#elizabeth cunningham munson

[hellcheer-heaven]

Eddie singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star in a heavy metal voice to baby Elizabeth and she belly laughs. It’s the kind of laugh that makes his heart melt and his face red as he laughs too. Chrissy is trying to keep the video camera steady, but the giggles get to her too.

[hellfiretropical]

Vou escrever aqui um pouco das minhas impressões sobre #FlightOfIcarus

Não pretendo dar spoilers, mas se você não quer ter nem a ligeira impressão de nada, não continue.

A primeira coisa que temos que lembrar ao ler o livro, é que é uma fanservice. E isso não é uma crítica. Pelo contrário, era exatamente isso que os fãs de Eddie queriam. 

Na primeira metade do livro é isso que acontece, esclarece mais da vida do Eddie e somos apresentados a novos e antigos personagens.

A partir da segunda metade do livro é onde se desenrola a maior parte da trama. E talvez aqui seja o principal ponto de crítica à história feita por alguns. Pelo contexto é de se estranhar que o Eddie que muitos idealizam se envolveria em uma trama como essa. Mas o meu estranhamento aqui não é em relação a uma visão idealizada. Um traço que vemos no Eddie no início de ST4 é a sua "covardia". Esse inclusive é um grande ponto de superação do personagem na série. Mas pelo enredo do livro, aparentemente, essa "covardia" já teria sido superada no livro mesmo. É difícil imaginar um Eddie que considera que " não há vergonha em fugir", topando fazer um assalto ao "trem pagador". Há uma repetição de história no fim do livro. Pois assim como no fim da série, Eddie não foge, sendo corajoso ao encarar seu destino.

Porém, se não fosse esse enredo, não teríamos uma trama de verdade, ou pelo menos ela seria focada muito menos na relação Eddie x pai, e de como isso impacta na personalidade do personagem. Aliás, acho que esse é um bom resumo geral do texto. 

Minha outra crítica é ao fim do livro. Achei que ficaram pontas soltas ou simplesmente mal acabadas. Se for a primeira opção, mais coisas devem vir por aí, visto que entre a história do livro e os acontecimentos de ST4 decorrem mais 2 anos. O jeito vai ser esperar pra ver.

Em relação aos novos personagens, o surgimento de Paige e Ronnie são muito bons. Ambas são personagens carismáticas. Não tem como não ter simpatia por elas, sabendo que elas veem em Eddie a mesma coisa que vemos e que por isso mesmo gostam tanto dele. No caso de Ronnie, Eddie parece ter, a parti de agora, uma ligação muito mais forte com ela. Uma amizade mais significativa do que com qualquer outro membro do Hellfire ou do Corroded Coffin, tanto em suas antigas ou novas formações. Não tem como não querer saber mais sobre como essa amizade se desenrolou após os acontecimentos do livro.

E eu gostei da Paige. Achei um ótimo exemplo de romance que dá errado na vida de todo mundo simplesmente porque "não é pra acontecer". Para um personagem muitas vezes injustiçado como Eddie, é bom saber que havia mais pessoas que gostavam tanto dele assim. E falando como fã, nada disso atrapalha qualquer outro headcon que você tenha para ele. Pelo contrário, só ajuda a enriquecer. Assim como o final de Ronnie, achei que o de Paige também ficou vago. 

A relação Eddie x Wayne é bem como esperávamos: duas pedras com dificuldade de expressar seus sentimentos. Toda essa dinâmica poderia ter sido melhor desenvolvida dando até um pouco mais de destaque a atuação de Wayne na vida de Eddie. Mas o essencial está ali, a tábua de salvação de Eddie sempre foi Wayne. É ele que permanece, ainda que Eddie esperasse que fosse outra pessoa (o pai). Eddie reconhece isso ainda que de maneira muito sutil, e nesse ponto acho que a autora poderia ter sido mais clara, deixando ser mais expressivo esse reconhecimento.

Outro ponto importante são as lembranças de Eddie em relação a Chrissy. Independente do que qualquer um pense, fica clara a importância do encontro deles e de como isso marcou Eddie ( e provavelmente Chrissy) ao longo do tempo, e de como a personalidade de Chrissy ainda é significativa para ele. Assim como fica claro também que ele ainda a observava mesmo que dentro de toda a dinâmica social do grupo popular ( e rival) do colégio. Assim como Eddie mesmo disse, a Chrissy que ele conheceu ainda estava lá, só que já aprisionada por todo o drama que conhecemos dela em ST4, com menções diretas aos abusos cometidos por Laura e Jason. Para os fãs do maior "casal que poderia ter sido", como eu sou, não há nada do que reclamar pois tudo que imaginávamos está com suas bases ali, ou seja, todas as fics que lemos e escrevemos estão absolutamente certas.

