite. Heart pumping adrenaline through his veins, time slowed down as he pushed his body to the limit. Spear swiping and stabbing, shield held aloft and flung.

But there were so many of them. And he was so fucking tired.

All it took was one slip. One wrong step of his boot. Suddenly, he was down on one knee, and the bats saw his partial collapse as the opening it was. Raining down on him like the most ridiculous fucking storm he had never known to expect experiencing.

Every subsequent bite after the first wasn't as easy to ignore. They dug into his ribs, his arms, his legs, tiny teeth like razor blades slipping past flesh. Eddie ripped them off of him, but for every one he managed to tear away, it seemed three more took their place.

Over the screeching victory of his tiny assassins, though, he heard another scream. Just before a firestorm erupted overhead, it pierced that rolling red thunder nearly close enough to touch. Sunrise. A fireball tore the sky asunder, the bats all shrieking in agony. Gross, paper-thin wings catching the flames and spreading like they'd been doused in kerosene, the little fucking monsters ran away from the heat pouring overhead. Eddie rolled to his knees, nearly gagging on pain as he looked up at his savior. Divinity in human form, Chrissy rushed to his side, a can of hairspray in one hand and his lighter in the other as she scorched his attackers with her homemade flamethrower. Finding some reserve of strength buried beneath his stomach, Eddie took his spear in hand again, standing at Chrissy's back and guarding her from anything that might get close enough to rip her weapon away. Throwing himself back into the fray, because now he needed to protect her as she protected him. It felt like a lifetime but was likely only a few seconds later when all of the bats squealed in unison, lifting up a dozen feet in the air before they all came falling like rocks to the ground. Eddie tucked Chrissy into his body, holding his shield above them to keep anything from hitting her.

Panting, it was as though, as soon as he stopped moving for longer than a moment, all of the pain rushed in at once, and Eddie collapsed to the ground. Barely catching himself on his hands and knees.

"Eddie!" Chrissy shouted, falling with him. Further dirtying the grimy pink pants she'd borrowed from Nancy as she carefully pulled him up to a kneeling position. "Oh my God, are you okay? You're-- You're bleeding, God, Eddie, why did you do that? Why didn't you run, you said you would run!"

Hardly able to breathe around the pain - Christ, it felt like his entire body was covered in fucking paper cuts - Eddie still managed a grin.

"You needed more time," he answered, groaning as he sat back on his heels. Jesus, it felt like those bastards had taken a chunk out of his ribs, but, after carefully poking around the area, he deduced that it wasn't as bad as it felt. "What, Cunningham, were you worried about me or something?"

"Yes!" she cried, cupping his jaw in her hands and forcing him to meet those insanely gorgeous storm cloud eyes. "God, Eddie, I-I came rushing back here because I had this insane feeling that you were going to do something stupid. And you did! Why would you do that?"

Did she really have to ask?

"Because you needed more time," he stressed, wrapping his hands loosely around her wrists. Holding her in place, holding the heat of her palms against his face like she alone was the balm to all those scrapes and bruises now littering his body. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and begged her to see. "And I wasn't gonna let him take you, Chrissy. I wasn't gonna let him kill you."

Not when I am fucking desperate to see you live.

Eyes searching his gaze, they danced over his face, his hands, his body, as though trying to find some hidden wound that would unravel him bit by bit beneath her fingers. Her lips parted, a single tear escaping from a duct, but Eddie didn't have a chance to wipe it away before her lips were on his.

Oh. Oh.

She pulled back way too fucking quickly, his name barely having a chance to drip off the tip of her tongue before he was yanking her back in. Swallowing down her little mewl of surprised appreciation, her tongue drifted along the swell of his bottom lip, and Eddie greeted her eagerly.

She tasted of hope. Of fucking belonging and sunrise and relief above all else. Eddie felt all of his pain fading away, and he realized that maybe they called it relief because it was so goddamn close to relive that he would've sworn he was coming back to life in her arms.

God. He needed her more than he needed air.

"Eddie," she whispered after finally pulling away with a gasp. His name spoken like she was tasting it for the first time, rolling it around on her tongue, before a smile broke from her cheeks to let him know how much she liked it.

"Chrissy," he responded with his favorite flavor.

Nothing more was said for a moment. Nothing more needed to be.

He just kissed her again.

kiss prompt!

[cheerscoops]

ship: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson wc: 7.9k A/N: First hellcheer fic and feeling the pressure for it to be a good one. This one is dedicated to all of the lovely ladies in the hellcheer server but especially @slumped-in-the-arms-of-fiction and @justhere4thevibez for giving me the inspiration <3

If there was one thing that the members of the Hellfire Club could count on, it was that Eddie Munson was one of the most overdramatic people on the planet, and he was going to put all of those theatrics to work in his carefully crafted campaigns. Some of them had been playing with him as their dungeon master since middle school, and by now, they were all used to his personal brand of immersive storytelling. Typically, this meant that they were going to encounter a sidequest or two that revolved around whatever it was that Eddie was struggling to deal with at the time.

When he was struggling to pass chemistry, they met a potion maker who’d lost his touch, and they set off to find the witch that cursed him, the master potion book that she’d stolen, and the ingredients they needed to brew the cure that would give him his skills back. When he struggled to find a legitimate part time job so he could afford to buy the miniatures and cassette tapes he wanted without worrying his uncle about his potential arrest because none of the businesses in town trusted a kid from the trailer park that looked like him, they were tasked with clearing the good name of a young farmhand who had been wrongfully accused and banished based on nothing more than his unsettling outward appearance. And anytime that he was particularly worried about his uncle overworking himself or going without to make sure Eddie was taken care of, they encountered the same young squire whose only goal in life was to give back to the knight that had taken him in when no one else would and sacrificed so much to raise him. The boy wore his heart on his sleeve, and the ever-changing NPCs that inhabited Eddie’s fantasy world told them everything they needed to know about what their friend was going through.

