#are hellcheers aware of this

[fujiblackthorne]

grace van dien in Escaping Dad (2017) ❤️‍🔥

[rose-n-gunses]

Okay so there's all the headcanons and AUs about Chrissy lives and helps the party clear Eddie's name but what if they failed. She's alive but he gets arrested anyway.

There's zero proof that he did anything (because he didn't) but in a small town in the middle of nowhere, confirmation bias has gotten the best of them. Eddie's lawyers are doing their best but there's only so much they can do against Jason's family and Fred's family and Patrick's family and all of their lawyers, not to mention the fact that the entire town has turned against him except for Hellfire, the Party, his uncle, and Chrissy.

The trial's a shit show, the judge is an asshole, the prosecution are assholes, the population of Hawkins are fucking assholes. And he loses. Of course he does, because there was never any other way this could have gone. Not when the real suspect is an interdimensional mind demon thing. Not when the entire town has been itching for an excuse to see him locked up. It's like blinders on a racehorse; they had him in their sights, finally, and he has no way out.

Chrissy had spent enough time in Hawkins' "high society" to know that these people fear and abhor that which they do not understand. They couldn't understand him, she could see that now. She watched them tear through his room, his car, his family, his history, his entire life, only to come up empty but still point at him and say "he did it" anyway.

It makes her furious. She wants to tear the limbs off of everyone in that courtroom, but she can't. So she does the next best thing.

She goes to law school.

She'd never really had the best grades, but now she has something to work for. It takes some time, but she never stops advocating, never stops fighting. Nancy's a big help, too. She's a journalist, she's got contacts in the industry that are helping to get the word out.

She writes him letters the whole time, too. By the time she graduates, damn near at the top of her class, she's realized that while she started this thing because of that deep-rooted sense of injustice that came out of watching the boy who saved her life get torn to shreds on the stand, it's turned into something else. Now she's fighting for him because she loves him (and maybe she had all along).

Eventually they get enough support from enough people, from enough big names (fucking Metallica, for one -- she couldn't tell them exactly how Eddie used their music to save her life, only that he did) that he's granted a new trial. This time, he doesn't get a shitty state-appointed attorney. He gets Chrissy fucking Cunningham, and she's not going down without a fight. (She feels it's the least she can do. She loves him, she owes him, she still feels like it's her fault, in a way.)

It's a long and gruelling process, appeals and analysis and arguments. She calls a probably record-setting number of character witnesses, brings the Party in to provide an alibi. (They all remember that week down to the last detail, even after all these years. Scars might fade but those memories don't.)

She's determined to beat this thing. She can tell that it's almost beaten Eddie, she knows that if they lose again he's going to give up, and she's not going to let that happen.

Finally they make it to trial and it's nowhere near as cinematic or dramatic as she had been imagining it for the last few years. It's the same agonizing slowness as the first time around, only this time there's hope. A glimmer of hope, a flash of hope, a blinding fucking beam of hope.

The place is packed this time, too, but it's mostly people there in support. Eddie nearly falls out of his chair when he sees James Hetfield sitting there. For him.

Chrissy finally gets to tear apart everyone that had been in that courtroom, only she gets to do it the way she's always done it best: with her words. She's got the odds stacked against Hawkins. They had no investigation, no evidence, just a hunch. They couldn't figure it out, couldn't explain it, so they called it a cult killing and found somebody weird!

The jury is appalled, thankfully. How could anyone possibly get convicted on such little evidence? The verdict is a unanimous not guilty, and then...it's all over.

Well, it's not over.

Eddie's released, he's reunited with his Hellfire, the Party, his uncle. Chrissy.

He loves her, too. Always has. How could he not, after all she'd done for him? He tells her he wants to marry her as soon as she'll let him and she says that he could've asked any time in the last however many years and she would have said yes in a heartbeat.

But first, she leads him away from the chaos for a moment of quiet. He thanks her and she shakes her head. She'd done it all for him the same way he'd stood on top of his trailer with his guitar.

And she tells him that. She'd been telling him for years, even if he couldn't hear it. She'd said it when she graduated high school, graduated college, passed her LSATS. She'd said it when she passed the bar and walked at her law school graduation and right before she walked into the courtroom. She says it again now, just so he knows she means it, because he'd meant it and he means everything to her.

Eddie, this is for you.

[hangon-silvergirl]

peace was never an option 🪿🔪

[hellcheerficdatabase]

he’s waiting for her, a rose in his hand

Author: @fromthehillbythelake

Rating/Warning: Teen and up audience

Chapter Count: 1/1

Description: Of course they talked when he drove them back to his trailer. And he had about 3 jokes in his arsenal, ready to make her smile.

Tags: Canon Compliant, Eddie lives, Scene inserts, falling in love, Flirting, angst, fluff, it's still pretty sad so be aware, Alternating POV, one-shot, Status: Completed

[fuctacles]

@steddiesummerexchange for @chaosgremlinmunson | part 3/3 | beta @stevesjockstrap 💚

T | 10858 | Steddie, Buckingham, platonic Stobin and Hellcheer, Wayne&Eddie | Soulmate AU, unconventional soulmates, misunderstandings, idiot4idiot, fluff | divider by me | Part 1 | Part 2 | Ao3

He knows he has to tell Chrissy as soon as possible, but she'll have to wait. There's someone else he has to go through first. 

He kicks off his shoes, hangs up his jacket, and accepts his fate.

"So, not a word, but I got a new tattoo."

Wayne turns away from the TV, raising one bushy eyebrow at his nephew.

"Thought you were playing DnD today."

Eddie nods his head, sways on the balls of his feet, and sighs. 

"I was," he admits, and holds his hand up, palm facing his uncle. 

He observes in real time as the realization hits his beloved relative and an infuriating grin spreads on his face.

"I said not a word!"

"I'm not saying anything." Wayne raises his hands innocently, the satisfied grin on his face making his wrinkles contort in joy.

"I gotta call Chris," Eddie grumbles, making a beeline for the phone. His uncle's amused gaze doesn't leave him for a second.

Chrissy is, needless to say, ecstatic. She makes plans to get ready together faster than he can explain the situation. It ends with him digging deep into his wardrobe the next day. 

"I don't have any good jeans!" he exclaims, showing his friend another pair. 

"Well, I want to see all of them anyway, so I can choose the ones that give you at least an illusion of an ass," she explains patiently, sitting on his bed and doing nothing else but judging.

"Rude," he murmurs, but he's aware his ass is as flat as a wooden plank so he doesn't argue. "What if he's a platonic soulmate too? What if I'm misinterpreting things again?"

"Please don't remind me." Chrissy shudders and Eddie makes a face of his own. When they first found each other, there were a couple of unsuccessful attempts at kissing before they realized they were strictly platonic. "Then he'll have to fight me because I'm not sharing. He already has his platonic soulmate, we're all due for some action."

"You know, as much as I know you," Eddie says, pulling out another pair of pants from under a pile of winter clothes. "It never ceases to amaze me how nasty you are."

"You're nasty," she throws back. "Now put these on, I wanna see some ass."

His outfit looks the same as always, with a couple of minuscule differences Chrissy insists are making a change. His pants are charcoal, not black, and his ass is almost noticeable in them, and his shirt is one of the shorter ones. If he moves his arms the right way, a sliver of his stomach will show. He barely wins the battle for his hair, though.

"We can't have the same hair!" he protests when she describes what she wants to do - a ponytail with some loose strands. She pouts, with torture devices already in hand: a brush and a scrunchie.

"I'll let my hair loose," she offers, surprising him. She always complains about hair getting in her face when it's not tied back.

"You're that determined, huh?"

She nods her head furiously.

"Fine," he sighs. "Do your worst."

In the end, he doesn't look bad, but also not exactly like he tried. Just a cleaner version of his daily look. He gets a stink eye from his friend when he throws a leather jacket over it but she doesn't say anything. She knows he doesn't have many to choose from. 

They drive to the mall, where they are planning to grab ice cream before going to the cinema. When the pairs spot each other at the entrance, Steve seems to take extra joy in waving to Eddie. The dice on his palm rattles and so does Eddie's when he waves back. They both land on twenties. 

Despite it all starting because of the girls, it was their first official hang-out together, so the boys hung back to give them some space. And to observe the intense stare Robin was giving Chrissy's hand, like she was too overwhelmed to touch it. Eddie could tell that Steve was barely holding back a laugh.

"What are we seeing," Eddie asks when Steve wins the fight at the register and pays for his chocolate cone.

"Some comedy about aliens. Or, there's also a romcom we can switch to."

"Nah." Both Robin and Eddie stick out their tongues with disgust.

"Well, sci-fi comedy it is."

They chat a bit at the ice cream place, mostly watching Robin and Chrissy's attempts at flirting, before moving on to the ticket booth. When Steve asks for two double seats away from each other, something must show on Eddie's face, because Steve smirks at him.

"For privacy," he says, reaching out to gently trace the outside of his hand with his fingers. 

Eddie has to be pushed towards the theatre after that, too floored to move. He panics a little when separated from his soulmate, who is too engrossed in her crush to even notice. 

"Hey." Steve tugs gently on the cuff of his jacket. "Relax, I'm not going to eat you. I won't even touch you if you don't want me to." He seems disappointed by that prospect but his tone is soft and genuine. Eddie knows he can trust him so he twists his wrist to squeeze his hand gently.

"It's okay. I'm just still a little surprised by it, is all," he reassures him. 

"Okay." Steve squeezes back. "Just tell me if I'm too much."

"Sure." 

He doesn't have to say anything, because he can barely sense his presence next to him. Other than them putting up the armrest to press their shoulders together, and Steve brushing against his hand from time to time, he doesn't press further. Eddie, though, is getting antsy, and having Steve next to him proves to be just a part of this problem. Halfway through the movie, he leans closer to his companion.

"You're never picking the movie again."

Steve groans quietly. It sounds like he's relieved.

"I know, I'm sorry," he admits his mistake. "It looked good in the trailer."

"They are supposed to look good." Eddie points out. "Wanna leave?"

Steve hesitates. They both look at where their friends are sitting. The girls are leaning towards each other though facing the screen, probably roasting the movie to shreds.

"They seem fine, I guess," Steve reluctantly agrees. Eddie stands up without further prompting and gently leads him through the dark, down the steps, and to the exit.

The light in the hall blinds them for a second but Eddie doesn't drop his hand, half-blindly pushing forward.

"Gotta use the bathroom. Then we can grab a bite or something."

"We should wait for the lovebirds," Steve protests. 

Eddie rolls his head to the side, not sharing the sentiment.

"I don't know, they seem fine without us."

"But it's a double date," Steve presses. 

"Okay Harrington, we can just hang around the mall I guess. Until that sad excuse of a movie ends." He gives in, shaking his head. 

Steve seems happy with getting his way, which weirdly makes Eddie feel the same. 

They ease their grip on each other only when they reach the bathroom. Without a word they enter stalls far away from each other, figuring the urinals would make it too awkward. When they are washing their hands minutes later, Steve gives him a grin through the mirror.

"We have the bathroom all to ourselves, you know?"

Eddie raises an eyebrow, something in his gust twisting with nervous anticipation.

"Yeah? You wanna murder me or something?"

"Uh, no?" Steve's smile falls. "I just— Sorry, that was stupid. Forget I said anything," he sighs, threading his fingers through his perfectly coiffed hair. 

Eddie turns sideways to face him, his hip digging into the sink.

"You know, Chris and I tried dating for like a week after we found out. Kissing her felt wrong, like I was kissing my sister, but we were both convinced we were interested in each other like that."

Steve makes a face.

"Yeah, I was so sure I had a crush on Robin for a while. But then she said she's strictly into girls and we quickly realized we're twins separated at birth." He smiles. "So I uh, understand why you'd want to feel things out first." He nods.

But Eddie bites his cheek.

"That is the opposite of what I'm saying."

Steve cocks his head, brows furrowed. He has mirrored Eddie's stance, leaning against the sink.

"What are you saying?"

"Yeah, I do wanna feel things out, but I think kissing would be most efficient."

Steve doesn't hide the smile that grows on his face. Eddie bristles at that, mostly from anxiety and embarrassment. He chuckles nervously.

"Okay, your excitement scares me a bit. You really wanna kiss me that bad?"

"I don't think you realize how kissable you are." Steve shifts a bit like he's getting ready to pounce. "Can I?"

"Be my guest." Eddie waves his hand and straightens up himself, his minimal experience making him unsure of the proceedings.

He's expecting a straightforward kiss, but it's not what he gets. Steve slides closer, his heavy hand landing on his side. His face is right there, but instead of his lips, there is a feather-light touch on his nose, where Steve gently traces it with the tip of his own, inhaling his skin. Eddie breathes softly and okay holy shit there goes the first soft peck on his lips. Then another. And two more, until he's softly murmuring "Stop teasing" against them, prompting Steve to capture his lips in a proper kiss. 

There's nothing of the confusion from his kisses with Chrissy. This time the emotions are easy to pinpoint and decipher. They grow like an itch at the tips of his fingers, eager to touch, and he indulges by wrapping his arms around the man in front of him. They take a couple of wobbly steps towards the wall until Eddie can comfortably lean against it, trapped between cold tiles and Steve's warm body.