Ainda falando em fanservice, a interação final entre Eddie e os irmãos Bayers foi quase  somente porque muitos de nós, fãs, queríamos ver isso. E talvez  também, como uma forma de corrigir algo do roteiro de ST4. Porque simplesmente não havia motivos para que esses personagens nunca tenham interagido na tela uns com os outros. Apesar disso é um encontro significativo já que encerra a decisão de Eddie de finalmente se tornar o que ele deveria ser (uma adorável aberração), mais parecido com o Eddie que viríamos a conhecer, mas sem deixar de lado os nuances de luz e sombra, principalmente de sombras que vimos de forma significativa no livro.

Isso inclusive pode explicar a estranheza de muitos ao ler o livro e não identificar o Eddie "de verdade". É porque em parte, esse Eddie que conhecemos em ST4 estava se construindo ao longo do livro ainda. 

Por fim, como fã do personagem gostei muito da história. Tem uma ou outra falha, mas ainda assim consegue entregar o que os fãs queriam. Temos Eddie do início ao fim, suas dores, suas alegrias, seus dilemas. A relação emocionante dele com sua mãe ( sim, eu me emocionei mais de uma vez lendo ele e suas lembranças com a mãe). Assim como a relação conturbada com o pai, que talvez tenha sido o que menos tenha dado surpresas ao lermos.

Tranquilamente dou um 9/10.

[generalcloudhopper]

Finally started the process of sticking all these characters onto the wall. Slowly making more.

[enoughtotemptme]

a year and a day

Everyone knows that if you want to make a deal, you go to Eddie Munson.

Desperate to be rid of Jason once and for all, Chrissy makes a deal with the local demon. The consequences are…not what she expected. A story of friendship, love, and paying one’s debts.

Chapters: 1/13 Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationship: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Demon Deals, POV Chrissy Cunningham, Friendship, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Found Family, Roommates, Domestic Fluff, 1990s, Caretaking, Pining

Chapter One: June

Everyone knows that if you want to make a deal, you go to Eddie Munson.

---

It takes until the rehearsal, when Jason says, “I do” with a look on his face of complete and utter triumph, that Chrissy realizes, quite suddenly, that she doesn’t think she wants to do this. 

“And do you, Chrissy Elizabeth Cunningham,” the pastor drones in the echoing hall of the church, “take this man, Jason Harrison Carver, to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death do you part?” 

She’d told him she didn’t want obey in the vows. He’d argued that it was traditional, and he wanted to get married with the same vows both of their parents had.

“Angel. Chrissy.”

Chrissy swallows hard, words sticking in her throat as Jason prompts her. The smile on his face doesn’t disappear, but his eyes grow flinty. His hands start to hurt on hers. 

“I…” she manages with a wince, but the rest still refuses to come out. 

“Chrissy!” her mother hisses from the front pew; her face, when Chrissy glances over, is rapidly turning the color of the inside of a watermelon. Her father looks uneasy, and her brother is glancing between all of the adults with confusion written all over his face. 

Jason turns his broad, All-American grin on the pastor and says in a jocular tone, “A little nervous. All brides are, right? Excuse us for a moment.”  

He drags her into the storage room off the side of the hall, where boxes of communion wafers and industrial-sized pallets of juice crowd the walls. 

“What the hell, Chris?” he demands, shutting the door with a small slam that belies the calm he’d been showing to the others. 

“I—I’m not sure that…” Chrissy winces again, tugging at her hand. “Jason, stop. That hurts.” 

He doesn’t let go. His grip only grows tighter, squeezing until it feels like her bones are grinding against one another. 

“What the hell do you mean, not sure? We’ve been waiting for this for four years. I’ve been waiting for you for four damn years,” he hisses, conveniently ignoring the fact that, while he was ‘waiting,’ he’d enjoyed the company of all kinds of other women. He hadn’t exactly made a secret of it, calling on the phone only a few months into her freshman year to confess and announce all in one breath that a guy has needs, Chrissy, angel; you understand.

Chrissy had been more discreet about her own needs, though she hadn’t allowed herself to give much thought as to why she’d kept it from Jason.