However, the most common recurring theme to Eddie’s sidequests were acts of true love. There was the humble minstrel who fell in love with a beautiful mermaid and longed for a way for them to truly be together despite the fact that they came from different worlds. They met a thief whose truest love had been kidnapped by a man who he’d stolen from in the past, and they had to find a way to rescue her. And nobody could forget the time that Gareth’s character almost died when they had to fight off an army of goblins in order to save a lost princess for her betrothed. Each and every time one of these quests came up, the girl was exactly the same. She may have had a different name and upbringing each time, but she always looked the same, and she always had the same temperament. Eddie thought he was being subtle enough about it, but it was obvious to his friends: she was always Chrissy Cunningham.

Ever since he’d first laid eyes on her at that middle school talent show, he’d been smitten. He could pretend that he wasn’t interested in her all he wanted, but his friends saw the way he looked at her. They noticed that he never lumped her in with all of the other cheerleaders and jocks. But the most damning piece of evidence was the fact that every time he bumped into her in the halls or saw her out in public, one of these special quests popped up in the middle of their next gaming session.

It only got worse when Eddie started his third attempt at his senior year only to find that he and Chrissy shared Ms. O’Donnell’s third period English class. And while Jeff, Gareth, and Greg had privately agreed amongst themselves to put up with Eddie’s lovesick antics as long as none of their characters came close to death as a result again, the new group of freshman party members had made no such agreement and were too perceptive for their own good.

“Would you just grow a pair and ask her out already so we can do something other than run errands for some lovesick knight?” Mike asked after the third session in a row where the game play was overtaken by sidequests that had very little relevance to the main plot.

The rest of the players around the table froze. Nobody spoke to Eddie like that, and nobody brought up his crush on Chrissy. Not unless they had a death wish.

Eddie leaned back in his throne and looked in Mike’s direction with an expression that was eerily calm for the situation.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he replied. “Are you saying that you have a problem with the way I run my game? Because I'd be happy to step aside and let one of you run a campaign for once if that's the case. But, if you're not willing to put in the work to provide the epic entertainment that this group has grown accustomed to, I’d suggest you let me continue telling the story that I'm trying to tell without the complaints.”

“That's not what he's saying at all,” Dustin interjected, elbowing Mike in the ribs with enough force that the other boy groaned. “It's just that we thought we were still working on overthrowing that corrupt king, and it's been a few sessions since we've encountered anything that had a connection to that. We were all really excited to see where that story was going, and we feel like that's been abandoned in favor of minor quests that aren't really adding to our character development. That's all.”

“I see,” Eddie said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “And here I thought that you all enjoyed my side quests.”

“We do,” Gareth told him. “We would have quit ages ago if we didn't. But, if we're talking about this, we've been thinking that you've been using these side quests to avoid acting on the feelings that you have for a certain someone. And while it still leads to some pretty cool story elements most of the time, it would be nice if we didn’t end up ignoring the main plot for multiple sessions in a row, you know?”

“And you're all feeling this way?”

The group nodded and mumbled their various statements of agreement.

“Fine. While I have no idea what you're talking about when it comes to my feelings, I suppose that I can put an end to the side quests for the good of the group. On one condition.”

Eddie reached into his bag below the table and pulled out a small locked chest that he then placed on the table before them.

“I was planning on putting this into play at the end of today's session anyway. Your quest, if you choose to accept it, is for the party to go on one last side quest. This chest belongs to the knight who knows each and every one of the locations of the seven sacred items you'll need to defeat the corrupt king, but it's been stolen away by a band of thieves who are only slightly weaker than you are. The chest doesn't contain any riches. Instead, it holds a secret that the knight would desperately like to keep hidden. If you can retrieve the chest for him, he'll gladly help along the journey that you actually want to be on. It won't be an easy quest by any means, but I believe the rewards outweigh the risks. Do you accept?”

The group debated whether or not the quest was worth it for a few minutes before making their decision.

“We accept,” Gareth announced on their behalf.

“Excellent,” Eddie replied. “We'll start our next session with the beginning of that quest. If you're lucky and the dice gods are on your side, it might only take you one session to get the chest back. You're dismissed.”

The younger members of the group might not have picked up on it, but Jeff, Gareth, and Greg figured there was more to this chest than meets the eye. It wouldn't surprise any of them if the secret that the knight had was some sort of connection to a secret that Eddie was trying to hide from all of them, and they'd be even less surprised if that secret was somehow related to Chrissy. All they wanted was for their friend to be happy, so they knew that they had to do something. That's when they came up with what they thought was the perfect plan.

They were finally given the opportunity to put that plan into action the day before their next gaming session. The group was talking about the upcoming quest while waiting for Eddie to finish putting his stuff in his locker before they headed to lunch together when they were approached by none other than Chrissy herself. She offered up a smile and a quick hello to the others before turning her full attention towards Eddie.

“I was wondering if you maybe wanted to spend lunch in the library getting a head start on our project?” she asked. “I know we have almost a month to get it finished, but I'd rather get it started now so we're not rushing to finish it later. It's so much less stressful that way, you know?”

“You guys are working on a project together?” Jeff asked.

“Yep. Ms. O’Donnell randomly assigned partners today,” Eddie told the group.