"Does it feel platonic?" Steve leans back to ask, his hand sneaking under his jacket to slide over his hip, scorching hot without the thick layer of leather.

"My dick says no," Eddie answers, making Steve snicker.

"Well, my dick agrees with yours."

They look into each other's eyes, a new form of understanding weaving between them, a bond more complex than the matching tattoos on their palms. They are each other's and there is nothing platonic about it.

Eddie muffles an unsexy sound of laughter, held back in his throat. Steve's lip wobbles.

"Maybe they should touch, they might be soulmates too."

The dam bursts, and they start laughing uncontrollably.

"Oh my god," Steve wheezes out, leaning heavily on Eddie. "You're so stupid."

"You're stupid," Eddie counters between laughs, shoving him before wrapping his arms back around him. Their tight embrace is the only thing holding them up while they laugh against each other.

They barely register the sound of the door opening, but catch the movement with the corners of their eyes. They turn in unison and spot a guy, frozen in shock by the sight of them: two guys holding one another up in a fit of laughter. The three men look at each other in silence, until Eddie squeaks and it starts all over. The man runs into the stall furthest away.

Eddie shoves Steve away, and Steve shoves back. They start a half-hearted slapfight until Steve catches his right hand, the one with the tattoo, and kisses the inside of his palm. Eddie's eyes go wide.

Steve grins and skips out of the bathroom.

"Hey!" Eddie calls after him, quickly following. "Not fair!"

The girls find them lounging on the sofas in front of the theatre, poking each other with Twizzlers. Or maybe feeding each other. The scene is unclear, but the wide smiles on the men's faces are unmistakable.

"Twizzler?" Steve offers to his soulmate while poking Eddie's cheek with the candy. The man catches it with his teeth and tries to pull it from his grasp.

"Sure, thanks." Robin grabs one from the pack without batting an eye. "I get it the date was a success?"

"Was yours?" Eddie asks back, looking at Chrissy with a Twizzler hanging from his mouth.

"Yeah." She grins, hip-checking Robin. 

The girl blushes, chewing on her candy intensely. She's avoiding Steve's gaze but his stare only intensifies. He's basically peeling his eyelids back to burn a hole in her forehead with his eyes only.

"Did you guys kisssss?"

"Robin. Robin. ROBIN. Don't ignore me."

"I know you can hear me. ROBIN!"

She flinches when he mentally yells at her and he raises an eyebrow now that he has her attention. She glares at him.

"We did. Did you?"

He smiles smugly.

"Duh."

She snorts.

The exchange doesn't go unnoticed by their other soulmates.

"What was that about?" Chrissy asks first with a frown. But before any of them can answer, Eddie suddenly grips Steve's knee.

"Holy shit!"

Steve looks at him. Eddie's eyes are wide and full of awe, which is becoming his favorite expression on the man. 

"Can you read each other's minds?!"

"Uh, yeah," Steve admits, suddenly sheepish about the ability he's been so happy to have. And which impressed the little nerds to no end. And the big nerd too, apparently. If the way he started shaking his knee was anything to go by.

"Steve! My man! My soul!" Steve can't help but laugh at his exaggerated antics. "Magic tattoo? Mind reading? What other freaky shit can you do?"

"Well, the mind reading is more Robin than me..."

"Still!"

"...and the other freaky shit I don't show on the first date." He grins cheekily. 

Eddie's mind goes blank for a second, his excitement freezing as he reboots and processes what he just heard. Steve's grin only widens. He might like this reaction even better. 

Robin makes a retching sound, as she does, so he flips her the bird, as he does. Chrissy, though, has an evil smile that lets him know she'll be a great co-schemer in making Eddie squirm.

"Uh-huh." Eddie's mind has rebooted by now, so he looks back to him. "Next date when, then?" he asks. He tries not to look too eager but fails miserably. 

"I'm free tomorrow?"

"Perfect." Eddie grins at him. Steve picks his hand up from his knee and gives the tattoo there a gentle kiss. He bites back a smile at the soft gesture. 

"Do you guys have any soulmate abilities?" Robin asks, always the mood ruiner. She makes another dive for the candy and Steve lets her have the bag. He'd rather hold Eddie's hands anyway. They're a bit sticky from the Twizzler fight, but he doesn't mind. Maybe he should lick them clean...

"Well..." Chrissy trails off, and it immediately picks up his curiosity. 

"Don't say it," Eddie hisses at her, eyes narrowed. She shrugs with a teasing smile.

"They're gonna find out anyway. Besides," she pouts and gives him her best puppy eyes. (Steve is very impressed, after all, game recognizes game.) "Are you ashamed of our bond?"

Eddie seethes. 

"I fucking hate you," he says, but doesn't stop her from saying what she wants to. He just looks away and Steve observes his cheeks going progressively redder. 

"Eddie knows my cheering routine by heart."

Eddie makes a displeased sound in his throat and refuses to look back at him. 

"Really?" Robin sounds impressed. "So you guys can perform together?"

"Yup. And we do. My cheer squad fucking hates it."

Steve can't help but imagine him among the cheerleaders, in a matching dress. It would show off most of his hairy thighs, and his long legs. He'd have to tie his hair up like today so they don't go in the way while he's jumping and cheering for Steve's team, pompom's shaking, skirt flipping up when he spins—

"Where the fuck did your mind just go?" Eddie's voice brings him back to reality. His face is still red, but his eyes are now narrowed in an attempt to look threatening. 

"Can I see it?" he asks in lieu of an answer, though it's probably enough to clue him in. "In a cheer outfit, preferably?"

Eddie starts to sputter out protests, but Chrissy grins mischievously at Steve. 

"I can make that happen."

He knew he was going to love her. 

[carry-the-sky]

saw this fanfic writer interview by @cheeseplants floating around, hope it's okay that i'm jumping on the bandwagon! 👉👈

What fandoms do you write in?

good omens currently, but i have approximately nine million hellcheer wips collecting dust on my google drive 😭

How many words have you published in 2024?

~25k!

What is your greatest achievement this year?

i'm honestly not sure i accomplished much writing-wise this year 😅 i did join my first ever bang, and i'm nearly finished with the fic for that event (a before sunrise au, if that's anyone's jam), so i'll probably feel more like i actually Did The Thing once that's complete!

What are your top three fics you’ve written this year?

aside from my bang fic, i'm quite proud of the post-s2 one shot i wrote for the good omens song/poetry exchange, till forever falls ♡

What was your biggest pit of despair moment?

i had perhaps the worst bout of writer's block i've ever had this past summer, and at one point i was genuinely like alright. this is it, i actually don't know how to write anymore. but we made it through!

What have you learned?

not writing can actually be the best way to write. i'm such a slowpoke and i'm always feeling pressure to be productive so that i can get a good grade in being 'relevant in fandom'. which is silly! i'm aware!! but i'm trying to give myself grace and step away when it starts to feel like a chore rather than something joyful. even if that means it takes me eight months to write a 15k one shot, oop.

Did you beta any fics? Any favs you want to shout out?

i've learned that i'm a much better cheer reader than i am a beta. i'm useless with actual writing advice, but if you need someone to keyboard smash and/or shower you with love, i'm your gal.

What three fics have you read this year that you love?

Good Neighbours, Good Fences (and Other Misunderstandings), probably my favorite gomens human au

the stolen hearts of things, my dear @ninzied's firstprince heist au that lives rent free in my head

the space we'll fill with time, an incredible little fic by @garglyswoof that alters my brain chemistry every time i read it

What ideas are percolating for next year?

two semi-coherent gomens wips which i've been picking away at for over a year: a final fifteen time loop (don't boo me i have a VISION) and a 5+1 picnic fic. i would also LOVE to finish my kanthony soulmate au, lol.

Who do you want to thank?

honestly anyone who took a chance on my gomens stuff this year. i’m still a relative newbie in the fandom and it feels a bit like slinging words into the void sometimes, but i really appreciate the interactions i’ve had. ♡

tagging! (no pressure) @redbelles, @majicmarker, @ninzied, @possibility-left, @justhere4thevibez,

@ejunkiet, @evilbunnyking and anyone else who wants to play :)

[spacebabesuki]

Haunted - Hellcheer

Eddie Munson|Chrissy Cunningham|Hellcheer Week 2024|Creature Feature & Run - Day 5 @hellcheerweek

oneshot, word count 7.5K

Summary: At the autumn fun fair, Chrissy Cunningham is pulled into the haunted house by her boyfriend, Jason Carver, and his stupid friends. Abandoned and terrified, she faces a chilling twist when a masked creature suddenly appears.

The crisp autumn air carried the scent of sweet cotton candy and popcorn as the lights of the Hawkins fun fair flickered between the trees.

Laughter echoed from all directions, kids running through the crowds with balloons in hand. Yet, a knot tightened in Chrissy's chest as she stood beside Jason and his friends, staring uneasily at the entrance to the haunted house in the park. The sign overhead was faded and rusted, with a menacing clown grinning down at them, the peeling letters spelling out "Haunted House."

Jason, dressed in his signature basketball jacket like his friends, had a smirk plastered on his face as he exchanged glances with the group, all of them too cocky for their own good.

“Come on, Chris. It’s just a haunted house. Don’t tell me you’re scared,” Jason teased, his laugh sharp and mocking.

His tone dripped with condescension, sparking laughter from his friends as they joined in, their eyes fixed on Chrissy. She stood there, feeling small under their judgmental stares.

She looked at the clown on the sign, and it made her want to cry. She had always been terrified of clowns; they were her biggest fear. Just seeing the sign at the entrance to the haunted house sent her into a panic. Ever since she was a child, clowns had traumatized her. Jason knew this; he was well aware of how deeply her fear affected her.

“Are you seriously scared of a stupid haunted house? Even kids go in there. C’mon!” he added, the pressure mounting as his friends snickered beside him.

Yes. Chrissy was scared. She had never been the type to enjoy horror or anything that came with it. Sweet and soft-hearted, the only thing she liked about Halloween was the cozy feeling of autumn and the candy that came with it.

She was just a child when John Wayne Gacy, the serial killer who dressed as a clown, kidnapped and killed children. Chrissy vividly remembers the news reports blaring from the television at home, instilling a terror that lingered for years in Chicago, so close to her. She recalls the panic that gripped the city, mothers fearing he would come for their children. Fun fairs were banned for a year due to the overwhelming fear of clowns. That was in 1978, when she was only ten, and she remembers every detail.

Chrissy didn’t just have fear; she experienced panic and dread—the kind that paralyzes you and triggers a full-blown crisis

The thought of entering the haunted house made her stomach twist, but Jason never truly cared to understand that. He never respected her feelings, always pushing her into situations that made her uncomfortable, just for his own amusement. As he laughed with his friends, Chrissy felt even more isolated, wishing for once he’d see her for who she really was instead of trying to fit her into his world.

As Jason and his friends laughed even louder at her expense, Chrissy wished he would stop using her just to entertain his stupid friends. It stung to realize that he never seemed to care about how she truly felt, only about how he appeared in front of the guys. Every joke, every mocking glance in her direction, was just another reminder that her feelings were never his priority.

She shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the edge of her soft sweater as the cool air ruffled her strawberry blonde hair, which fell in soft waves over her shoulders instead of the usual ponytail.

She had dressed simply tonight—a cozy pink sweater, a short denim skirt, and white sneakers—but somehow, she still looked effortlessly perfect. Her floral, sweet perfume lingered between them, subtle but unmistakable. She wore her favorite blue eyeshadow, the same soft shade she always loved, though Jason never seemed to notice. He never cared whether she was dressed up or dressed down, or if she changed her hairstyle. None of it mattered to him, even when she tried to look her best.

To Jason, she was just part of his image—another piece of the picture-perfect life he presented to everyone. It was like she was invisible unless he could use her for a joke, impress his parents, or keep up the illusion of being the most popular couple at school, the one everyone envied. But only Chrissy knew the truth. Behind the smiles and the glances, she was just another accessory in his life, never truly seen for who she was.

She looked around at the Ferris wheel glowing in the early evening sky, where the orange was fading and the deep blue was starting to take over. She took a deep breath, trying to distract herself, hoping Jason would forget, but she knew he would push her to the limit, just like he had before—forcing her to do things she didn’t want to, like jumping off high bridges into the lake just so his friends wouldn’t laugh at her. She focused on the smell of popcorn, children running and the pleasant fun fair atmosphere at the start of autumn, as orange leaves fell from the trees.

Jason and his friends still laughed as they pushed Chrissy forward toward the dark entrance of the haunted house. "You'll be fine, babe. It's just a little fun," Jason said, completely unaware of the unease in her eyes.

She knew the haunted house was just a park attraction and that everything inside was fake, but she was truly scared. The fear gripped her because, deep down, she didn’t know what—or who—she might find inside one of those haunted houses. In that moment, all the scary movies she'd been forced to watch, each with cruel and unsettling endings, seemed to flash through her frightened mind.

She could even hear the metallic creaking noise coming from the giant, dust-covered clown, making her shiver even more.