“I know,” Chrissy says. “I know that, it’s just—I really don’t like the vows, Jason. I told you that.”

He scoffs. His blonde hair is perfectly parted, not one strand out of place. He has a Ken-doll perfection that she’d always found appealing, but now it’s at odds with the puce color he’s gaining in his face.

“It’s just words, Chrissy. I told you we should do the traditional ones and you agreed!”

“No,” she says, “I didn’t. Words matter, Jason, and—”

“Why does it matter?” he interrupts, stepping closer still. Her wrist and hand are aching; his cologne, usually pleasant, begins to make her nauseous as he puts every inch of their height difference toward making her feel small. “You and me, we’ve always been on the same page. It shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“If I’m going to promise something, I want to feel comfortable with it—”

“Then hurry up and get comfortable,” Jason snaps. “They’re the vows we’re using. I’m the man, and you’re the wife, and this is what we’ve been waiting all this time for.”

In the traditional vows, the man doesn’t vow to obey the woman. He promises instead to worship her. It sounds laughable to her now. Vow or no vow, he’ll never worship her.

Chrissy looks into the eyes of Jason Carver, the man she’d said yes to four years ago when it had felt romantic to promise her future to her high school boyfriend. 

Even knowing they’d have to spend the majority of her undergraduate degree states apart, she’d felt so adult and worldly, going off to college engaged. True, they’d talked less and less as the semesters progressed—they’d talked on the phone every week, at first, and then every other, and then once a month until they only spoke when they saw each other in Hawkins on school breaks. 

But Chrissy’s future marriage to Jason was part of the facts of her universe: psych paper due on Tuesday, and she’s going to marry Jason after graduation. Avoid the inedible dining hall meatloaf, and she’s going to marry Jason after graduation. Bring James or Brian or Katie home for the night, and she’s going to marry Jason after graduation. 

It was so inevitable a truth that it seemed inconsequential, the way you know an orange falling from a tree will land on the ground but you’re hardly going to worry about gravity.

Until you’re the one falling, that is. And that’s what it had felt like, ever since graduation. Chrissy had come back to Hawkins and squeezed herself into her old life like it was a dress a size too small—church on Sundays, stingy dinner plates and comments about the freshman fifteen, wet mouth on her neck and a cool, clammy hand clamped possessively around hers—and spent the last month feeling that sickening rush in her stomach. Like she’d been on an elevator falling from the hundredth floor, waiting for impact.

In the space of a single breath, Chrissy finally understands why.  

She can’t marry him.

But when she looks into the eyes of Jason Carver, sees the rage narrowing them and feels the punishing grip his fist still has around hers, she knows, deep in her bones, that he’ll never let her go.

“You’re right,” Chrissy says eventually, the words tasting sour. “I’m just…nervous. But you’re right. We’ve been waiting a long time for this.” 

“Good. Jeez, Chris. Couldn’t you have gotten the hysterics over with before the damn rehearsal? What, are you PMSing or something?” Jason grumbles, but his hackles are coming down and his grip is growing looser.

She bites her tongue, then makes herself say, “Maybe that’s it. It is close to that time of the month.”

He grimaces, then pulls her back toward the door. “Come on. You’ve already caused a scene; let’s get this done.”

Bracing herself with a deep, silent breath while his back is turned, Chrissy goes back out into the church, pastes a smile on her face in front of the pastor, and says, “I do.”

Then, as the rehearsal wraps up and their families filter out of the church to drive to Enzo’s for the dinner, she places her right hand on Jason’s shoulder and murmurs in his ear. 

“I think you were right about the PMS. I’m having a feminine issue,” Chrissy tells him. Her hand is still red; the marks will deepen to a bruise by tomorrow. “I need to run to the store for some stuff. Drop me off and I’ll meet you at Enzo’s?” 

He rolls his eyes and tugs her up against him for a kiss. “Told you. Hurry up, Chris.” 

She smiles at him, pecks him on the lips one more time. “I will.” 

On the street a block over from Melvald’s, Chrissy shuts the passenger door and waves cheerfully as he drives on, then walks down the sidewalk toward the cross street that would take her to the general store. She listens to the roar of the engine, the gradual dissipation of sound as Jason drives the opposite direction to Enzo’s.  

The second she rounds the corner, she’s running for the woods.  