“We have to choose a book from her approved list and give an oral report with visual aides. It counts for something like a third of our grade this semester, and I'm determined to help this one finally pass her class,” she said as she gestured to Eddie before hugging her binder to her chest.

“Third time’s the charm, right?”

“It will be if we get started on this project now. Please say yes?”

“Mrs. G isn't going to get on my case if I'm eating in there, is she?” he asked.

“I don't think she cares as long as you're not getting food all over the books. And we can always sit at one of the back tables that she can't see if you think she'll give you any trouble.”

“Then I'm in,” he told her as he shut his locker. “Give me a couple minutes to finish filling these guys in on tomorrow's campaign, and I'll meet you there.”

“Campaign?” she asked.

“It's a dungeons and dragons thing,” Gareth told her. “That's what the different stories you play through are called. We're actually starting a new one tomorrow if you're interested in checking it out.”

“Oh, I don't know if you'd want me to join you. I'd have no idea what I was doing, and I'd just end up holding you all back.”

“Nonsense,” Greg told her. “We'd all be happy to help you out, and Eddie’s always happy to welcome new players into the party. He's got this whole speech about how the world would be a better place if more people would just give the game a chance. Don't you, Eddie?”

“I have said that before. Yes.”

“So, he'd love it if you joined us,” Jeff insisted. “Wouldn't you, Eddie?”

“Oh yeah. It'll be fun.”

Their usually animated dungeon master was standing there frozen, and the guys were thankful for Chrissy's presence if only because they were pretty sure one of them would be getting strangled if she wasn't there.

“You have study hall last period, right?” Gareth asked her. “Because I just so happen to also have study hall last period, and I'd be happy to help you create a character if you want to join us.”

“You're sure I won't be intruding or messing anything up if I join?”

“I can honestly say that every single member of the party will happily welcome your presence,” Gareth told her with Greg and Jeff nodding in agreement.

“Alright. I'll give it a shot,” she told them. “I guess I'll see you in the library last period, Gareth. And, Eddie, I'll meet you there in five minutes?”

“Can’t wait.”

Chrissy said her goodbyes and headed off in the direction of the library.

“I hope you all have your affairs in order because I might actually have to kill you for that,” Eddie said once he was positive Chrissy was out of earshot.

“Whatever do you mean?” Gareth asked, feigning innocence. “You're always saying you want more players because you'd be able to throw stronger monsters at a larger group. We were just giving you the opportunity to do that.”

“And, if my math is correct, adding Chrissy to the party means that we'd have seven people. One to wield each of the seven sacred items we need to defeat the king,” Jeff added.

“Yeah, but did you have to invite Chrissy of all people?” 

“Why would inviting Chrissy specifically be a bad thing?” Gareth asked. “You don't secretly have feelings for her or something, do you?”

“I have no idea what you're up to, but I'm not dignifying that with a response. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a book report to get started on.”

With that, Eddie turned and left for the library.

“If this doesn't get him to finally ask her out, I don't know what will,” Jeff told the others.

***

“She's a halfling rogue armed with a crossbow and the typical thieves’ tools. We came up with a pretty extensive backstory about her family and why she became a con artist if you want to weave it into a plotline at some point in the future, but we have a planned party connection for her already.”

Gareth handed the character sheet and the couple of pages that Chrissy had filled out with her character's history over to Eddie who started to scan through the information provided there.

“Calpurnia Amaranthe? How'd you come up with that?”

“It’s all symbolically linked to the backstory I wrote,” Chrissy told him. “Specifically her lost love and her motivations behind becoming a con artist.”

Chrissy leaned over and pointed to a specific passage in her backstory.

“If you look here,” she started, “you'll see that this wasn't her given name. It was a name she chose for herself after her truest love passed away to separate herself from who she was before she lost him. I didn't write the symbolism into the backstory, but the globe amaranth is a flower that has been used to symbolize immortality and represents a love that will never fade or die. And Calpurnia comes from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. She was Caesar's wife, and she had a dream that predicted her husband's death. Much like how my character had a dream that her love would be murdered. She didn't place any significance in her dream, and the name is a badge of guilt she wears for not trying to save him. It all ties back to the fact that she was forever changed by losing her greatest love, and everything she does now is an attempt to still have the life that he always promised her that she would have.”

“You did research to come up with a name that symbolizes your character’s motivations?” he asked.

“Oh, I didn't have to do any research. This is just stuff that I already knew. Gareth told me how seriously you take your campaigns, and I know that this might just be a one time thing for me, but I wanted to show that I'm taking my participation in this game seriously as well.”

If he wasn't already harboring a secret crush on this girl, that statement would have sealed the deal. It was only her first session, and she was putting this much thought into her character's motivations already? He was a goner.

However, having her join in on this specific campaign filled him with dread. The guys just had to invite her into the session where they were retrieving the chest that held the knight’s biggest secret. If any of them managed to open the chest and take a look at what was inside while she was there, he'd have to leave the country.

He tried to push those thoughts aside and stay focused on the conversation at hand.

“So you're just that well-versed in Shakespeare’s plays and the language of flowers? I wouldn't have pegged you as such a nerd,” he teased.

“There's a lot you don't know about me.”

“Well, color me surprised. I look forward to learning more.”

“So, are there assigned seats?” Chrissy asked. “Or can I sit anywhere?”

“Well, the throne is Eddie’s,” Jeff told her. “But other than that, we pretty much just sit wherever.”

“You should sit here though,” Gareth said as he pulled out the chair next to Eddie’s throne. “That way you're between me and Eddie, and we can help you out since it's your first time playing. You have an extra set of dice she can use, don't you Eddie?”