And she couldn’t even cry, because every time she cried in front of Jason, he just laughed at her and called her a crybaby.

But she knew she couldn’t run or say no, because Jason and his friends would make her do it anyway—or worse, they’d tease her, saying that any other cool girl from school would’ve done it without a second thought. And that she was just a boring Christian girl, just like her mom.

Chrissy took a deep breath, her heart racing as Jason’s hands tightened around her arm, pulling her through the entrance of the haunted house until they passed through the clown's mouth. The world around her grew darker with every step.

Her heart started to beat even faster when she fully entered, and darkness enveloped her.

The haunted house creaked with every sound, and fake fog swirled along the ground as she ventured further inside. It was completely empty; the only sound was an old carousel song playing in the distance, and many old mirrors, all cracked and broken.

She swallowed dryly, feeling her legs tremble with each step she took, distancing herself from the entrance until the soft light of the park faded from view. The fog rose, bringing with it a strange smell.

And then she noticed how eerily calm it was. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling scared. Jason and his friends, who had promised to stay with her, had suddenly dashed off, leaving her alone in the winding, shadowy corridors. She knew they had done this on purpose, and they were all waiting for her on the outside.

“Jason?” Her voice trembled, barely audible over the eerie sound effects echoing through the halls. “Hello?” she called again, her small voice wavering as she strained to listen for a response. But all she heard in return was the mocking laughter of Jason and his friends, echoing from somewhere outside, their voices dripping with malice as they taunted her.

“Chrissy! Are you scared?” one of them jeered, and the others joined in with their cruel laughter, making her stomach churn. Tears pricked her eyes, the sting of fear mixing with the humiliation of being left alone. Why did they have to do this? Why did she let them?

She held her fingers together and read a sign that said once you were in, you could not go out. The sound of a door locking and the clown's laughter made her want to cry; the only way to get out was to pass through the entire attraction.

She tried to calm herself, closing her eyes and feeling the panic rise with her racing heart. Her chin trembled as she reminded herself that it was all fake; it was just a park, and nothing was real. The faster she got through it, the quicker the nightmare would end.

Jason was her boyfriend; he was supposed to protect her, love her, and care for her—not subject her to this kind of treatment.

She pressed her back against the cold, damp wall, willing herself to be brave, but the darkness felt suffocating. The air was thick with the smell of decay, and the distant sounds of creaking wood and ghostly whispers made her skin crawl.

She could almost feel the presence of something lurking just out of sight, watching her.

Just then, a flicker of movement caught her eye. She turned, her heart racing, but it was only the shadows shifting, teasing her. A low, distorted laugh echoed from deeper within the haunted house, and she flinched, gripping her arms tightly around herself as if that could ward off the fear.

“This isn’t funny, Jason!” she shouted, her voice breaking as panic surged within her. “I want to go home!”

But the silence that followed felt deafening. The eerie ambiance wrapped around her, thick and oppressive, making her feel utterly isolated. She could hear her own heartbeat, rapid and loud in her ears, drowning out the mocking voices of her so-called friends.

"Please, let this be over," she whispered to herself, tears spilling down her cheeks as she wiped them away with trembling fingers. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but all she could think about was how far she was from the exit—and how Jason had left her to face this nightmare alone, on purpose.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from somewhere behind her. She spun around, her heart racing, only to see a figure emerging from the shadows—a bloodied creature with a grotesque grin stretching across its face. It pointed at her, laughter bubbling from its lips, and in that moment, all thoughts of bravery vanished.

Chrissy screamed, a sound filled with raw terror, as she turned and ran, her legs carrying her through the winding corridors while the creature’s laughter echoed behind her.

Chrissy trembled as she navigated the winding corridors, her heart racing wildly in her chest. She could feel the panic rising in her throat, and small whimpers escaped her lips as she tried to stifle her fear. Every echoing sound made her jump, her breaths coming in shaky gasps.

As she rounded a corner, she froze in horror. A bloodied doll hung limply from the wall, its sinister grin twisted in mockery. She let out a high-pitched squeak of terror, her eyes darting around the dimly lit space. Just then, the ghost train hologram whizzed by, emitting a chilling wail that made her scream.

“Just keep moving, it’s not real,” she whispered to herself, trying to quell the rising tide of fear.

She tried to calm herself, reminding herself that none of this was real. They weren’t real monsters—just park employees dressed up and made up for the attraction.

Then, from the shadows, a bloodied woman appeared, her expression twisted in agony as if she were reaching out for Chrissy. A chilling whisper escaped her lips, sending shivers down Chrissy's spine.

“It’s all fake,” she muttered desperately, but her voice trembled with doubt.

As she pressed forward, she pushed through the red plastic curtains that hung like veils of dread. They brushed against her skin, making her scream in fright. Just as she did, something suddenly leaped out at her—another killer doll dropping from the ceiling. She barely had time to react as darkness enveloped her, lit only by flickering red lights that made the shadows dance like phantoms.

“This is too much!” she thought, panic tightening its grip around her. In a moment of sheer desperation, she squeezed her eyes shut and bolted forward, not caring where she was going. She stumbled through the thick fog, her heart pounding, breath hitching as she ran blindly toward an unknown escape, praying to break free from the nightmare that surrounded her.

Then, out of the gloom, she caught a glimpse of something that made her blood freeze—Freddy Krueger. She hated these movies hated Jason, Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers, and all the horror figures that terrified her. He loomed over everything, his terrifying form lurking in the shadows. His face was a living nightmare, horribly burned and disfigured, and his eyes—those wicked, gleaming eyes—seemed to pierce right through her. His skin was charred and leathery, the iconic fedora casting a dark shadow over his grotesque grin. The razors on his glove glinted faintly in the dim light as he moved with slow, deliberate menace, his presence a chilling reminder that he thrived on fear, as if he were breathing right down her neck.

She gasped, spinning on her white sneakers and sprinting in the opposite direction, her feet pounding against the ground as she ran. There was no way all that was just park employees, she thought, her terror rising with each passing second. The corridors twisted and turned, disorienting her even more, and she felt hopelessly lost—like a mouse trapped in a maze. Her mind raced with fear and confusion, every turn seeming to pull her deeper into the nightmare, with no escape in sight.

But as long as she didn’t see a clown, she believed she would survive. It wasn’t just about facing the dolls and other horrors that had appeared; her greatest fear wasn’t those things. It was that sign of the clown at the entrance, which meant that at some point, she would find herself alone in the dark, trapped with a clown. And that was why she wanted to get out of there before that happened.

It was hard to see, the darkness swallowing everything around her, making every shadow more terrifying. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and she could hear her own heart pounding in her chest, a frantic rhythm that only heightened her fear. Every creak, every distant sound felt like it was creeping closer, and her pulse quickened, each beat louder in her ears than the last.

“It’s all a lie, it’s all a lie, they’re just park employees, no one can hurt me,” she whispered, but even she didn’t believe it anymore. It felt too real. The fear clawed at her insides, amplifying every sound and shadow in the darkened corridors.

She pressed her palms against her cheeks, trying to ground herself, but the chilling atmosphere only deepened her terror. Each flickering light cast eerie shadows that danced along the walls, making her question her own sanity.

“They can’t touch me, they can’t touch me,” she repeated like a mantra, her voice shaky but determined. Each step felt heavier as she navigated the dark maze, her heart pounding in her chest.

But the shadows seemed to creep closer, and a chilling laughter echoed all around her. It sounded like... oh no, a clown’s laugh. Despair surged within her, merging with the unsettling sounds of creaking wood and distant screams. A panic attack began to take hold; she couldn’t breathe, and it felt as if the walls were closing in around her.

“Just keep moving,” she urged herself, forcing her legs to move forward even as her instincts screamed for her to turn back. “They can’t hurt me. It’s all fake.” But with every step deeper into the haunted house, the grip of fear tightened around her, making her question whether she would ever see the light of day again.

The sound of the clown's laughter was the only thing in her mind, and she couldn’t tell if it was still real or just an echo haunting her thoughts, pushing her closer to a panic attack.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, praying that when she opened them again, she would find herself back in the safety of the park, surrounded by laughter and light.

“If this were a roller coaster, I’d just ask an employee for help,” she thought frantically. “It’s the same thing, just a toy in a park,” she tried to calm herself. But there was no one here—just her and the darkness that loomed like a predator ready to pounce. The only sounds were her ragged breaths and the relentless echo of her pounding heart, reminding her just how alone she truly was.

She was pacing down the darkened corridor, desperately trying to find the exit, her heart pounding in her chest, when suddenly she froze. The air grew thick with dread as she caught a glimpse of a shadow looming ahead. Her heart sank in despair. As the shadow drew closer, her eyes widened in terror; it was him—the clown. He stopped, his white clothes stained with blood, his makeup a grotesque smear, and his hands dripping with crimson. Everything about him was bloody, even the balloon he held.

She felt the first tear fall down her face, paralyzed by panic. She couldn't even feel her own legs or command her brain to run. He looked at her, his sinister grin stretched impossibly wide—a grotesque twist of malice that sent icy fingers of terror crawling up her spine. She had always harbored an irrational fear of clowns, their painted faces and exaggerated features lurking in the back of her mind like a nightmare waiting to pounce.

She looked at him, and then he started to run after her—so fast, laughing in that freakish way.

She let out the loudest scream she had ever uttered—a raw, piercing sound that echoed through the corridor.

In that moment, she no longer believed they were just park employees in costumes; to her, they had transformed into real monsters.

She began to run, small groans of desperation escaping her lips as tears streamed down her face. Behind her, the clown started to sprint after her—faster. Panic surged through her, igniting every nerve ending as the chilling melody of his laughter echoed off the walls, clawing at her sanity. Desperation consumed her, and she turned on her heels, sprinting in the opposite direction. Oh poor girl, so lost.

“No, no, no!” she screamed, the words tumbling out like a desperate plea for help, her voice tinged with a raw terror that made her chest ache.

He wasn’t supposed to run like this if he was just an employee; something felt profoundly wrong. She could feel it in her bones: this clown was real, and she was going to die.

Cold sweat drenched her skin, terror consuming her as she ran blindly. “Please, someone!” she screamed in despair, wishing he were just a park employee who would stop this madness. But he didn’t. Her heart ached with hopelessness. “Get me out of here!” It felt as if the haunted house had swallowed her whole; she was completely alone, utterly isolated, as though no one else dared to enter this nightmarish place.

She wanted to lie down right there and hope that someone would come to save her from this nightmare. But deep down, she knew there was no one coming, no hero to pull her from the grips of fear.

“I just want to leave!” she screamed, her voice breaking as she turned to run again, the sound of her frantic footsteps mingling with the ghostly wails that filled the air. Panic surged through her, making it hard to breathe. She felt as if she might collapse from the weight of her fear. If the clown didn’t kill her, the panic attack would.

Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision as she ran. The laughter behind her was a cruel taunt, urging her to run faster. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the clown still chasing her—an unrelenting specter of her worst fears. Desperation propelled her to run even faster, but her chest ached, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The weight of the clown’s presence bore down on her, each step echoing in her mind, the very air thick with his malicious intent. It felt as if the walls themselves were closing in, wrapping around her in a suffocating embrace.

She didn’t even know where she was running to; she couldn’t see the light, the exit. The darkness felt alive, pressing in on her, and every turn in the corridor twisted her further into a labyrinth designed to confuse and trap her. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, drowning out everything else as the clown’s laughter grew louder, more maniacal.

In a moment of pure desperation, she closed her eyes again, wishing to block out the horror as if that would make him disappear. She didn’t want to see what was behind her; she just wanted to run, hands outstretched in front of her, desperately trying to feel her way toward an exit—any exit. Tears streamed down her face as she gasped for air.

Then she dared to look back. The clown was still pursuing her, even closer now, his presence suffocating and menacing. His laughter echoed in her ears. He shouldn’t be moving like this, trying to touch her, scaring her in such a way—not if he were just a park employee. Panic surged through her, drowning out all rational thought. It was as if he truly wanted to touch, kill her, hurt her. Her heart raced as she realized the horrifying truth: this was no mere performance; it was a nightmare come to life.

She could feel his breath on her neck, a terrifying reminder of just how close he was.

The panic paralyzed her; she couldn’t feel her legs and could no longer run. Trembling, she sensed his presence reaching out—the clown touched her shoulder. A scream of pure terror escaped her lips, her body shaking as fear seized her.

Chrissy squeezed her eyes shut. The darkness pressing in around her felt suffocating, more oppressive than before. “No! No!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face in pure panic. She trembled uncontrollably, her heart racing as if it might explode.

Suddenly, she tripped over something, fear gripping her as she braced for the fall. She was certain she would hit the ground and that the clown would kill her. With her eyes tightly closed, she waited for the impact.

But to her surprise, she felt her legs lifted off the ground. Strong arms supported her gently, and a muffled voice broke through the chaos.

“Too far, damn it, Brian! What’s your fucking problem, you piece of shit? You know you can’t touch the visitors! We can’t play these pranks anymore, or Mr. Fitch will fucking kill us! Get back to your damn place now, go, get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit! Look at what you did to her, you scared the girl!"