[click here to read the rest of chapter one on ao3]

[badfanfictionaire]

It’s not unusual for a vampire to go their whole existence wishing to find someone to spend forever with.  They’ll probably have five or six lovers over their lifetime, until they inevitably got snuffed out by some happy-go-lucky monster hunter and perish like a pathetically mortal soul.  But, they’ll probably never find the one before that. Eddie’s never heard of a vampire meeting their soulmate, at least not in real life.  Lore would suggest that women swoon over vampire lords, and swear allegiance to them for as long as they both shall live.  But, lore would also have you believe that all vampires can turn into bats (which, bummer, they can’t), and that they’re all allergic to garlic (which again is untrue, garlic bread is delicious) (Why is it that only the shitty parts of lore are true, like the whole stake through the heart bit?). In Eddie’s experience, the minute you ask a girl if she wants to spend forever forever with you, she freaks the fuck out and takes off.  (Which, ouch??)

Needless to say, Eddie doesn’t even consider the possibility that he might meet his soulmate backstage at a talent show in some podunk town in Indiana.  Life gets boring as hell when you’ve been alive for six hundred some odd years, so, from time to time he liked to get creative with his human persona.  In 1980 he decided that with a buzzcut and ill-fitting clothes, he could probably still pass as a middle schooler, especially if Wayne told the school he’d been held back or something.  So he decides to try going back to school.  He kind of underestimated how different school was going to be in 1980 though, given that he hadn’t been in school since the 1960s.  Things had changed a lot, and he stuck out like a sore thumb.  

He met Christine Elizabeth Cunningham on September 12th, 1980, and he just knew he had to win her over some how.  By 1986, he’d realized that was going to be a lot harder than he’d anticipated…

But, in March of that year, he caught a break, Chrissy broke up with her long-time boyfriend and needed a shoulder to cry on.  And it just so happened he had not one but two leather-clad shoulders to offer.  And so, offer he did.  As luck would have it, having existed for six hundred-some-odd years finally paid off, because if there was one thing he’d become quite proficient at in his life it was being a good listener.  Tearfully she told him everything, from how controlling her mother was to how much of a moldy schnitzel Jason was. 

Somehow they ended up back at his place and got high, laying with their faces inches apart on his bed. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” 

She nods. 

“I’m a vampire,” he whispers.

She giggles. “Sure don’t look like one to me.”

“No? Not even with the pale skin and the whole dark aesthetic?” 

“No,” she says, making grabby hands at him, “You’re too squishy.” 

She scooches a bit closer and her hands land on his shoulders, “You listen to me, Eddie Munson, you are not a mean scary vampire like everyone says you are.  You’re just a big soft teddy bear who wears black and… well, you’re too hot to be a crusty old vampire anyway.”

His breath catches in his throat with the way her big blue eyes bore into his soul, but then she lets out another giggle and he can’t help but laugh too. 

Later, when they’re starting to sober up, he rolls over to face her again. 

“Can I tell you something serious?”

“Anything,” she says. 

“I really am a vampire.”

Her eyes rove over his face, and don’t see any hint of it being a joke. 

“Oh.” 

“Wanna see?” 

“See what?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing together. 

“My, uh, crusty old vampire fangs?” 

Hesitantly she nods.  Maybe she’s expecting him to produce a pair of those flimsy imitation fangs they sell at Party City, but he knows she’s probably not expecting him to open his mouth and protract his fangs. 

“Holy shit,” she murmurs, her eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” he says, immediately retracting them and regretting having frightened her.  She was just so disarming, he couldn’t help it.  He wanted her to know him, the real him, even if it meant they only had today. 

“What for?” 

“I’m a monster, Chrissy,” he says, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. 

“Hey, look at me,” she says, her tiny fingers pushing his chin back up so his eyes meet hers again, “You are not a monster, Eddie.  I mean, maybe in the literal sense, but, in all the other ways? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who was less of a monster than you.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Whatever self-deprecating you’re going to say, I won’t hear it.”

“I shouldn’t have sprung that on you,” he says. 

Chrissy gives him a one-shoulder shrug. 

“You know, you’re not what I thought you’d be like,” she says softly. 

“Mean and scary? Not even with the fangs?” 

She nods, then, “I’m not scared, you know.” 

“You should be.” He brushes his thumb against her cheek. 

“Kiss me?” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Please,” she urges sweetly. 

And so he does, gently, tenderly, with every ounce of himself.  

“I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you,” he breathes when they separate for air, “Even back then-”

“Back then?”