“Sure. Let me see what I've got in my bag.”

Everyone took their seats around the table, and Eddie dug through his dice bag to find a matching set of bright blue dice for Chrissy to use.

“So, did Gareth cover any of the gameplay basics with you, or did you guys just go over character creation?”

“He told me a little bit, but he also said it would be fairly easy for me to learn as we go. You'll help me if I get stuck, right?”

“Yeah. Sure. Of course. Whatever you need,” he told her before turning his attention back towards his bag and pulling out the small chest from the week before. He set it on the table and then leaned back in his throne to address the group.

“When we ended our session last week, you'd just been informed about the existence of this chest which contains a secret that Sir James would desperately like to keep hidden. Over drinks at the tavern, he told you that the chest had been stolen by a roaming band of thieves when he'd recently been robbed. The gold and weaponry he lost no longer matter to him, but he's willing to do anything to get that chest back. If you can retrieve it for him and keep his secret safe, he'll happily accompany you on your journey to find the seven sacred items and aid you in overthrowing the corrupt king that has brought down chaos and destruction in the land that you've called home for many years now. All he asks is that you keep his secret from falling into the wrong hands.”

“Do we know where the thieves have run off to? Or are we going into this blind?” Greg asked.

“Sir James has heard rumors that this particular band of thieves has a permanent camp set up in the middle of the woods about a day’s walk from the town you found him in. He can send you in the right direction, but you have to make this journey alone. Where would you like to begin?”

“Are we assuming that Calpurnia has already joined the party?” Dustin asked. “Or should we have Chrissy roleplay introducing herself and convincing us to let her join?”

“Gareth and I actually wrote a connection between our characters into my backstory, and we were hoping that his character could introduce me to the group if that's alright with everyone else,” Chrissy told them. “But I'm happy to participate in any way that works the best for what's already been established.”

“Let Ryker introduce her,” Eddie decided. “I'm curious to see what the two of you managed to come up with.”

“Should we say that the rest of the party is at the tavern preparing to leave, and Ryker approaches with Calpurnia at his side?”

With agreement from the rest of the party, Gareth leaned forward in his seat and started to embody his character.

“Good morrow, brethren,” he began. “I come before you today with a story to tell and a new ally to introduce. Due to no real fault of my own, I found myself surrounded by an army of goblins. And while I fought valiantly, I was outnumbered and was certain to be overtaken by the vicious hoard. When all hope was nearly lost, two of the goblins nearest to me were struck with arrows and fell down dead. I had no idea where the arrows were coming from, but with their aid, I was able to defeat the goblin hoard. It was only when the last one was dead that my companion dropped down from a nearby tree and announced her presence with a crossbow sling across her back.

“I owe my life to this woman, but I had nothing of real value to offer her, so I invited her to join us instead. A seventh adventurer will only help us when it comes to welding the seven sacred artifacts designed to break the bond that the evil king has on our beloved homeland, and I feel she’ll make an excellent addition to our party. It is my honor to introduce Miss Calpurnia Amaranthe to all of you.”

“But how can we trust her?” Mike asked. “We know nothing of this woman or where she came from. How do we know she's not on the side of the king and actively working against us?”

“Bite your tongue,” Gareth sneered. “She is a woman of few words, but from the little she has told me, I believe that she has the purest of intentions for joining us on our quest. I owe her my life, and I don't think she would stoop so low as to betray me with everything she's promised. But, if it helps to dissuade any uncertainties you might have about working with her, I will swear on the good name of Ryker Stormsworn and the honor of The Raven Queen that she will not betray your trust.”

The party whispered amongst themselves before Dustin turned to Chrissy.

“I get up from the table, cross over to Calpurnia, offer her my hand, and say ‘Welcome to the party, Cal. Hope you enjoy food that tastes like ass and mediocre lute playing after too much mead.’”

“Hey! My lute playing is phenomenal no matter how much mead I've had,” Jeff yelled.

“Keep telling yourself that, Leafshade.”

After the rest of the party took their turns introducing themselves to Calpurnia, the group set off into the woods. While Eddie was excited to see how Chrissy was going to fit into their group, this was not the campaign he would have wanted to bring her in on, and while he was normally a fair and impartial dungeon master when it came to letting the party make their own choices on how to live in the stories he created, the urge to sabotage their mission grew stronger the longer he sat there. Specifically, he wanted to keep Chrissy from succeeding in anything that would allow her access to the chest. It was hard enough for him to mentally prepare for the possibility of his friends learning what was locked away in that chest. He'd already come to terms with them knowing. Chrissy knowing was a different animal entirely, and he didn't know if that was something he could handle.

But he was going to keep his cool. He was going to continue being a fair and impartial dungeon master and put his own interests aside in favor of making this an enjoyable experience for everyone involved. It did cross his mind that if Chrissy enjoyed this session, she might decide to keep playing with them, and he would've been lying to himself if he said that he didn't want her to stick around. He just had to find a balance between making this session fun for her and keeping her from getting inside that chest.

With Eddie painting a picture of the world around them, the party journeyed through the woods. Occasionally, a low level monster or two would jump out at them, but with seven party members, they were defeated pretty quickly. Soon, their adventure led them to the edge of the thieves’ camp which was smack dab in the middle of an open clearing in the woods.

“How big is the camp?” Lucas asked. “Do we need to roll a perception check to figure that out or learn how many people are in the camp?”

“It's after nightfall, but the camp is well lit  at the moment, and it's small enough that that isn't necessary,” Eddie told them as he set up his miniatures on the terrain before them. “It's a fairly small group. There are three tents positioned around a roaring fire. From this distance, you can only see five men, but there could be more in the tents. As of right now, you're far enough away from them and hidden in the shadows, so they don't know you're there. How would you like to proceed?”