"Go fuck yourself, Munson! It’s boring as hell sitting around all night without scaring these little brats!" The clown’s voice—she recognized it from the laughter—grew fainter as he walked away, leaving Chrissy trembling in fear.

Her mind raced. Was it just a prank from some employee? She was still shaking, struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Her body was paralyzed with lingering terror, unsure if she could trust that the nightmare was truly over.

Chrissy opened her eyes slowly, still disoriented, and realized that her legs weren't on the ground—they were in the air. Her short denim skirt left her legs exposed, and she could feel strong arms gently holding her, supporting her with surprising care. She was in someone's arms, cradled against a warm body that had saved her, catching her just before she could fall.

Blinking through the remnants of her panic, the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the clown’s back, walking away—no longer running or chasing her, just casually moving off as if none of it had ever happened. He looked almost ridiculous now, like a foolish teenager, retreating into the distance.

Now she focused on who was holding her, who had saved her, gently holding her up, stopping her from falling, and sending the clown away, protecting her. The body was tall, firm, and warm, and she felt a strange sense of safety for the first time in what felt like hours.

With a slow, cautious turn of her head, Chrissy looked up to see who was holding her. The first thing she saw was a bloodied gray jumpsuit, a white mask covering his face, and a knife hanging from one of the pockets of the jumpsuit, close to her because she was in his arms, with his chest right next to her face. She screamed again, her voice raw with fright.

But then, in a surprisingly soft voice from beneath the mask, he said, “Hey, hey, sorry.” His words were muffled by the mask, but the tone was gentle. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I—oops, shit, yeah, I did mean to scare you ’cause, you know, it’s my job, but—"

His voice was so familiar and had such a soft, silly tone that it calmed her almost instantly, allowing her breath to return to normal.

He made sure to look as harmless as possible until he noticed her starting to relax. He wanted to ease her panic, to somehow show her that she was safe with him, even if he was wearing a monster’s mask.

She began to calm down, her eyes softening as she looked at him in the dim red light, the panic melting away. It was as if the fear had never been there at all. His voice had a strange, soothing power over her—something she had never experienced before. Her brows furrowed slightly, confused by how safe and relaxed she suddenly felt, as if being held by him had erased all the terror from moments before. She almost wanted to smile in relief, her heartbeat slowing to a calm, steady rhythm.

Looking up at him, still cradled in his arms, she noted his tall, strong stature—around 5'11"—while she stood at just 5'2", forcing her to crane her neck to see his face. As her gaze traveled upward, the realization hit her: she had seen this mask before. The horrifying white mask, the blank, emotionless face—it was Michael Myers, the monster from Halloween.

Her breath caught for a moment, but then something strange happened. The heat radiating from his body was… kind of comforting, and the way he held her, his large hands secure on the back of her thighs, felt really nice. She felt safe in his arms.

Wait—Michael Myers had saved her?

Chrissy's heart raced, but not with fear anymore—something else entirely. She stared at the mask, her mind scrambling. That voice… it was muffled, but there was something unmistakable about it. She could swear she'd heard it before. It was familiar, like a comforting presence.

Who was behind the mask?

Her mind flashed through possibilities, trying to place where she’d heard that soft, almost silly tone before. Could it be someone she knew? An employee at the park? Or maybe... someone closer? She needed to know.

She could feel the warmth of his chest and abdomen pressing against her, hear his heavy breathing beneath the mask, sending chills racing down her spine. The weight of his gaze felt unsettling, as if he truly knew her; it was confusing how much he seemed to enjoy looking at her.

But Michael Myers was still in shock after her scream. She had screamed at the top of her lungs just seconds ago when she looked at him, the sound piercing through the darkness of the haunted house, so loud and filled with pure terror that it startled even poor Michael Myers for a split second.

Poor boy, so confused, he hesitated, puzzled by her reaction; no one had ever reacted like this to an attraction at a funfair. He noticed that she screamed when she saw the knife, so he dropped it to the ground; it was a fake knife, plastic, just to comfort her. The truth was that, just like the clown was a stupid teenager working here, Michael Myers was an employee at the park too, just a nerd trying to earn some extra cash after school to pay for his guitars, metal LPs, and magazines.

So that's why he had agreed to take a side gig at the haunted house—just for fun. But no one had ever screamed and reacted quite like that before. She was so scared, crying when that idiot Brian, dressed as a clown, was chasing her. It actually made him a bit worried. And he knew why. Through the eye holes of the mask, he could see exactly who he was looking at.

Oh, oh, Chrissy Cunningham, the queen of Hawkins High, also known as the girl of his dreams—the girl he had been madly in love with since the middle school talent show, nearly five years ago. He still remembered it like it was yesterday. She sat down beside him, just for a moment, after his band lost, offering him sweet, gentle words of comfort. It was the kindest thing anyone had done for him in that miserable moment, and he had never forgotten. She was sunshine, and he was... well, just a guy in the shadows, too much of a loser to ever think she could see him the same way.

He had been in love with her even back then, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have the courage. Maybe now, standing in this haunted house, he was getting a second chance to talk to the girl of his dreams. But who was he kidding? He was going to mess this up, just like last time. He’d probably just scare her away.

He knew he could only look from afar; in his mind, she would never even notice someone like him, a total loser

He looked at her through the eye holes of the Michael Myers mask he was using, and to his surprise, she wasn’t crying or scared anymore. Instead, she looked calm, beautiful, and serene, with a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

The sight of her like this soothed him, easing the tight knot of anxiety in his chest.

Her expression was almost peaceful, and for a moment, he forgot about the chaos of the haunted house and the ridiculousness of his costume. Instead, all he could focus on was her—her eyes sparkling with something he couldn’t quite place.

His heart raced, not with fear but with a warmth that spread through him as he realized she was no longer terrified. He noticed that he—yes, he, a loser—was holding Chrissy Cunningham in his arms, and until now, she hadn’t run away from him like she had from Brian.

But then a wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. She looked at him, trying to see the face behind the eye holes. That voice… that voice beneath the mask—she recognized it from somewhere. And then it clicked; she finally realized where she knew him from.

She had been so scared that she hadn't noticed the conversation he had with the clown when the clown had called him Eddie. Now, the memory came rushing back.

“Eddie?” Her voice was a breathless whisper, a mix of surprise and relief flooding her face.

First, he was in complete shock that the perfect girl knew his voice, that she recognized him. His mind went blank, and for a solid ten seconds, he just stared at her, trying to remember how to breathe. She knew him. Chrissy Cunningham knew his voice. He felt like he was floating, completely disarmed by the realization.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he finally managed, a sheepish smile spreading across his face, his heart pounding. A look of pure happiness lit up his features, still hidden by the Michael Myers mask, as he struggled to believe that the girl he had admired from afar actually recognized him.

He took off the mask, revealing his messy, long hair, and gave her the boyish grin she had always thought was kind of cute.

It wasn't Michael Myers who saved her; now she had a name—Eddie Munson—in a Michael Myers mask.

She blinked, her cheeks turning pink, her heart still racing but for a different reason now. She had never noticed how tall and strong he was, how his hands felt so secure, or how his body heat was actually comforting. The fact that he was now her hero, the only one who had saved her from the clown, added to the fluttering sensation in her chest.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, blinking rapidly as she felt something in her stomach—cold and warm at the same time. She was now looking at his face, so close to hers because she was still in his arms. She breathed in deeply; he smelled so good, like masculine deodorant right after a shower, the scent wrapping around her like a warm embrace.

“Moonlighting, apparently.” He chuckled softly, obviously nervous, slipping back into his usual playful tone. “Someone’s gotta pay the bills.”

He looked at her, his heart swelling with a mix of awe and disbelief. Chrissy was even more stunning up close, and he found himself taking in every tiny detail of her perfect face. Everything about her was so unfairly pretty—her perfectly pointed nose, her sweet pink lips, her lovely teeth, the pearl rings adorning her ears, and the small necklace she wore around her neck — that must feel so soft — against her skin, with its delicate chain and tiny charms.

The sweet scent of her floral perfume lingered in the air, wrapping around him like a potent drug. Her cheeks were flushed a lovely shade of pink, and he couldn’t help but notice how her eyes sparkled, the blue eyeshadow accentuating the brightness of her gaze.

It should be a crime for someone to be this pretty; it was unfair to the rest of the world. He didn't believe in God, but looking at her made it easy to believe that this perfect girl hadn't come from clay—maybe she was made of stardust, and that made sense. If God really did exist, he must have used all his precious time crafting her face.

He couldn’t believe she was here, in his arms, looking at him like that. He’d dreamed of this, but never in a million years did he think it would actually happen.

She looked radiant, like an angel, especially without her cheerleading uniform. Her hair fell softly around her shoulders, framing her face perfectly, and her smile made his heart race even faster. In that moment, she seemed almost unreal, like a dream he never wanted to wake from.

And fuck, why did she always have to wear the shortest skirts in the whole damn world? That's not a skirt girl, that's a sawn off shotgun.

Ah if only he could have her, if only he could love her…

Eddie felt like a total idiot standing there, utterly captivated by her beauty. He fumbled for words, feeling awkward in a way that was both adorable and endearing. He stumbled over his own thoughts, trying to control his excitement and keep his cool, but it was no use. Just being near her sent his brain into a chaotic spiral, and all he wanted was to make her smile.

His heart burned every time he saw her face—whether in the hallways of the school, here, or anywhere else. She was so pretty that it felt surreal.

He got lost for a moment, staring at her and feeling her soft legs in his hands. Shit, she was just too pretty. She looked like an angel, a dream come to life. However, he hesitated to say so, as he had always dreamt of her.

Only now did he realize that he was still holding her in his arms, and she didn't seem bothered at all.

Eddie’s hands were strong and firm steady under her thighs, directly on her skin because of the short skirt, she could even feel the watch os his wrist on the back of her tights and her heart raced, her body heating in a way she hadn’t expected. She looked up at him, gripping his neck tightly, feeling the softness of his hair.

“Oh shit, sorry, I, well, um, yes, there you go, ma’am.” He gently set her on the ground as softly and delicately as if she were made of porcelain.

No one had ever treated her like this or looked at her like this. As she hit the ground, she held onto his arm for a moment, just to make sure her legs were working again. They both looked down, and he noticed the pink nails on his bloody jumpsuit from the costume.

“You good?” he asked with such a pretty smile, so close to her, making sure she wouldn’t fall again.

His hair fell into his face in a chaotic yet beautiful way. She almost forgot her words; her cheeks flushed, and she felt a tingling sensation across her skin. She gave a small, lost smile and nodded.

“Yes, thank you,” she responded, her cheeks flushed. She put her arms behind her back and swayed shyly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside her. She knew she should ask him where the exit was and get the hell out of there, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was as if she wanted more time with him, even in this crazy haunted house.

She didn’t know how to explain it, but being near Eddie felt different—like a secret thrill that made her heart race in a way she never expected.

They looked at each other three times—glance, look away, glance again, look away—smiling awkwardly at one another. She bit her lip, swaying a bit shyly, while he scratched the back of his head, both of them unsure of what to say. He smiled at her, feeling totally awkward, and as he tried to lean against the wall, he lost his focus while looking at her, stumbling and almost falling. He cursed himself for being such an idiot, but then she gave him a sweet little smile.

Chrissy couldn’t help but smile back at him, her eyes softening as she took him in. Her hair looked golden even in the dim lighting, and the way she nervously bit her lip made his stomach flip. He had always admired her from afar, but here, in this moment, she felt impossibly close, as if the world around them had melted away, leaving just the two of them in their own little universe.

The chaotic sounds of the haunted house faded into the background, and all he could focus on was her—the way her cheeks flushed, the gentle curve of her smile, and the sparkle in her eyes that seemed to light up the darkness.

“Uh, so, um…” he stammered, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes never leaving hers as he searched for the right words. “I’m sorry for Brian and the whole clown thing. He’s a stupid asshole. I confess that when we’re bored and some jerk shows up, we do that kind of stuff, but as soon as I saw it was you… fuck, I wanted to kill him when I saw that he made you cry. I’m so fucking sorry, Chrissy.”

She opened and closed her mouth, looking at him without even blinking, her eyes shining. No one had ever talked to her like this before; her boyfriend had never said anything like I wanted to kill him when I saw that he made you cry.

Her stupid boyfriend had actually made her cry.

“You… you wanted to kill him when you saw that he made me cry?” she stammered, not used to someone caring for her like this.

“Well, hell yeah,” he said, a foolish grin spreading across his face.

“W-why?” Her eyes widened in pure shock.

“Because people are supposed to want to kill anyone who makes sweet angels cry.”

She froze, never thinking she would hear something like that in her whole life.

Poor boy saw her so paralyzed that he thought he’d said something stupid, unaware that it was quite the opposite.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I said some shit, didn’t I?” he chuckled nervously, his cheeks warming as he realized how ridiculous he must look.

“Oh no, no… it’s… and...I mean thank you for… for you know…” she smiled, her cheeks turning red as she looked down at her own feet. “Saving me… from the clown. Thank you,” she whispered again in a soft voice, not knowing what else to say but not wanting to go. Just moments ago, she wanted to run out of this haunted house, but now she wanted to stay here forever. “I confess I’m feeling a bit stupid for being scared. I hope you don’t think badly of me,” she said, making a little face.