“The middle school talent show,” he says, remembering it fondly. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember,” she replies, averting her eyes in shame.

“I wouldn’t remember me from back then either,” he assures her, “But, perchance, we could continue from here? Where we are now?”

“I’d like that,” she says, a contented smile replacing her frown. 

It’s much too soon to ask her to be his bride, or to ask for her to join him in the afterlife, but he knows deep down in his heart that one day she’ll agree to both propositions.  He’d wait another hundred years if he had to, as long as it meant he would finally have his soulmate by his side where she belonged.  Thankfully, it doesn’t take nearly that long for his dream to come true. 

In the year 1990, Edward James Munson and Christine Elizabeth Cunningham are united in both holy matrimony and the afterlife.  And so, the young man who once believed he was destined to wander the Earth alone forever, found he was no longer trapped in solitude.  Instead, hand in hand, he and his true love would navigate the world as one.  (Until, ya know, they inevitably got snuffed out by some happy-go-lucky monster hunter and perished like any other pathetic mortal souls.)

👻👻👻👻

(read on AO3)

[jasontoddsmommyissues]

Hellcheer AU: Pirates of the Caribbean

Masterlist

Starring Eddie Munson as Will Turner and Chrissy Cunningham as Elizabeth Swann

[peach-and-bugs]

Masterlist

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

characters that I write for are organized in alphabetical order by fandom and by name. links will lead to my complete list of posted work for said character:

willing to write for characters: romantically (➵ ) platonically (✸) or nsfw (✧)

Character Alphabets (sfw ✸ & nsfw ✧)

Ask Box Headcanons and Blurbes

Agents of shield

Bobbi Morse ✸ ➵ ✧

Daisy Johnson/Quake ✸ ➵ ✧

Jemma Simmons ✸ ➵ ✧

Jiaying ✸ ➵ ✧

Leo Fitz ✸ ➵

Malinda May ✸ ➵ ✧

Phil Coulson ✸ ➵

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina 

Hilda Spellman ✸ ➵ ✧

Madam Satan/Lilith ✸ ➵ ✧

Sabrina Spellman ✸ ➵

Zelda Spellman ✸ ➵ ✧

Doctor Who

Amy Pond ✸ ➵ ✧

Bill Pots ✸ ➵

Clara/Clara Oswald/Oswin ✸ ➵ ✧

Eleven/Smith!Doctor ✸ ➵

Jack Harkness ✸ ➵

Missy/Gomez!Master ✸ ➵ ✧

River Song/Melody Pond ✸ ➵ ✧

Simm!Master ✸ ➵

Thirteen/Whittaker!Doctor ✸ ➵ ✧

Twelve/Capaldi!Doctor ✸ ➵

Five Nights at Freddy (movie)

romantic (➵) platonic (✸) nsfw (✧)

Mike Schmidt ➵ ✸

William Afton ➵ ✸

Vanessa Shelly/Afton ➵ ✸ ✧

Killing Eve 

Eve Polastrí ✸ ➵ ✧

Villanelle ✸ ➵ ✧

The Legend Of Korra

Asami Sato ✸ ➵ ✧

Bolin ✸ ➵

Bumi ✸ ➵

Izumi ✸ ➵ ✧

Korra ✸ ➵ ✧

Kuvira ✸ ➵ ✧

Kya ✸ ➵ ✧

Kyoshi ✸ ➵ ✧

Lin Beifong ✸ ➵ ✧

Mako ✸ ➵

Opal ✸ ➵

Tenzin ✸ ➵

The Last Of Us (Games)