“I say we just run forward and ambush them,” Greg said. “We outnumber them, and the camp is small enough that we'll easily be able to find the chest after we win this fight.”

“We don't know how many men are still in the tents though,” Lucas countered. “If we just rush in, it'll alert anyone in there, and then we'll be the ones getting ambushed. We have to come up with a better strategy than just running in.”

That's when Chrissy - who had remained mostly silent this far other than asking about loot - spoke up.

“You said they don't know we're here?” she asked.

“You're completely hidden. As long as you don't start screaming, you won't alert them to your presence until you're ready to do so.”

“And are we close enough that we can make ranged attacks? I mean, if I climbed one of these trees, would I be able to hit one of them with my crossbow?”

“I might make you roll with disadvantage because of how dark it is outside of their camp if I'm feeling like giving you an extra challenge, but you're close enough that any crossbow or ranged weapon could hit them.”

“I think I have an idea then. Who else uses a ranged weapon besides me?”

“I have a crossbow, and Lucas uses a short bow,” Jeff told her.

“Perfect. May I move our miniatures to illustrate my idea?”

“Whatever you need to do.”

“Okay, here's what I'm thinking,” she said as she pulled the seven player miniatures into her hands. “Those of us with ranged attacks can climb separate trees to get a better vantage point on our shots. I assume there'll be some sort of athletics check to do that? And will we need to do a stealth check as well before we take our shots?”

“You'll need to do an athletics check to get into the tree, but there are a lot of low hanging branches, so it would be an easy check to pass. The only way I'd make you do a stealth check, too, is if you fail your athletics roll just because falling out of a tree would be loud enough to let the thieves know you're there.”

“Okay, so assuming we all pass our athletics checks, would we all be able to get a shot in before the thieves would counterattack?”

“Since this is your first session, and you're doing some pretty creative thinking on the fly for a newbie, I'll allow it.”

“Fantastic. Here's my plan then.”

Chrissy lined up her halfling rogue, Lucas's human ranger, and Jeff’s elven bard along the tree line. She then took Dustin’s dwarf artificer, Greg’s half-orc barbarian, and Gareth and Mike’s human paladins, placing them in a line closer to the camp.

“So, what I'm thinking is that Jeff can stay on the ground, and Lucas and I will have our players climb the trees. Then, we can fire off three shots into the camp. I'm hoping we'll all hit, but even if there's a miss, the main goal is to cause a little chaos within the camp.

“What I'm thinking will happen next is that anyone who's currently in the tents will come out of hiding when they hear the commotion happening around the fire.”

“But how do you know they'll come out?” Mike asked. “You might just alert them to the fact that there's someone hiding in the trees, and then they'll have the upper hand by staying hidden until we're right there.”

“I highly doubt that's going to happen,” Chrissy continued. “These thieves are clearly morons.”

“How do you figure?” Eddie asked

“Well, just look at where they set up camp. They have to know that someone is looking for them at this point after robbing a knight, and yet they chose to set up camp in such an open area. Sure, it's an open area in the middle of the woods, but they're still really exposed. If it were Calpurnia, she would have hidden somewhere deeper in the woods. It might have been more dangerous for her, but at least she would've been better hidden from attackers. The thieves didn't consider the risk of staying in the clearing, so I doubt they'd think before rushing out of their tents.”

“An interesting theory,” Eddie said as he leaned back on his throne.

“One that you wouldn't be careless enough to confirm or deny?” she asked.

“You're pretty smart for a newbie, but no, I won't be confirming or denying your theory.”

A blush started to bloom on Chrissy’s cheeks, and it took everything in Eddie’s power to keep from telling her everything she wanted to know. He wasn't going to give her special treatment just because he'd never been more attracted to her than right in this moment where he realized that she would be a formidable player in any campaign that he crafted with the way she was thinking.

He didn't have to hold out for long though because she was soon diving back into her plan.

“Whether Eddie will confirm my theory or not, I think I'm right,” she told the group. “After everyone exits the tents, Gareth, Dustin, Greg, and Mike can all rush forward and attack in the confusion. Even if the newly revealed thieves get to attack first, we'll have potentially incapacitated three out of the five we already know about, and I like our odds of outnumbering them after that.

“Plus, this keeps our healer from taking immediate damage since Jeff is hidden in the trees and out of the fray. Lucas and I can keep it up with the hidden ranged attacks from our trees no matter what, and he can run forward if anyone ever needs healing. You're all at a higher level than the people we're fighting, so this should be a relatively easy brawl. And, this keeps me from taking too much more damage since my hit points aren't nearly as high as yours. I'm fairly confident that if we try my plan, we'll all make it out of this fight without any major injuries, and we'll be able to claim whatever loot they have in the camp in addition to retrieving Sir James's chest. What do you guys think?”

Chrissy bit her lower lip and looked over to the rest of the party in search of their approval. The boys looked between themselves, but Gareth snuck a quick glance over at Eddie and saw that their dungeon master was gazing at Chrissy with hearts in his eyes. If it wasn't already obvious that Eddie had been harboring a crush on this girl, hearing her plotting out the perfect attack strategy had clearly worked some sort of magic on him.

“I think it's brilliant,” he told the group. “I say we give her plan a shot. What have we got to lose?”