“I would never think anything bad about you,” he replied. She could feel his dark eyes looking at her in a way no one had ever looked at her before. “I’m scared as fuck of clowns too; they’re, you know, weird as fuck.” He said this to make her smile, and she did, grinning in that cute, foolish way that he loved.

She looked at him in disbelief, her heart racing in her chest again at the way he looked at her and talked to her. All she could think about was how she wanted him to keep looking at her like that. No one had ever protected her like this. She knew it wasn’t much, but she was used to so little.

Eddie felt a pang of sadness, like a bullet in his chest, when he realized he would have to let her go soon to return to work. He heard the sound of the door opening; someone was entering. But his gaze lingered on her, enchanted and obsessed. Just then, he noticed another guy in the background, a fellow employee, looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to get back to work. It was against the rules of the boss to not wear the mask inside the haunted house.

Eddie didn’t want to leave; if he could, he would look at Chrissy for eternity. Reluctantly, he put the mask back on.

“Uh, right, I should probably get back to…” he started, glancing back at the other guy, but then he looked back at her, momentarily lost in her beauty. “But it’s hard to focus on anything else when you’re here.”

Shit, he wasn't supposed to say that. Fuck, now she’s going to hate him. He wanted to kill himself. He smiled awkwardly, feeling like a total dork, but the warmth in his chest kept him grounded. He wanted to savor this moment just a little longer. He regretted saying that because he probably hadn't spoken to her in five years, and he was afraid of her reaction.

"I'm sorry," he said, afraid she might think he was hitting on her—flirting with her, which he definitely was—and hate him for it.

But Chrissy gave him such a sweet smile, one that made it seem like she liked what he said, and he realized he had never seen her laugh so heartily before.

Suddenly, the lights went out, oh no, he wanted to looked at her a little more, but the sound of the clown's laughter echoed, indicating that someone had entered the haunted house and the attraction should start again.

Eddie quickly lowered his mask and looked at her again through the eye holes of the Michael Myers mask. She returned his gaze, feeling a heavy sigh escape her chest. His height and the jumpsuit that had once seemed intimidating now only made her heart flutter, filling her with a sensation she couldn't quite place.

“Was...was really good to...to see you,” she stammered shyly, unable to explain the way she felt around him but wanting to feel it again. Her heart raced like a foolish, lovesick girl as she said what she was about to say. “See you around? I mean the fair...I...I’m planning on coming back in the next few days till the end...I can visit you if you promise to protect me from Brian,” she asked, trying to smile softly and casual but feeling nervous, afraid that a guy like Eddie Munson would hate someone like her.

Ah, if she only knew...

He froze, momentarily unable to believe he was hearing that.

“Yeah, uh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, uhum, uh, uhum, ok, yeah” he stuttered, his voice muffled by his mask. He felt like a total idiot because he couldn’t believe what he just heard. He wanted to pinch himself just to make sure this wasn’t a dream; he wanted to put the plastic knife on his chest just to be sure he was alive.

He stumbled again, making her laugh, and he pointed toward the exit.

She smiles softly "Bye, Eddie,” she smiled at him, but the truth was she didn’t want to say goodbye.

“The way out is, um, through… there, you know, al—”

She nodded, walking on with a smile, feeling something strange on her cheeks—a heat she had never felt before. As she turned away, she felt a tug in her chest, as if she didn’t want to leave.

Glancing back, she saw him looking at her. She smiled, ducking her head, and caught him pretending to whistle, trying to act casual. She smiled again; she had always watched him at school, but had never had the courage to approach him, even though she remembered that talent show. She always thought he hated her.

But before she could walk to the exit, something held her back. Her heart raced wildly in her chest, and the butterflies in her stomach fluttered uncontrollably. The thought of leaving felt unbearable. Without thinking, she turned back and walked toward Eddie again. He remained in his pose as Michael Myers, his back turned, clearly distracted and believing she had already left.

The dim lighting of the haunted house cast shadows around them, creating an almost magical atmosphere. Just then, he caught a whiff of her sweet scent lingering in the air, and it pulled him from his thoughts. As if plucked from one of his dreams, the sight of her standing there nearly gave him a heart attack. She was on her tiptoes, just inches away from him.

Chrissy bit her lip, her gaze flickering nervously back to Eddie's eyes through the mask.

Gathering her courage, she lifted herself onto her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his mask, her lips brushing against the plastic fabric right where his mouth was hidden.

"My hero," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. The warmth of her breath danced against the mask, leaving a sweet, lingering sensation that sent shivers down his spine.

Eddie’s instinct was to hold her waist gently, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst. The warmth radiating from her body was intoxicating, and he felt an overwhelming urge to pull her closer.

As if reading his thoughts, she leaned her hand against his chest, her palm pressing lightly against the fabric of his jumpsuit. The contact sent a jolt through him, electrifying the air between them.

He froze, caught off guard by the unexpected intimacy of the moment. It was as if time itself had paused, leaving only the two of them in their private world within the haunted house.

Eddie's heart skipped a beat. Even though he couldn’t feel her lips through the mask, he imagined they must feel like heaven—so soft, like heaven. Yet, he felt the kiss echo in his heart—an overwhelming sensation that made him think it might explode or leap out of his body. He wanted to keep this mask locked away as the greatest treasure in the whole world.

His hands twitched, betraying his desire to pull her closer. As she leaned back, he stared at her with wide eyes, a mix of disbelief and joy flooding his chest. A slow, incredulous smile began to spread across his face, unable to comprehend what had just happened. But she couldn’t see it; the Michael Myers mask concealed all his emotions.

Chrissy pulled back, her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, her lips curved into a shy, radiant smile. "Thank you... for, you know, everything." The sincerity in her voice made his heart swell.

He saw his reflection—the mask’s reflection—in her blue eyes.

Eddie wanted to say something—anything—to express how long he had waited for a moment like this, how he had fantasized about it in every corner of his mind and every dream he had ever had. But he couldn’t find the words; he felt as if he might die from the intensity of it all, his heart threatening to explode.

His mind raced with thoughts, words tumbling over each other as he struggled to find the right ones. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, overwhelmed by the weight of her gaze and the thrill of the moment.

Instead, he simply stood there, drinking in the sight of her—the way the dim light caught her features, the way her eyes sparkled with something he dared to hope was affection.

He knew that this was a moment he would cherish forever—a moment where everything felt right in the world, even amid the chaos of the haunted house. All he could think was how he never wanted this to end.

Until...

"Chrissy! Where the hell are you?" Jason Carver's voice suddenly echoed through the haunted house. Chrissy startled and stepped back from Eddie, her cheeks burning red as her hands dropped from his chest.

Jason Carver emerged from the darkness, searching for her.

Eddie cursed under his breath, quickly pulling away, his face flushing. This was definitely not a dream; if it were, Jason Carver wouldn’t have shown up.

Jason barged in, his face twisted in confusion.

Eddie never understood how someone like Jason Carver could deserve a girl like Chrissy. Every time he saw her, he felt a strange mix of awe and frustration. Her smile lit up the darkest corners of his mind, yet she was stuck with Jason, a guy who didn’t appreciate her the way Eddie secretly did.

"What the hell is going on here?" Jason glared at Chrissy, his expression darkening as he noticed her standing next to a monster—a freak in a Halloween costume lurking in the shadows.

Eddie forced a smile behind his mask, but Carver didn’t realize it was him.

“Just doing my job, Carver,” Eddie said, pressing the plastic knife against the mask in a mocking gesture. “And you should probably do yours, or you might lose her to someone else.”

The tone of his voice suggested a defiant grin hidden beneath the mask.

What made this the best night of Eddie’s life? In that moment, as he spoke those words, Chrissy Cunningham turned to him with a shy smile, her cheeks flushed with a warmth that illuminated the dimly lit space.

Jason scowled, his expression hardening as he instinctively wanted to confront the masked figure, oblivious to the fact that it was Eddie Munson hiding behind the disguise.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Jason called, and Chrissy walked alongside him toward the exit. “How does that jerk know my name?” Jason asked, glancing back, anger simmering in his eyes as they left the haunted house.

“I don’t know,” Chrissy replied softly, a faint smile lingering on her lips as she remained lost in the memory of what had just happened inside the haunted house.

“Who the hell was that?” Jason shot another glance back, trying to catch a glimpse of Eddie.

All Chrissy said was,

“— Michael Myers.”

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

To the people in the Steddie tag and anywhere else,

Some people are still misinformed about Chrissy's age. Either they aren't aware of her actual age because other people have misinformed them, or they're making Chrissy intentionally younger, so that way Hellcheer looks gross. It needs to be rectified. Chrissy was not 16 or anything younger than that. She was 18 and a senior in high school. Eddie was barely even 20. They were only two years apart, and that's NOTHING. It's been said by the people who worked on the show that Chrissy was of age. If you didn't know, because someone intentionally misinformed you, you're forgiven, but if you are intentionally making this shit up to make people who ship it look disgusting, please grow the fuck up. I am a multishipper. I ship Steddie, Hellcheer, Stancy, and many others. Hellcheer is a harmless ship. If you don't like it, then block the tag and move on, but do not actively try to make up shit about it. That's not cool. And yes, I'm aware that it's not all Steddie shippers, but it's enough, and it's quite frankly, annoying.

[foundtherightwords]

The Hollow Heart - Chapter 18 (Last Chapter)

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?

Chapter warnings: none

Chapter word count: 2.5k

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 - Hush, Beating Heart

There was a voice in her ears. A soft but stern voice, reminding her of Miss Kelley, her old governess. Perhaps it was Miss Kelley, and she was ten years old again, being wakened up in her nursery. That would be vastly preferable to wherever she was now, her body numb, her mind a mess of fragmented memories, of screaming faces and dark blotches and blood.

"Mrs. Creel?" the voice was saying incessantly. "Can you hear me? Mrs. Creel?"

Christabel opened her mouth to tell them to stop, to not call her Mrs. Creel, because she was not Mrs. Creel, not anymore, not in her heart, but her throat was raw, her lungs felt scorched, and what came out was a feeble, wheezing cough instead.

"She's awake!" the voice said. She tried to sit up, but a hand pushed down on her shoulder, holding her still. The hand was gentle, but it still hurt, and she became aware of other pains on her body, the stinging, smarting pain of burns, the throb on her arm. "Don't try to move," the voice continued. "The doctor will be with you in a minute. Here, have a drink of water."

Something smooth was placed into her mouth, and then water, sweet, cool, heavenly water flowed over her tongue, soothing the burning feeling in her throat. She opened her eyes. A face swam into focus—a woman, with round, ruddy cheeks, hair pulled back into a bun under her white cap. A nurse. Behind the nurse, Christabel could glimpse other beds filled with patients, and nurses and doctors running to and fro. The acrid smell of smoke lingered in the room, from herself or from the very air, Christabel didn't know, overpowering the hospital smell of bleach and medicine.

"Where am I?" she managed to ask.

"At a makeshift hospital in Golden Gate Park," said the nurse.

"How—how long have I been here?"

"Two days." The nurse helped Christabel sit up. "My, my, it was pure luck that you were found at all. The entire city was in chaos, and your house is so out of the way—if people hadn't seen the fire from the headland—" Her face fell when she caught Christabel's expression. "Oh, I do beg your pardon, ma'am. Didn't you know—?"

"Didn't I know what?"

"The house has been completely destroyed." The nurse gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'm so sorry."

But Christabel paid no attention to the nurse's comforting hand. She was too elated. Destroyed! Destroyed and gone! She was free of that place of nightmares, it would haunt her nevermore. But—a cold finger of fear ran down her spine—suppose—suppose Henry had survived? She had seen him survive a bullet to the face and a knife to the chest. Could he have survived being buried under a house, in a fire?

"Did they find anyone else at the house?" she asked the nurse.

A half-sad, half-frightened look came into the nurse's eyes, and the fear spread throughout Christabel's body. "You should rest, ma'am," the nurse said. "There will be plenty of time—"

"Did they find anyone else?"

The nurse stared at her for a long time, her sympathetic eyes driving Christabel mad with apprehension. "Yes," eventually the nurse said. "They found two bodies."

***

Despite the nurse's attempt to stop her, Christabel insisted on seeing the bodies. Eventually, the nurse relented and helped her into a wheelchair.

The bodies were kept under a tent outside—one of many throughout the park. Rows and rows of the bodies were laid out under white sheets, and orderlies were bringing weeping survivors around to identify their loved ones. The spring sun shone through the thin canvas of the tent, casting its watery rays down on the somber sight. In the distance, columns of smoke still rose from the city, darkening the sky. The earthquake must have done a great deal of damage.

The nurse wheeled Christabel toward an orderly and whispered something to him. The orderly looked askance at Christabel. "Are you sure you're up for this, ma'am?" he asked.

"I assure you, I'm feeling quite well," she said, and indeed she was. Other than the burns, a few cuts and bruises, and the bullet wound on her arm, she had suffered no great injuries. Her limbs were weak and shaky, but that was only from nerves. And even if she had been at death's door, she still had to know.