Abby Anderson ✸ ➵ ✧

Dina ✸ ➵ ✧

Ellie Williams ✸ ➵ ✧

Joel Miller ✸ ➵

Tommy Miller ✸ ➵

Marvel 

Agatha Harkness ✸ ➵ ✧

Bucky Barns/Winter Soldier ✸ ➵

Bruce Banner ✸ ➵

Carol Danvers/Captain Marvel ✸ ➵ ✧

Darcy Lewis ✸ ➵ ✧

Drax ✸ ➵

Gamora ✸ ➵ ✧

Hela Odendottir ✸ ➵ ✧

Hope van Dyne/Wasp ✸ ➵ ✧

Jane Foster/Mighty Thor ✸ ➵ ✧

Kate Bishop ✸ ➵ ✧

Layla El-Faouly/Scarlet Scarab ✸ ➵ ✧

May Parker ✸ ➵ ✧

Mantis ✸ ➵ ✧

Maria hill ✸ ➵ ✧

Monica Ranbough ✸ ➵ ✧

Natasha Romanov/Black Widow ✸ ➵ ✧

Nebula ✸ ➵ ✧

Okoye ✸ ➵ ✧

Peggy Carter/Captain Carter ✸ ➵ ✧

Peter Parker/Spider-Man ✸ ➵

Sam Wilson/Falcon/Captain America ✸ ➵

Scott Lang/Ant-man ✸ ➵

Sharon Carter/Powerbroker ✸ ➵ ✧

Sylvie Laufeydottir ✸ ➵ ✧

Thor Odenson ✸ ➵

Valkyrie ✸ ➵ ✧

Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch ✸ ➵ ✧

Yelena Belova ✸ ➵ ✧

Parks and Recreation 

Ann Perkins ✸ ➵ ✧

April Ludgate ✸ ➵ ✧

Donna Meagle ✸ ➵ ✧

Jennifer Barkley ✸ ➵ ✧

Leslie Knope ✸ ➵ ✧

Star Wars 

Ahsoka ✸ ➵ ✧

Captain Phasma ✸ ➵ ✧

Finn/FN-2187 ✸ ➵

General Hux ✸ ➵

Han Solo ✸ ➵

Leia Organa ✸ ➵ ✧

Luke Skywalker ✸ ➵

Padmé Amidala ✸ ➵ ✧

Rey ✸ ➵ ✧

Rose ✸ ➵ ✧

Stranger things  

Argyle ✸ ➵

Chrissy Cunningham✸ ➵

Dustin Henderson ✸ ➵

Eddie Munson ✸ ➵

El/Eleven/Jane ✸ ➵

Erica Sinclair ✸

Jim Hopper ✸ ➵

Johnathan Byers ✸ ➵

Joyce Byers ✸ ➵ ✧

Karen Wheeler ✸ ➵ ✧

Lucas Sinclair ✸ ➵

Max Mayfield ✸ ➵

Murray Bauman ✸ ➵

Nancy Wheeler ✸ ➵ ✧

Steve Harrington ✸ ➵

Will Byers ✸ ➵

misc.

Alma LeFay Peregrine (mrs peregrine's home of peculiar children)✸ ➵ ✧

Elizabeth Corday (ER) ✸ ➵ ✧

Lady Alcina Dimitrescu (RE:V) ✸ ➵ ✧

Laura DeMille/Madame Rouge (Doom Patrol) ✸ ➵ ✧

Lily Lebowski (Crossing Jordan) ✸ ➵ ✧

Marilyn Thornhill/Laurel Gates (Wednesday) ✸ ➵ ✧

Millie Rusk/MolotovGirl (Free Guy) ✸ ➵ ✧

Miranda Croft (The Flight Attendant)✸ ➵ ✧

Dr. Olivia Octaviouse (Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse)✸ ➵ ✧

Yellowjackets

Jackie Tayler (1996) ✸ ➵

Laura Lee (1996) ✸ ➵

Lottie Mattews (1996/2021) ✸ ➵ ✧

Misty Quigley (1996/2021) ✸ ➵ ✧

"Nat" Natalie Scatorccio (1996/2021) ✸ ➵ ✧

Shauna Sadecki (1996/2021) ✸ ➵ ✧

Taissa Turner (1996/2021) ✸ ➵ ✧

Travis Martinez (1996/2021) ✸ ➵

"Van" Vanessa Palmer (1996/2021) ✸ ➵ ✧

[friendsdontlieokay]

•Edward Christopher Munson

•Robin Alison Buckley

•Steven Andrew Harrington

•Jonathan Jasper Byers

•Nancy Grace Wheeler

•Michael Benjamin Wheeler

•William Jacob Byers

•Dustin Clarence Henderson

•Lucas Charles Sinclair

•Maxine Isabelle Mayfield

•Jane Elizabeth Ives

•William James Hargrove

•Erica Cynthia Sinclair

•Holly Rose Wheeler

•Heather Lillian Holloway

•Christina Emeline Cunningham

•Joyce Katherine Maldonado

•Jim Ross Hopper

•Murray Anthony Bauman

•Karen Amelia Childress

•Ted Samuel Wheeler

•Claudia Quinn Yount

•Susan Penelope Anderson

•Charles Thomas Sinclair

•Neil Asshole Hargrove

•Bob Robert Newby

•Patty Charlotte Newby

•Henry Richard Creel

•Alice Lucy Creel

[a-strange-inkling]

If anyone would like a little jealous Eddie to go along with their plate of jealous Chrissy, here’s a little more of the jealousy one shot:

He knows with every fiber of his being that loving Christina Elizabeth Munson née Cunningham is the single greatest most difficult thing he will ever do in this life.