The rest of the group agreed, so they put their plan into action. Everything fell into place exactly as Chrissy had hoped it would. She and Lucas passed their athletics checks with ease, so their characters were able to fire their arrows from the trees and injure two of the thieves surrounding the fire. Jeff ended up missing his shot, but his arrow went through the fire instead and ended up setting one of the tents ablaze which injured two of the three thieves that had remained hidden. The chaos that that caused allowed the four remaining players to ambush the camp, and the battle was won easily without any party member taking on too much damage. They raided the camp and divided the gold and gems evenly amongst the players, and a few people walked away with extra weapons. And, if there happened to be the perfect set of halfling armor for Chrissy’s character, that was purely a coincidence and definitely not an incentive for her to keep playing with them.

Jeff’s character ended up being the one to find Sir James's chest, but he immediately offered it to Chrissy.

“I think Calpurnia should carry the chest back to Sir James,” he said. “It was her strategy that helped us win it back, so she should have the honor of presenting it to him.”

“I couldn't agree more, Leafshade,” Gareth replied. “Our new companion has proved herself a worthy addition to this group, and I think it would suit us well to secure her position as a trusted ally in that way.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes in their direction. He didn't know what they were up to, but he knew that he didn't like whatever it was.

“I would be honored to present the chest back to Sir James,” Chrissy told the group. “What’s in it anyway?”

“No clue,” Gareth told her. “All we’ve been told is that it holds his greatest secret, but that’s the only clue we’ve been given.”

“Is the chest locked?” she asked, turning to Eddie.

“Of course. You think he’d leave his greatest secret somewhere easy to get into?”

“I’d like to roll to open the chest. That’s something I’m allowed to do right?”

“Yeah, you could try to do that, but is that something you really want to do? I mean, if you open it, and he finds out that you betrayed his trust, he might not want to help you on your quest any longer. And if he doesn’t want to help you out, how are you going to find the seven sacred artifacts you need to overthrow the king? That seems like a pretty big risk to me. You definitely don’t wanna open the chest.”

Eddie knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want anyone to know what was in that chest. Especially Chrissy.

“But what if his secret is that he’s loyal to the king?” she asked. “Then I’d be saving the group from aligning ourselves with someone who only wants to sabotage our mission.”

“That’s true,” Gareth chimed in. “We have no reason to believe that Sir James is even on our side. I think she should open it.”

“And, if I’m staying true to my character, I feel like Calpurnia would want to open the chest. She doesn’t trust people easily, and knowing for sure that Sir James isn’t secretly loyal to the king will go a long way towards helping her trust him as an ally in this quest.”

“Then I think you have to open it,” Jeff told her. “You’ve gotta stay true to your character.”

“What kind of check do I need to make for that?” she asked.

Eddie dug through his dice bag and set a single black die with red numbers on it in front of Chrissy.

“Dexterity,” he told her. “But you should use this one for it. For good luck.”

“Isn’t that the D20 that’s in permanent dice jail for never rolling anything higher than a six?” Dustin asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Eddie couldn’t watch as Chrissy picked up the die and rolled it, but he knew from her squeal of joy that he wasn’t going to like the result.

“That’s a nat 20!” Gareth called out. He offered up a high five that she gladly returned.

“So what’s in it?” Chrissy asked, excitedly turning to Eddie. “What’s in the chest?”

He said nothing as he opened his wallet, pulled out a key, and then used said key to unlock the small chest sitting on the table. He slid the chest over to Chrissy and could feel his stomach twisting up in knots as she opened the chest and pulled out the envelope that was hidden inside. 

When she opened the envelope, he couldn’t take it anymore. He got up from the table and walked out without another word. Chrissy almost didn’t notice his exit. She was too focused on the contents of that envelope. Inside, she’d found a simple silver charm bracelet with a single cheerleader charm and a handwritten poem.

More beautiful than the lushest red rose

And more comforting than a warm embrace

The one thing every poor sap surely knows

I was a goner once I saw her face

Bright blue eyes and waves of strawberry blonde

No one around is more lovely than she

This sweet girl of whom I’m overly fond

Deserving a love far better than me

Try as I might we were doomed from the start

Someone more worthy shall win her favor

Destined forever to be torn apart

While I still can, these moments I’ll savor

For all the world could not help but adore

The only fair maiden my heart beats for

She didn’t want to be too presumptuous, but she couldn’t help but think that the poem was written about her.

“What was in that chest that made him leave like that?” Lucas asked. “I’ve never seen him be that quiet before.”

“It’s nothing,” Chrissy said as she tucked the items back into the envelope and tucked the envelope into her sweater sleeve. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Should one of us go after him?” Greg asked.

“I’ll do it.”

Chrissy was up and out of the room before anyone could stop her. It didn’t take her long to find Eddie. He was pacing back and forth not far outside of the doors to the building. She could tell that he was mumbling something to himself, but he was being quiet enough that she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She moved to sit perched on the edge of the brick planter near the door and cleared her throat. Eddie whipped around to face her and froze in his tracks.

“You ran out of there pretty quickly,” she told him. “I figured you would have wanted to explain the knight’s secret after I opened that chest.”

“I figured it was pretty self-explanatory.”

“It’s a lovely poem. Really.”

He couldn’t have this conversation with her. There was a ‘but’ coming. He just knew it. It’s a lovely poem, but he shouldn’t have written it. But she didn’t feel the same way. But she thought it was creepy and so was he for writing it in the first place. But, but, but, but. It didn’t matter what the but was. He couldn’t stick around to hear it.

He turned on his heel to start heading towards where he’d parked his van, but she was moving to stop him before he could make it very far. She grabbed the cuff of his jacket and started to pull him back over to where she’d been sitting. Once she’d taken her seat again, she patted the space next to her, and he joined her in sitting on the edge of the planter.

“When did you write it?” she asked him.