The orderly led them to a table, where two bodies were laid side by side, each bearing a card with "Outside Lands, Creel House" scrawled on it. Christabel took a deep breath and nodded at the orderly. He lifted the sheet from the first body. Her heart jumped to her throat.

"His name is—was Hargrove," she said to the orderly. "William Hargrove. From Chicago, I believe." She paused, wondering how to explain Hargrove's appearance at the house. In the end, she settled for a version of the truth. "He was an acquaintance of my husband's." Poor man. He'd only been trying to do right by his sister.

The orderly wrote the information down in a notebook and moved to the next body.

"I must warn you, ma'am," he said. "This one's found inside the house, after the fire's burned out. There may not be much left for you to identify."

"I understand," she said, her voice coming from a long way off through the drumming of the blood in her ears. What if he was still under the ruins of Creel House, biding his time?

The second body was, as the orderly had warned, burned down almost completely, leaving only a charred skeletal frame. It could have been anyone's. But as Christabel looked it over, her pulse started racing again, not from fear, but from immense relief. The skeleton was missing a left hand.

"It's my husband," she said.

If the orderly and the nurse noticed her lack of a reaction, they showed no indication of it. After all, many people were in shock from the sudden losses. "Are you quite certain, ma'am?" the orderly asked.

"Yes."

Any lingering doubt in her mind was completely dispelled by what she saw on the skeleton's chest—there, glittering between the blackened ribcage, was a lump of molten glass. It had once been a stained-glass pendant in the shape of a rose. Now, looking closely, she could swear it looked almost like a heart.

She turned to the nurse. "So... there was no one else found at Creel House then?"

The nurse shook her head. "No, ma'am. I believe they even searched the lighthouse, which still stands. But they found no one."

Perhaps he had survived. She didn't know how a vampire, or a dhampyr, would die, but if there wasn't a body, then there was a chance he had survived. There was a twinge in her heart when she thought of how he had left without saying goodbye, but of course he had to flee before the sun came up, before search and rescue arrived. She told herself she must accept it. She could accept it. She could accept life without him, as long as she knew that he was safe.

Even so, she couldn't stop from weeping at the thought that she would never see him again, and that night, lying in her hospital bed, she sobbed bitterly. She was free, yes, free from Henry and Creel House, but what was the use of freedom if she couldn't share it with the person that mattered the most?

A shadow passed across the white curtain surrounding her bed. Christabel didn't pay much attention to it, thinking it was a nurse or an orderly, but when the figure came back and stood by the foot of her bed, her heart shot to her throat. The murky yellow light from the electric bulb overhead distorted the figure, making it stretch grotesquely against the curtain, like a monster in some shadow play. What if she'd made a mistake? It couldn't be... could it? He was dead. And the pendant, the soul container, the phylactery as he'd called it, was destroyed, melted in the fire, so his soul was gone too. He couldn't—he couldn't—

She sat up, casting wildly about for a weapon, though deep down she knew, if it really was Henry, nothing on Earth could save her—

"Christabel?" the figure called softly.

Christabel's heart, which had been pounding before, now hammered as though it was trying to break free of her chest. She knew that voice.

"Kas?" she croaked.

The curtain parted, and there was Kas. There were some burn marks on his face, his hair was patchy, singed in places, and his clothes were covered in soot, but it was him. Even in the dim light, she could see those soft brown eyes gleaming at her. He smiled at her, and it was Kas's smile, framed by his dimples, childlike in its joy and wonder and love. "Yes, it's me," he said, and it was Kas's voice, warm and comforting.

Christabel didn't remember what she did next. She leaped out of bed and threw her arms around him, heedless of his dirty clothes. Holding her, he staggered onto the bed as she kissed and kissed and kissed him, laughing and crying all the while.

"Shhh, let's not wake the others," Kas whispered. He kissed her back, taking care to avoid her burns.

It was a long time before she was calm enough to sit down next to him on the bed, but she still kept her arms around him, pressing his hand to her wet cheeks to assure him of her presence, and to assure herself of his.

"I thought I'd lost you," she said. "They said no one else was found at the house."

"I hid in the lamp room of the lighthouse. I heard them moving about downstairs, but they didn't come upstairs."

"Are you all right?" There were still burn marks from the silver chain around his neck, and when she touched his shoulder, where the bullet had hit him, he winced.

"Yeah. I was lucky, the bullet went straight through. If it had lodged there, the silver poisoning would've killed me for sure. It's going to take longer for me to heal than usual, but it'll heal."

She kissed his shoulder, gently, carefully, wishing she had his healing power.

"Did they—did they find anyone else?" Kas asked.

She understood what he meant. "He's dead," she said.

Kas stared at her. "Are you sure?"

"I've seen his body. He's dead."

It took a moment for Kas to register this. Then he let out a long, long sigh. He, too, was free. Suddenly it occurred to Christabel that with Henry's death, perhaps Kas's affliction could be cured as well. That hope crumbled when Kas said, "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here, but I had to wait until nightfall..."

She looked at him more closely. In the joy of reunion, she hadn't noticed that he was still a little cold to the touch, and that he was pale under the burns and the soot. "Does that mean that you're still—?"

He nodded resignedly. "It wasn't as though he cursed me and the curse would be lifted with his death. He infected me. An infection can't just clear up on its own." He smiled to reassure her. "Don't worry, I'm fine."

"But how have you—how have you managed in the last couple of days?" She didn't want to mention blood or feeding, for fear of being overheard.

"One good thing about an earthquake is that it brought out plenty of rats." He gave her another rueful smile. "You may regret kissing me just now."

"I never regret kissing you." And to assure him, she kissed him again.

"I can't stay long," Kas said, gently extracting her arms. "I only came to say goodbye."

She stared at him in shock. "Goodbye? Where are you going?"

"I don't know. I may stick around San Francisco. It's large enough and cloudy enough for me to blend in—"

"What about me?"

Kas undid the bandages around her hands so he could kiss the cuts and burns on her palms. They started to heal immediately.

"You don't want someone like me with you," he said.

"I do. I want nothing more than to have you with me."

"But you've promised me, remember? This is your chance at freedom. You must take it."

"No, this is our chance." She pressed her hands to his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. "I love you. And I'm never leaving you, do you hear me?"

"How can you? Besides the obvious, I have nothing. Not even a name."

"I have enough for both of us." With the transfer deed burned up along with Creel House and Henry dead, her money was hers again, and safe. She glared at Kas. "Don't tell me you're one of those manly men who can't stand the idea of living off his wife's wealth."

"You're not my wife," Kas reminded her.

"Not yet."

A ray of hope sparked in his eyes. "Is that a proposal?"

She smiled. "Perhaps. What do you say?"

"You know we can't actually get married. It won't be legal, seeing I have no identification," Kas said solemnly, but his eyes were dancing.

"I don't care," she said. "Will you marry me?"

The ray of hope in Kas's eyes brightened until it seemed the very sun was shining out of his face. "Yes," he said. Then he kissed her, gently at first, and then with more and more passion as his arms found themselves around her once more, holding her like he never planned to let go again.

It was a while before their lips parted, but they remained in each other's arms.

"So what are we going to do now?" Kas asked, still sounding a little awed, as though he couldn't quite believe they were truly, finally free.

Christabel thought about the future that lay ahead of them. She thought of the train timetable she'd perused during the trip out West, all those names, all those places. She thought of Creel House and all its horrors, now burned to the ground. Kas was still afflicted. But they were free, and together, which was the most important thing.

"Anything we want," she said. "We can travel. Around America, to Europe, or anywhere you like. We can go back to Indianapolis, to where Creel found you. Perhaps there may be some clues about where you came from, about your mother..."

"No." His arms tightened around her. "I don't want to visit the past. It only brings pain."

"But don't you want to know your real name, to find your people?"

He pressed his forehead to her so his eyes filled her vision. "Heart bound to heart, soul bound to soul," he whispered. "I'm yours, my body, my spirit, my being whole. My name is Kas. I'm yours. And you're mine. That's all I need to know."

Christabel's heart brimmed over. Out there, a city lay ruined and burning. But here, now, on this little hospital bed, tragedy seemed a thing of the past. She knew the city would be rebuilt, just as she and Kas would rebuild their lives. Together.

THE END

A/N: And that's a wrap! It has been such a fun journey with this story, and I'm so grateful to everyone for sticking with it. I do have a tentative idea for a short sequel... I don't know when I'll get around to it, since other ideas are yelling at me to write them first, but I will get to it! In the meantime, there will be more Hellcheer fics and more fics for other JQ characters. Thank you and see you again soon!

[slumped-in-the-arms-of-fiction]

We interrupt the usual sporadically and unscheduled Hellcheer programming to post a ficlet in a fandom I've never written in before!

Have a little Kanej scene, set (spoilers for early on in Crooked Kingdom) right after Inej has been rescued.

Unravel

Inej stood in a side catacomb of the mausoleum surveying the hollow in the wall. It had presumably been created to house the dearly departed of the mercher whose name adorned the crypt, but devoid of casket and lined with a blanket it would be her sleeping quarters for the scant hours she had before the plan kicked off. It felt fitting – the exhaustion in her bones told her she would sleep like the dead.

She stretched, watching the candlelight send monstrous shadows dancing on the walls, aware of – but not tuned in to – Jesper and Wylan’s hushed bickering in the main room. She closed her eyes and breathed deep of the damp air, thankful to be among familiar sounds again. 

The Wraith was used to the silence of the shadows, the quiet of the rooftops above the clamor of the Ketterdam streets, but in those long and lonely days in Van Eck’s dark cell she craved the sounds that she knew as well as her own heartbeat. 

Nina’s contented sigh as she indulged in something delicious, and Matthias’s audible swallow as he watched her; the well-oiled click of Jesper’s guns as he cocked and uncocked them, taking aim at some imagined target before twirling and holserting them once more; Wylan’s melodic hum as he toiled over some device or elaborate technical drawing; the loping swift gait and sharp tap of a cane on stone.

Inej’s ears pricked as the last sounded in the room behind her, silencing the conversation. Hissed words followed, then a shuffling of papers and hurried steps before the sound of the door closing, clearly closed as quietly as possible. Uneven steps stopped at the entrance of the catacomb.

She supposed she should thank him for rescuing her, but she didn’t want to hear how he was protecting his investment again. She didn’t want to think of that stage and its makeshift surgery; the brutal instrument swinging high; her acceptance that she was a commodity best kept pristine. She didn’t want to think how Dirtyhands needed her – unbroken, undamaged, and ready to work.

“You didn’t have to make them leave,” she said instead without turning around.

“They were being too loud,” came Kaz’s rasp. The gravel of his voice rolled down Inej’s spine and she fought the shiver left in its wake.

“They weren’t bothering me.”

“I need you sharp.”

Inej scoffed. “If I can sleep at the Slat, I can sleep here.”

“You need to rest.”

“I will,” she snapped, finally looking over her shoulder at him. His still and ever-inscrutable gaze was locked on hers, though the angles of his face shifted between shadow and candlelight as the flame flickered between them. “I am,” she said softer.

As if showing just how committed to the cause of resting she was, she turned away from him and started loosening the long braid from its coil. Letting her hair down – literally or figuratively – was not something she tended to do in company. And while she wouldn’t be entirely relaxed – her ears still alert for danger, her body ready to spring into action – she longed for a modicum of comfort while she slept.

The braid swung free then stilled down the center of her back, the tip stopping at her waist. She reached back and pulled the tie from the end, letting the rope of hair fall back behind her. She thought the slow, deliberate ritual would assuage his fears and he would slink off somewhere to no doubt set another part of his plan into motion, leaving her in peace.

But the shadows merged and loomed on the wall in front of her as he stepped closer instead. She heard the clunk of the cane put to rest on the wall beside her, a pause, a shaky inhalation.

And then Kaz’s deft fingers were unwinding the tight braid. Slowly, methodically, more gentle than she could’ve imagined; not one hair was tugged or snagged in the seams of his leather gloves. He was careful not to touch her as he lifted the braid and slipped the strands free of their twists.

Inej tried to listen to his breathing, waiting for it to turn erratic like it did in the Fjerdan prison cart, but her heart thundered in her chest and she could focus on nothing but it and the shivers Kaz’s touch was sending down her spine through her hair.

Heat radiated off his body pressed so close to her back. So close, but not close enough. She felt herself sway, woozy with the contact, but he always stayed just out of reach.

Braid unraveled, he reached the tie at the crown of her head; she held her breath as he paused once more, letting it out in a rush as he plunged his finger into the tight loops that held her hair. He pulled, just this side of gentle, the drag on her roots sending sparks across her scalp and tearing a gasp from her lips as he slipped the tie down, slow and measured. 

Inej swallowed, her mouth falling open as if to speak, unknown words barely forming before she felt his long, elegant fingers slide into her hair, combing out the waves, caressing the tension from her scalp. Her roots ached from being pulled so high for so long, and his delicate touch soothed and excited in equal measure.

She suppressed a moan as tentative fingers dragged the curtain of hair from her ear, turning her head towards the heat of him, the ragged breath on her neck. Her eyes slipped closed.