But she loved someone else first.

What were his past conquests? Why were they a cause of concern. She loved Carver. She was with him for three years.

Three years.

They haven’t even been freaking married for three years.

She was going to marry him.

Not like just move in with him at college or something no, fucking marry him. White dress, spring wedding at Olde North Chapel the next year. He had a ring for her. Chrissy had seen it herself, snuck a peek after her friends told her about it, where it was hidden in his dresser.

Eddie wondered if she pulled it out of the box. Tried it on. He could never bring himself to ask.

He takes her hand and finds his ring, the one he made her in his shitty garage. The one she’s wearing now. The one she accepted. The one she vowed to wear forever. He spins it around her finger, unable to forget that sweet, personal conversation he shouldn’t have heard her junior year when he was a second year senior.

It was a typical day… He’d been smoking with Jeff and Donnie after school in the back of his van when Jason Carver rode into Hawkins High on a motorcycle of all things. The deep revving of the engine was so rich and condescending that everyone had to look. Even he and the boys were unable to stop themselves from peering over as Carver did a full turn around the parking lot, doing a few wheelies before pulling up to the curb around the gym where the cheerleaders were just coming out after practice.

They all gasped and squealed in delight at the show.

All except Chrissy who stood stock still in the center of her squad, gaping in amazement and disbelief. They were all shaking her arm and pointing. Like, oh my God, look Chrissy! Look at your boyfriend! He’s on a motorcycle! Isn’t he just like the dreamiest ever?

Jason pulled off his helmet, gracing the world with his golden head of tousled hair, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight like Robert Redford. His eyes twinkled at Chrissy, grinning at her while she just stood there, too flabbergasted to move. The engine revved down so he could properly beckon her over.

“Surprise.”

“Oh my God!” she cried, shaking herself out of her stunned state as she bounded up to him, ponytail swishing back forth across her shoulders. Jason swung his leg over the seat, standing with the bravado of a man who knew for a fact he was getting laid that night, wrapping an arm around her. “Oh my God! Oh my God!”

“Oh my God… please don’t tell me that’s a Sturgis. It sounds like a Sturgis.” Donnie whined beside Eddie, covering his eyes, unable to look over and confirm it for himself. He was even more of a motorhead than Eddie.

“Sure is,” Eddie answered numbly. “1980 FXB with an eighty cubic inch square engine. Pristine condition.”

“Original paint job?”

“Looks like it.”

Donnie sobbed quietly, digging his fingers into his eye sockets. “Stupid lucky little fuck.”

There was no getting around it, it was a fucking gorgeous bike. Seemed like he and Carver had the same taste in motorcycles too.

Chrissy stared at the sheek black vehicle, completely mystified. “Jace, how on earth…”

“My dad let me have it for the afternoon to stretch its legs, just have to get it back in the garage by six or he’ll skin me alive… Nice huh?”

She nodded, her big blue eyes wide and round, something like a daze coming over her.

“How about it? You want that ride?” Jason asked again with a chuckle, holding up the second helmet that was hanging on the upper rider seat behind him.

“Really!?” she asked. “I can? It’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay, c’mon.”

A happy little squeak escaped her as she jumped up and down in his arms, tugging on his shoulders so that he would hurry up and drive away with her into the sunset. Eddie had never seen her more enthusiastic outside of a cheer routine. She was always so poised and put together. Right now she could barely hold still long enough for Jason to get the helmet on her head and wrap her up in his letterman so she wouldn’t get cold.

It reminded him of the little girl he met backstage of the middle school auditorium all those years ago.

“Settle down, Chris.” Carver chuckled. “Gotta make sure this is on tight.”

Everyone watched them as Chrissy mounted the seat behind Jason, her arms slipping around him to hold his narrow waist. They looked… perfect together. Even more so than usual.

“Some guys really do get everything.” Donnie muttered with a shake of his head, having finally looked up.

Eddie smirked miserably at that, taking another deep drag. No fucking kidding.

Chrissy’s squeal of nervous, wild laughter could be heard even when Jason shifted gears and tore away from the school, kicking up loose gravel.