“You’re gonna think I’m even more of a freak than you already do.”

“Don’t say that. I’ve never thought you were a freak.”

“Really?”

“Scout’s honor,” she said, holding up three fingers in the typical Girl Scout salute. “I just want to make sense of what was in that chest.”

“You remember that middle school talent show?” he asked her. “You did your cheer thing, and my band played. After the show, you came up to me and told me you thought my guitar playing was neat, and you had the biggest smile on your face when I let you hold it even if the one note you played was completely out of key.”

“I remember.”

“Well, a week later, my English teacher taught us about sonnets. I wrote the first draft then.”

“How many drafts are there?”

“I don’t know. Dozens probably.”

“And the charm bracelet?”

“Probably around the same time, I guess? I saved up my comic book money for weeks and any other spare change I could scrounge up doing random chores for people around the trailer park just so I could afford it. I had this whole plan where I was gonna give you the poem and the bracelet - maybe some flowers if I could find some nice ones growing in the park - and tell you that you were the nicest and prettiest girl I’d ever met.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I chickened out.” He couldn’t look at her as he spoke, choosing to stare down at his hands instead as he fiddled with the rings that adorned his left hand. “Then the school year was over, and we weren’t at the same school after that, so I thought it would have been weird. And then, when we were at the same school again, we were hanging out with such different people, and it felt like too much time had passed, so I just didn’t say anything.”

“Oh.”

Chrissy was silent for a moment before pulling the envelope out of where she’d hidden it in her sweater sleeve.

“One last question,” she started, turning the envelope over in her hands a couple times. “You said that you’d written more than one draft. When did you last rewrite it?”

“Truthfully? I changed the last couplet after we had lunch together yesterday. Spending the period with you kind of inspired me.”

“That’s sweet.”

“You think so?”

He looked up at her for the first time since he’d admitted his crush, and he noticed her cheeks were tinged with the faintest of blushes as she nodded. But then she offered him the envelope back, and his heart sank. Of course, she didn’t want it. She thought it was sweet, but she didn’t feel the same way about him, so she couldn’t accept them. She was going to turn him down, tonight would be her only session with the party, and she’d probably ask Ms. O’Donnell for a new partner because she couldn’t bear to spend anymore time with him after he’d made things awkward with his confession.

“You don’t want them?” he asked, taking the envelope back from her. He was waiting for her to put him out of his misery - or plunge him into it depending on how you chose to look at things.

“No, I want them.”

That definitely wasn’t the answer he expected from her.

“You do?”

“I do. I just have this feeling that you really, really didn’t want me to know they exist let alone give them to me tonight, and I only want them if you actually want to give them to me.”

“That’s fair, I guess.”

“But, if me saying that I want them isn’t enough, let me just say this: I don’t care that we’re in different social circles. That kind of thing doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me is the kind of person you are.”

“Oh, yeah? And what kind of person am I other than the school freak?”

“Stop saying that about yourself. You're not a freak. Don't you realize that you're the very best kind of person? I saw how you took those freshmen under your wing and how you gave them a safe place in a school that really doesn’t value what you guys bring to the table. You’re nice to me on both my good days and bad when the people that are supposedly my closest friends only want me around on the good ones. You even let me join your club tonight when you probably really didn’t want to given the result of that quest. Plus, I think you have the best smile, you make me laugh without even trying, and I still think your guitar playing is really neat.”

“You haven’t heard me play since middle school,” he said, trying to change the subject from all of the nice things she’d just said about him. “How would you know it’s still neat?”

“Whenever I need to get away from my mom, I spend time with my grandma who just so happens to live two doors down from Gareth’s house, and you guys aren’t exactly quiet.”

“I was not aware of this.”

“Well, now that you are, maybe I could come listen to you play in person instead of through the open window of my grandma’s guest room?”

“I'm sure we could work something out,” he told her.

He moved to hold her hand, and when she gave his hand a little squeeze instead of pulling away, he knew his fears about her rejecting him had fully disappeared.

“So, if I were to give you the things in that envelope willingly, you'd accept them?”

“Gladly.”

“Wait right here.”

Chrissy watched as Eddie got up and raced over to the grassy area next to the parking lot. When he returned to sit next to her, he was holding a small bunch of bright yellow dandelions.

“They aren't exactly the tulips I was picturing, but they'll have to do for now,” he said as he offered them to her. 

“They're lovely,” she said with a small giggle as she made a show of smelling them as if he'd given her a large and fragrant bouquet.

He pulled the charm bracelet out of the envelope next.

“May I?” he asked.

She held out her hand, and he clasped the bracelet around her wrist before moving to hold her hand in his again.

“So, I wrote you this poem,” he told her as he handed her the envelope. “When I was in middle school, I just wanted you to know that you were the nicest and prettiest girl I'd ever met. Now, I want you to know that that's still true, but you're also one of the very best kind of people. Better than anyone else in this town even. And I was wondering if maybe you’d want to go out with me sometime?”

“I’d really like that,” she replied. “So, you wanted to give me tulips?”

“Yeah. I have no idea why, but I always pictured bringing you a big bouquet of tulips in a rainbow of different colors.”

“Do you know what tulips are supposed to symbolize?”

He shook his head.

“Over the years, they’ve come to symbolize a lot of different things, and typically, the different colors all have different meanings. But, the longest lasting and most well known meaning tulips carry is a deep and perfect love.”

***

If any of the guys noticed the way Chrissy was clutching a handful of weeds as if they were a precious bouquet or the smear of lipgloss against Eddie’s cheek when the pair reentered the room, they all chose to remain silent on the matter. They didn’t know what had happened while they were outside, but one thing was certain: their gaming sessions wouldn’t be featuring anyone pining over an unattainable love anytime soon.