“I’m… trying,” he said quietly, his usually composed voice stuttering, his words and the buzz of proximity tingling against her feverish skin.

In an instant she felt the cool breeze on her back and she opened her eyes to see his hand snatch the cane from its place by the wall.

His hurried steps were through the mausoleum and out the door before she realized the hand she saw had been uncovered.

Crossposted to AO3

[hickeysgodcomplex]

I was talking about Hellcheer, and their first time and how that might possibly go with @friendly-jester and, well...

I think it'd be cute if maybe Chrissy is experienced as in she's had sex, but it wasn't great, but Eddie hasn't, done anything. At all.

But when they get together Eddie only aims to please, so he's constantly asking if he's doing something right, and asking if it feels good. And like... kind of making Chrissy talk more than she's used to, cuz with Jason it was all about him and his pleasure.

So she's not used to like... the person she's with wanting feedback. And at first she's awkward about it, gets quiet and flustered, and Eddie is like,

"did I do something wrong? Oh my god did that hurt? I'm so sorry!" And he's like, patting at her awkwardly and looks genuinely upset that he may have hurt her. and she just has to grab him and kiss him cuz he's so attentive and him being so AWARE of her needs just makes it such a GOOD experience that Eddie's not even great at stuff yet but Chrissy still has like 3 orgasms just souly based on his need to please her.

And she's like ...okay you're gonna be great at this. And he gets all blushy and snuggly and cute. And idk. I like the idea of them kind of learning how to do it "right" together.

[hellcheer-heaven]

Hellcheer Shenanigans: You Got the Peaches

I’m actually happy with the way this one turned out. Also yes I’m aware that Eddie is a skinny guy, not changing a thing.

Tumblr please don’t ban this. It’s a male presenting cartoon butt.

[nature-and-music-art]

Hellcheer Shenanigans: Pheromones (or Don’t be like Jason and demand a kiss. Be like Eddie instead).

Also yes I’m aware that the second panel doesn’t match up perfectly to the first, too lazy to go back and fix it.

I forgot his bat tattoos 😑

[phoenixwrites]

Your daily reminder:

You are not “problematic” for reading dark fiction.

You are not “problematic” for writing dark fiction.

You are a fascist if you try and censor it.

And just because I’ve been busy with my PLAY and my PUBLISHED NOVEL OUT IN OCTOBER—

—I didn’t forget about how antis harassed me into SI last summer.

Or how ugly you guys got about VQ.

And now you’re doing it to others because you realized that you have no power over me or my success so you want to harass others to feel powerful.

VQ is a small tiny subset of a very small ship to begin with. RPF shippers have existed since fandom began. You don’t have to like it or approve of it, but the majority of them keep to themselves.

The harassment, rumor mongering, and threats of doxxing—which did and ARE happening and it makes you a piece of shit to deny that—are out of control.

Quit with the “callout” blogs. You aren’t a great crusader making people aware. You’re just being a cunt.

Yeah I gossip about VQ. At least I own it and don’t try and cover up my gossip with the faux morality “the Hellcheer fandom needs to be made aware” shtick.

[blondiest]

NEALLO / BLONDIEST

WRITING MASTERPOST

ships i have written for:

hellcheer (eddie/chrissy from stranger things season 4)

meronia (mello/near from death note)

this blog is almost entirely SFW, but my writing, which i frequently share on here, does not always fall into that category. minors please do not interact with my mature or explicit fics! you can also find me @neallo

find below a list of fics i have posted, separated by fandom and completion status! (note: hellcheer fics not yet added to this list. also it's really out of date)

death note fanfiction

complete:

hot soup on a cold day

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 5/5 | words: 15.6k | series [1/2]

“Roger,” Near says urgently, tapping the old man’s shoulder. “Roger, Mello needs another pillow.” Roger gives Near a questioning look, slight disapproval in his eyes “He’s not making me get him one,” Near clarifies. “Mello is asleep right now. He just doesn’t look comfortable, that’s all.” Roger looks like he’s about to protest, so Near adds— “And I have my mask, so I won’t get sick.” The headmaster sighs, pointing down the hallway towards the linen closet. Near retrieves the perfect pillow— not so old as to be sagging, but not so new as to be overly stiff. Once he props Mello’s head up better, gingerly moving the older boy’s head as he sleeps, he finds Roger again. “I think Mello’s room is too cold. Do you have a space heater I could use?” Roger massages his temples. “Ms. Peterson may have one in her classroom,” he replies / “Very well, I’ll ask her. Thank you, Roger.” The white-haired boy shuffles away, determined. He’s distantly aware that he's being a pest to Roger, but it's all in aid of a good cause. Mello is sick. Mello almost never gets sick, and Near is the expert on being sick, so Near is going to make sure Mello is as comfortable as possible.

hot tea on a cold night

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 800 | series [2/2]

Mello is half-asleep when it happens. He’s half-asleep, and he thinks Near is totally asleep, but then the younger boy wriggles in his arms, burrowing closer under the covers, and murmurs: “I love you.”

Minutes to Midnight (collaboration with @empressofthewind)

[part 2 of Time Together]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 3/3 | words: 14.8k

This is the only issue Near has with letting Mello do all their debriefings: it’s easy for Near to stare, undetected and uninterrupted, for a long, long time. In New York, he mitigates this by spreading out on the floor and surrounding himself with toys or cards or dice. Whatever he needs to do to occupy himself. When they’ve travelled for cases before – which isn’t common by any stretch of the imagination – Near has relied on the movements and sounds of their colleagues to pull his attention away instead. The squeak of Rester’s chair, the tapping of Gevanni’s polished shoe, the sound of Lidner shuffling through papers. He uses whatever he can to keep his eyes off Mello. Out of sight, out of mind. Right now, he’s out of luck.

it’s you and me, that’s my whole world

[part 1 of together (always)]

rating: T | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 3.5k

Once she reaches the first floor and steps out of the elevator, Near hears a voice floating down the hall. It’s a woman’s voice, so it must be Lidner, but the pitch of it and the cadence of speech seems painfully similar to the way Mello talked, even without being able to hear the actual words. The closer she gets, the more it sounds like her dead lover, and Near curses how cruel her mind’s tricks are. She has to grit her teeth and breathe in deep to get herself to push through the door into the main office, feeling almost nauseous with grief again already. A blonde woman in a red winter jacket stands with her back to Near, but she turns when the toy in Near’s hand clatters to the ground. Mello’s eyes are tired, underlined by dark circles, but she grins. “Hey, Near.”

i know i’m gonna lose you (but god, i don’t want to)

[part 2 of together (always)]

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 3.5k

Near’s bedroom— her tidy little suite in her untidy little makeshift headquarters in a high-rise hotel in Tokyo— is lit only by the shine of the city and the glow of the moon. Because the moon is full and because the city is bright, Mello can see her perfectly. Every little hair on her arms and legs catch the light as she sheds her soft, simple bra. The only thing Mello has taken off so far are her gloves. -- In which Mello rings in 2010 with some good old-fashioned lesbian sex and a minor emotional crisis. prequel to it's you and me, that's my whole world.

there's nothing i want but you

[part 1 of i want to hold you (hostage)]

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.5k

Though Near doesn’t really mind Mello’s tendency towards jealousy, he also doesn’t understand it. There’s no one in the world Near wants the way he wants Mello, no one who matters the way Mello does— he’s everything to Near. There’s no reason for him to feel jealous of anyone else. Near doesn’t get jealous of anyone else. Until, one day, he does.

nothing hurts like you do

[part 2 of i want to hold you (hostage)]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 3.8k

Mello shoves him against the wall, his free hand moving from Near’s hair to the center of his chest as he holds the gun just inches from his forehead. He gives Near a once-over, quick, and at first Near thinks he hasn’t noticed anything amiss, but then an unkind smile unfurls on his face. “Hands up,” Mello says, grinning manically.

i want to hold you (hostage)

[part 3 of i want to hold you (hostage)]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 4/4 | words: 21.7k

Rico asks, casual, what Mello will want next, what he’ll aim for after he gets the notebook, and suddenly it’s like the ground has dropped out from underneath him, because the first thing that comes to mind is Near. His stomach sinks as he tries to regain some semblance of composure, fighting off imaginings both tender and cruel, furious with himself for being so weak-minded. Near, he thinks forcefully, is in the past. He isn’t an option for what’s to come— and even if he was, Mello wouldn’t want him. (He wouldn’t.) (He wouldn’t.) (God. He can’t even convince himself anymore.)

my only one, my smoking gun

[part 1 of our love is god]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 4/4 | words: 3.3k

For as long as he can recall, he’s ached over Near. It wasn’t always like this, though; he didn’t realize he wanted Near until it was too late to actually have him. He should be grateful, really, because he’s been able to linger here after death, and that’s more than he deserves, but God, Mello would give anything to kiss him just once.

heaven is a place on earth with you

[part 2 of our love is god]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.4k

There is no blood or body of Christ, no priest and no pews, but it’s here and now that Mello finally rediscovers a long-lost sliver of faith. Hands on Near’s hips, Mello lowers his face and presses his mouth to Near’s soft abdomen. “I love you,” he murmurs, head bowed and eyes shut as if in prayer.

replication in reverse

[part 3 of our love is god]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.4k

Mello mumbles something into his neck, something to the effect of waiting until Near is ready for him to move, but Near only halfway registers it. Golden hair tickles his nose, and he pictures mitosis— prophase, metaphase, anaphase, telophase— then imagines cytokinesis in reverse. Two cells pushed together until, somehow, their membranes connect, two phospholipid bilayers self-arranging into one continuous structure, cytoplasms mingling. He swallows thickly and longs for something impossible.

starry eyes sparking up my darkest nights

[part 1 of you got your eyes from the stars]

rating: T | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 930

Near has a nightmare on the flight back to New York after the end of the Kira case; Mello, still tipsy off of the red wine they served in first class, is unexpectedly tender.

fireworks somewhere far away

[part 2 of you got your eyes from the stars]

rating: T | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2k

It’s the fourth of July. Or, rather, it’s still the fourth of July in the United States, which is where they live, but they’re in Madrid at the moment, so technically where they are it’s the fifth. It’s not hard math to figure out what time it is back home— it’s a little before six in the morning here, so it’ll be a little before midnight in New York. Somewhere on the West Coast or in the Rocky Mountains, though, there are fireworks going off. That’s what Near is thinking when Mello kisses her for the first time.

engaged

rating: M | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.4k

“So, like, I suddenly realized… Near is into me. Like, Near wants me.” He pauses as if to allow this to sink in, looking at Matt like this is still a groundbreaking revelation the second time around when it in fact was not even groundbreaking the first. Near’s crush has been obvious to literally everyone but Mello for the past ten years. “Yes. This surprised you. And also me, because I definitely did not know that Near was into you before you told me fifteen minutes ago.” Mello nods, satisfied, entirely missing Matt’s sarcasm, which might be for the best. “So, naturally, I slept with him.” “Naturally,” Matt says. Mello does not miss the sarcasm this time. “If you’re just going to be a judgmental bitch the whole time, I’m not going to explain it again. You should be smart enough to remember what I fucking said the first time anyway.” “No, yeah, I actually think most well-adjusted people would sleep with their sworn enemies the moment they find out they’re into them.” Matt smiles tightly. “It wasn’t the moment I found out,” Mello says petulantly. “I waited like, four hours.”

it’s friday, i’m in love

rating: M | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2.7k

Mello abandons a night out in favor of seeing (and holding and kissing and sleeping beside) Near.

early arrival

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.5k

It’s one in the morning and Near is wide awake, talking to Mello in hushed tones as the other passengers sleep soundly around them. According to the small screen on the back of the seat in front of him, they’re more than halfway through the flight, but it’s far from almost-over— it will be another three hours before they touch down in London.