[1lostsoul0fishbowl]

i’m burnin i’m burnin i’m burnin for you

hellcheer ficlet

one word prompt: firework

prompt by @pearlypairings

fireworks divider by @thecutestgrotto

You sure this is gonna work, Jonno?

Positive. And quit calling me Jonno.

Sorry. I‘ll just feel like an idiot doing all this if it doesn’t work. Plus this thing is fucking scalding hot.

Hey, you’re the one who wanted to make a grand gesture, Eds! You said you wanted to do something extra special for Chrissy’s birthday!

Yes, Robs, I know that, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to feel silly about it.

I think it’s sweet! Who knew the metalhead was such a romantic?

Not helping, Nance.

C’mon, we ALL knew that.

Shut up, Jeff.

Can we just do this already? You’re not the only one who feels like an idiot out here.

Relax, Grant, you don’t look like an idiot.

Yes he does.

Not helping, Gareth!

Uhh… brochachos? I forget what letter I’m supposed to be.

You’re V.

I thought I was E?

No, Steve is E. Guys, are we ready or what? I swear this firework just burned my hand. I might need a new one.

It’s not technically a firework, it’s a sparkler. Here’s another. Okay, I’m gonna count to three and everyone stay as still as you can except for the hand forming your letter, because it’s a long exposure and you don’t want it too blurry. Everyone ready? One… two…

My dude. Are you sure I’m not L?

Jeff is L! Jesus H. Christ, Argyle, you’re V! You’re a very valuable valid member of this vision!

Whoa. Eddie, you should chill. You almost caught your shirt on fire with your sparkler, my dude.

Okay. Can we just try this again? Is everyone ready?

I have to pee.

Not now, Robin!

Jeez, okay, sorry!

AHEM. Ready. One… two… three!

*click*

Ow, fuck, my head!

Sorry, Garebear.

Dude, if you burned my hair I’m gonna get Kali to bleach yours when you’re asleep.

She would never!

Janie might.

Cut it out, you two. Man, Chrissy better appreciate all the effort we put into this.

She will. You know she will.

Aww, there he goes with his goofy smile! Eddie and Chrissy, sitting in a tree—

Shut up. You guys are the worst. Except for Jonno.

For the last time, my name is Jonathan.

We are not the worst, and you know it. Who else would do all this for someone else’s girlfriend?

Okay, fair point. Thanks, you guys. I take it all back, you’re not the worst.

We didn’t do it for you, Eds, we did it for Chrissy!

I take it back again. Robin, you’re the worst.

That’s why you love me.

Keep telling yourself that in your diary.

Um… dudes? I was supposed to be the Y, right?

ARGYLE!!!

Just kidding!

[foundtherightwords]

The Hollow Heart - Masterlist

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother’s control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband’s sinister secret before it’s too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband’s enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas’s loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

A/N: This was inspired by the moodboard for “Vecna’s Bride” by @a-strange-inkling. I saw the title and the Gothic imagery and my imagination just ran wild.

I changed the names to differentiate them from my Regency AU and better fit the Gothic vibe, so Chrissy is now Christabel (after the poem by Coleridge; the fic title and chapter titles are also quotes from the poem) and Eddie is Kas, because I took some inspiration from the D&D lore of Vecna and Kas (big thanks to @waterfallsilverberrywrites for helping me with that!) When I did a poll, the consensus was that Eddie’s Gothic name should be Edmund, but… I prefer Kas :P (I already have plans to use Edmund for another AU.)

Warnings: violence, gore, domestic abuse, non-explicit smut

Word count: 79.8k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18

[theladycarpathia]

I've had a flurry of new followers here recently so I figured I'd probably better let you guys know what you're in for.

I'm Luna (30s, she/her, UK) and this is mainly my Harringrove brain-rot page but lately BuckTommy have taken residence and won't get out.

I also have a Hellcheer blog (@baddreamsandoldbones) and I run the Hellcheer Anniversary Week.

Find my AO3 page here I apologize to anyone who has subscribed/followed me for a specific ship or show, as I tend to hop about a lot. I also write for things like Naruto, Merlin, CSI, and I have way more that I haven't even started yet. Other hobbies include baking, bellringing, buying copious Halloween items and being at the beck and call of my cat, Tuppence. I tend to lurk but I really do want to chat! I'm on Discord under the same name as my AO3

Read more below for my fic list ❤

Harringrove Event Works

Harringrove Big Bang They're burning all of the witches (even if you aren't one) Artwork from cronesfeetpics here

Billy’s Birthday Bonanza Unrequited love One night stand in the apocalypse Microwave dinner Steve’s closet during spring break party A mix tape Detective au/last chances Steve Harrington’s childhood tree-house

July mini Harringrove week Heatwave Last Day at Summer Camp Sixteen Candles at the drive in

Harringrove Harvest Mrs Click’s Classroom during Hawkins High prom The Annual Henderson’s Haunted House Ghostface Ghosthunters Demons and/or Angels x Aged Up The Abandoned Ruins of Starcourt Mall Campfire Stories  WitchesxOnlineDating Ritual Sex  Invite Only  Buffy AU Couples Costumes

Other A/O/B in the apocalypse Hawkins Country Club during a benefit Bobbing for apples

Find my Hellcheer works listed here

911 fics

For All Occasions Honesty is the best policy (unless it's your brother's secret) To Do: Me (Buck's Tasklist) Happiness, love, cohabitation (Clipboards and couches notwithstanding)