Distraction (collaboration with @empressofthewind)

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2.9k

The small pout Near offers in response would, under normal circumstances, result in the rapid undoing of Mello’s resolve. Worse still is that Near has begun writhing in his lap; not quite grinding on him, but shifting his weight in a way that’s troublesome nonetheless. Mello huffs. Near is fully aware of what he’s doing. He knows the effect he has on Mello. He’s teasing him. If that’s how this is going to be, then perhaps Mello will do a little teasing of his own.

wedding doves & leather gloves

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1k

“Don’t tell me,” Near says, derisive tone tainted by her words wavering. “You want to hear that I’m yours.” Exquisite pain blossoms across her scalp as Mello yanks on her hair. “Don’t be a fucking brat,” Mello hisses. “Answer me. What are you, Near?” “I’m a detective,” she replies flatly. “Just like you are.”

unknown caller

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 3.3k

“What are you wearing?” Near’s brow furrows in confusion. “What I always have worn.” “Mm. It’s summer, so— linen, right?” “Correct.” She wonders, then, if Mello asked the question to prompt Near to ask the same in return. Sometimes people do that. This is something she has learned since Mello left. “What are you wearing?” Near asks politely. “I am wearing,” Mello says, breathy, “black lace. It’s this— this fucking expensive set, you know— nice lingerie. I look good in it.” The description is extremely vague. Near does not know what nice lingerie looks like— she wears the same kind of cotton boyshort underwear every single day and a soft, thin bra. She also does not, honestly, know what Mello’s aim is in telling her this. It seems unlikely that she would call for the first time in five years to gloat about her finery, so there must be some kind of purpose to it, she just— “I’m touching myself,” Mello announces. Near drops the phone.

shot in the dark (collaboration with @empressofthewind)

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 8.2k

Mello’s posture changes, abrupt but liquid-smooth, shoulders squaring and spine straightening as he raises the gun until Near is staring down the barrel of it. Blood rushes in his ears, loud. Mello licks his lips. “Get up.”

something stronger than the drinks in the bar (matt/halle)

rating: M | category: F/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2.3k

A former CIA agent and an exonerated felon walk into a hotel. There’s no punchline. They just fuck.

crying only because i’m happy

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 575

In which Mello lovingly overwhelms her good girl.

there’s an ache in you put there by the ache in me

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 975

The snow angels are, in all honesty, an excuse, a shameless attempt to get Near alone, to talk with him away from all these fucking people. He didn’t expect so many of their classmates to come back to Wammy’s for the holidays, but maybe he should have— after all, he hates this place, and yet here he is, half-drunk and dragging his ex-rival-turned-ex-something-else out into the cold.

three part harmony

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 2/2 | words: 6.1k

The thing is, whether Mello wants to admit it or not, there’s clearly chemistry between him and Near. It’s not like what he and Matt have with one another; it’s more intense. A little volatile, maybe. It used to be almost painful for Matt to watch, because it made him feel excluded, but he thinks that was probably more a product of his own insecurities than anything else. Now, though... well. Now it kind of turns him on. The first time he realized that, it startled him, because he wasn't just turned on by Mello being in his element, staring intently at Near as the two of them talked over the details of a new case. No. Something about how Near was looking at Mello, the gleam in his eye, the serious set of his jaw— Alright. Matt has a type, okay? He doesn't know why freaky little geniuses do it for him, they just do. Mello probably broke his brain when they lost their virginity to each other in L.A. five years back. It's not Matt’s fault.

untouched

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2.5k

The storm is the only reason Near is here, and the only reason Mello let him in. That’s what Mello is trying to tell himself, anyway. — In which an old habit turns into something new.

good boy

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 5.3k

Mello’s stare is warm and constant, and the comforting exhilaration of it builds and builds within Near until he feels like he may burst. There is something he wants to say to Mello, but he doesn’t know what it is. Before he can ever say anything at all, though, Mello stands to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. Before he goes, he gives Near two lists. One for the night. One for the next morning. Near always follows them to the letter. — In which Mello and Near form a dom-sub relationship centered entirely around shared meals and to-do lists.

works in progress:

there’s nothing i hate more than what i can’t have

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 6/7 | words: 21.6k

“Ah, good morning,” Near says, and solely from the look on his face Mello knows he is missing some key fucking information. “I thought maybe you had left.” Mello shakes his head. He’s somewhat distracted by the fact that he still can’t tell if Near is naked; he’s shirtless, though, and that’s already ten times more of Near’s skin than Mello has ever seen before. Or, it’s more than he can recall seeing, anyways. And now Mello can’t stop staring at his chest. It’s so stupid, because Near is thin and scrawny and all pasty but Mello cannot tear his eyes away anyways— “So—” Mello’s voice fucking cracks as he finally manages to start speaking, a clear sign that some higher power is out to get him. He presses onwards anyways. “So, last night was…” He trails off, not even sure how he wants to finish the sentence, or if he wants to finish it at all. Near brings a pale hand to his hair and idly twirls a strand “Surprising,” Near completes the thought before glancing away. “But… not entirely unpleasant.” — In which Mello wakes up in Near’s bed after a night out and arrives at a wildly incorrect conclusion regarding the events that landed him there.

bury us both

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 11/14 | words: 20k

Mello is demonstrably capable of killing, and has perhaps more reason to want Near dead than anyone else on the face of the earth. They were once rivals, and Near knows a fragment of that resentment lingers even now. She is also likely the only person who could successfully bring Mello to justice, so her very existence is a threat to Mello’s, in a sense. If that weren’t enough, there is the fact that Mello could make a fortune, too, were she to kill Near. There are no shortage of people who would pay a handsome sum to see L’s head on a platter. And it would be so simple for her to do it, so easy. She’s had countless opportunities— the two of them alone, Near in all kinds of vulnerable positions, any number of potentially deadly weapons within reach�� but she’s never taken one. Despite having every possible motive and every possible chance, Mello has not killed her. On more than one occasion, she’s even protected Near. This is how she knows Mello loves her in her way, even if she has not said it aloud. Even if it isn’t enough to make her stay. -- Mello and Near through the years, in love and in agony.

what doesn't kill me makes me want you more

rating: M | category: F/F | chapters: 3/? | words: 6.3k

“Poor Near,” Mello says, stepping closer and pulling Near’s head back further, tilting her face up as Mello cages her against the wall. “How long have you liked me?” Near’s heart is kicking against her ribcage so hard it almost hurts, and her ears are burning with embarrassment. She squeezes her eyes shut, unable to hold the blonde’s gaze. “Mello, I...” she tries to speak, hoarse. “Has it been months?” Mello asks, her voice getting closer as Near feels her lean down. She braves a glimpse through her lashes and watches as Mello bends her head to brush her cheek against Near’s, putting her lips next to Near’s ear. “Years, maybe?” The older girl teases. Near finds it in herself to squeak out a “yes,” and almost jumps at Mello’s sharp intake of breath. “Years,” Mello marvels.

all’s fair in love and war (and this is both)

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 3/4 | words: 15.1k

Near has Mello under siege, dragging him into a battle of wits, strategy, and stealth, one that has him in a state of constant vigilance, ever-ready for an attack. With his dignity and his ego on the line, Mello throws himself head-first into psychological warfare against his longtime rival, trying any tactic he can to help him turn the tide in his favor. The game is as complex and mind-bending as four-dimensional chess, and Mello has to think twenty moves ahead just to keep up, but he’ll be damned before losing to Near at this. Or: Near accidentally gaslights Mello into being his boyfriend, and Mello does Olympic-level mental gymnastics in order to read Near’s actions as sinister.

an unusual proposal

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/? | words: 2k

“So,” Mello says. “What do you think?” Near scrutinizes his rival. Mello fidgets with the chain attached to his pants, seemingly anxious but still gravely serious. The proposal is… unconventional, to say the least, and logistically rather complicated— there are at least four-dozen things that could go wrong, and that’s just off the top of his head. It won’t be easy. His decision, though, is easy. He does not want Mello to die, and this, strange as it may be, seems like the best way to protect him. “Yes,” Near says. “I’ll do it.”

love chained

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/? | words: 4.7k

Against his will, his mind momentarily drifts to Near. He thinks about how Near gets chilled if he isn’t held close enough after he’s been fucked, and how perfectly his body fits against Mello’s own, how comfortable it is to curl around him. It never really bugs him that Near wants to be close after sex. There’s a sort of irresistibility to him, actually, that pulls Mello in— his skin damp and flushed, his breaths uneven, his limbs slack in the aftermath of his orgasm. Near smells kind of nice even when he’s all sweaty, and he makes this happy little sound when Mello’s face finds its way into the crook of his neck, and he’s so quiet and still when he falls asleep that it somehow soothes Mello into slumber, too. God damn it. At the end of the day, this is his problem. He shouldn’t have thoughts this fond about Near; it’s weird, and not at all casual, and if he lets it continue he’s going to completely wreck what they have.

faded to oblivion

rating: E | category: F/M | chapters: 2/? | words: 3.6k

When Near phoned and asked to see him, he had a few vague guesses as to what she might need from him. This was not on the list.

[a-strange-inkling]

If it were up to you ( one of the best hellcheer fanfiction writer) what would you fix or change about the fight of Icarus?

Aw shux, that’s high praise! I really don’t think I’m worthy of that, but thank you 🤍

Oh God… what a laundry list 😆 read at your own risk below (I think I’ve finally run out of things to say about this book and will be moving on now 😅)

I’m going to be honest, the best way fo fix it would be to not write a book. Point blank. If I was involved with the show at all I would have NEVER written a book about Eddie in any official capacity. I don’t know if the author was aware of just how unhinged certain parts of his fanbase are (I’m sure she is now) but you’re not going to make anyone happy with this. Eddie’s ridiculously popular yes, I get it, but part of his appeal for people was how untouched his background was.

Flight of Icarus is kind of a mess plot wise with pretty weak/poor characterizations. There’s some good elements and scenes in it. It’s not bad, but it’s not great either. It’s pretty mid. I mean books based on tv shows aren’t exactly known for their… luster. It’s obviously going to lack the passion of an unpaid fanfic writer who has spent endless hours watching season 4 and doing in-depth research and analysis for their work… but that’s what we’re all used to. That’s our standard. So it’s kind of already set up for failure.

But, if I was in charge of a book like this, here’s some of the things I would do differently:

I’d have picked ONE main plot to focus on because there is way too much going on in these 280 pages for me to have the time to be invested or care about anything. There’s like three plus storylines going on with Eddie all to push ONE narrative which is basically him choosing between risking everything for a fantasy/dream of fame and money or staying true to himself and what’s real which is the steadfast loyalty of his friends and family. This takes the form of Al vs Wayne, Paige vs Ronnie, LA vs Hawkins, solo career vs band/hellfire, dropping out to try to become a rockstar vs being the first Munson to graduate, who Eddie wants to be vs who he truly is deep down.

It’s just too much.

I’d have taken a little more time making Eddie three dimensional. I know he’s a side character, but a lot of heart and thought went into creating him (at least on Joe’s end). I’d have made more conscious choices for his character, especially if he’s narrating in first person (I would have not used first person). His outer dialog is great (the dialog throughout the whole thing is actually really great, you can tell the author’s a screen writer and it’s one of the stronger elements to the book) but his inner monologue is pretty ooc and at times really off. He lacks a lot of the things that drew people to him in the first place or it’s just not as strongly presented I guess. He doesn’t feel fully formed.

If I was going to give Eddie a love interest (I don’t know why you would do that to yourself at this point, his fanbase is volatile at best and either ships him with Steve, Chrissy, or themselves, no one is going to like it) I’d have given her WAY better writing than an immersive wattpad character with little to no character traits outside of her aesthetic and interests which is an alternative style and liking music. Wow. Groundbreaking. I would have her make decisions based on a fully formed personality verses the convenience of the plot. And if not, if she’s going to be a means to an end, I’d at least go all in and make her wild or evil or a total bitch or conniving or funny or grumpy or goofy or something. She’s not given enough focus or time to be well rounded so I’d just have fun and go batshit crazy with her (don’t worry Paige, you’re mine now and I will give you an actual character and vindication).

Eddie choosing between his dad and Wayne would have probably been the plot I picked to focus on and I would have really dived into that. The good, bad and the ugly of the Munson family. Because Al (that would not be his name btw 🤢) and Wayne reflect the two sides of Eddie’s character. A charming, self serving, cowardly asshole and a good, strong and kind person who protects and looks after others. I like Ronnie a lot and she’s probably the best written character in the book, but Wayne needed to have more spotlight for this.

I’d have definitely made the plot a lot less fantastical and way more of a simple character study. Just Eddie deciding between embracing the infamy of the Munson family or choosing to rise above it. Does he decide to scheme and cheat like his dad to get more out of life or does he do the right thing and stay the course to actually graduate and make something of himself. That’s it. All that’s needed. Eddie getting a shot at being a rockstar at eighteen in Hawkins is already kind of odd, especially when his in is a twenty year old “junior scout”??? Who just happens to be at his dive bar and have the hots for him and fucks him and pretty much offers him a life in LA on a silver platter with no issues other than having to bail on his band and high school club?? It’s… a bit much for our unlucky loser boy we see in the show. Book Eddie is as lucky as they come, but he’s a total dumbass and decides to trust and scheme with his deadbeat father??? Who has always failed him? Why? I get he needs money but his kinda girlfriend’s got a job and he’s pretty much got a record deal. What even is this? That whole storyline would be scrapped to hell. But hey, at least it’s more believable than an actual drug heist and a kingpin and a shoot out. Oh and arson. It’s giving… *shivers* Riverdale and not in a good way.

Lastly, I’d have taken the opportunity to develop characters from the show a little more. Not a ton, but like the author did with Higgins. I really like how he was written in the novel. He had a lot of fire and personality out of nowhere which was kind of hilarious. I probably would have expanded Jason the most actually, I’d have added more to that tense rivalry. And I’d have left Chrissy pretty much out of it. The talent show is best left to the imagination and we already have a delicate narrative between them because of the forest scene. I wouldn’t want to add too much there. But she’d have a cameo for sure. Like brief eye contact or a shared smile or something at the very end of the book. Just a little glimmer of what’s to come. I’m also a Eddie has always had a little bit of a thing for Chrissy truther, so in my bias I might have him quietly admire her from afar or something.

And there you go.

I mean you’re going to get my version of his backstory eventually anyway and bonus he and Chrissy live, get married and have kids. Yay!