Eddie, because his favorite thing in life was to commit self sabotage, smoked way too much afterward and ended up falling asleep in the back of his van. The boys had been nice enough to clean up the scene, lock up the van… and tuck him in on the small cot. Someone even left him a bag of chips and some water. Probably Jeff.

He just laid there groggy as hell, kinda wanting to die, but kinda not. Sorta in this weird headspace that if he did die… that wouldn’t be too bad.

Images of Carver and Chrissy kept swirling in his mind… and he wasn’t sure why it was bothering him… okay, that was a lie… but he wasn’t sure why it was bothering him this much.

He was nothing if not a cynic. He knew how the world worked. Girls like Chrissy ended up with guys like Jason. And that was that. While guys like him drank or smoked themselves to oblivion because all they were good at was making their already shitty lives even more shitty.

His pathetic self pity party was interrupted by the sound of voices outside. He sobered up, quickly scrambling to the front seat, with the grace of a newborn antelope, half worried it would be Hopper swinging by to make sure he wasn’t loitering after school again… but no… God could never be so merciful.

It was the royal couple, back from their tour. Jason was just coming out of the gym with a duffle bag while Chrissy sat waiting for him on the motorcycle.

“You look really good on that.” Jason told her.

She smiled bashfully as she scooched up along the seat, holding the handle bars, eyes on the road ahead, pretending she was going to peel right out of town. “I think I want one now.”

“Oh yeah?”

She glanced up at him coyly, almost like she was waiting for a reprimand. Her smile grew wider when he only came to settle heavily behind her, his strong arms snaking around her waist.“Yeah… will you teach me to drive it?” Oh so bold. Oh so flirty.

“Sure.” Jason leaned forward, pressing his chest to her back, gripping his hands over hers as he spoke into her ear. “You know I love teaching you things.”

Chrissy flushed, a nervous little giggle escaping her. Jason laughed and kissed her cheek. “You really like it huh?”

She bobbed her head. “I love it… We should… we should get one.”

Jason laughed loudly again. “Yeah sure, maybe someday.”

“I’m serious!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining at this idea. “We can both save up the money and after graduation… we can just go.” She shot her hand off toward the setting sun like a rocket.

“Go?” He was smiling at her placatingly, like someone listening to the aspirations of a little kid. “And just where would we be going?”

“I don’t know,” she breathed, leaning back against him, pulling his arms back around her. “Everywhere, anywhere, Chicago, New York, Seattle, Sedona, wherever we wanted… we can, can’t we?” Eddie remembered hating the way his heart swelled at her plea, at the way she came to life for a moment and looked westward toward the future. A future. One that could be her own.

They wanted the same thing.

Jason pondered her question for a moment with a teasing frown. “Well I mean, there is that whole pesky college thing.”

“We’ll still go to IU,” she assured him quickly, as if it were a mortal sin to suggest otherwise. “There’s the summer and holidays… and college won’t last forever.”

“Yeah, but everyone else is here, our whole lives are here.” Jason reminded her. “Won’t you miss your parents and Mattie?”

She hesitated, only for a second. “We’ll come back and visit… there’s just so much out there, Jason… don’t you want to see it?”

“Well, sure but…” Jason shrugged one shoulder, looking a little taken aback by the question. Why leave your own kingdom where everyone hangs off every word you say? Where everyone loves you? He eventually smiled.“What are we going to do? Live like hippies on the side of the road?”

“No,” she shoved him playfully, but the idea seemed to thrill her nonetheless.“We’ll find a place, our own place, just you and me, then we can go wherever we want, do whatever we want…”

“Well, when you put it like that,” he said a little more quietly, his eyes fixed solely on her, while she stared off into the horizon. Solar fire blazing in the deep oceans of her eyes. Crazy, wild dreams in her head. “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

After a little while, she shifted in her seat to look back up at him. “Can we go, Jason? Please say we can go. Say we can go somewhere someday.” She became a little frantic, like her life depended on this agreement. “It doesn’t have to be on a motorcycle, just say we’ll go.”

His hand rose to her ribcage, just shy of her breast to cradle her against him, kissing her forehead. “Alright, alright, it’s a deal.”

Her enthusiasm faltered, but only for a moment. “You promise?”

He grew serious, looking her right in the eye as he stroked her cheek.“You know I’d do anything for you.”

That seemed to satisfy her enough. A slow, bright smile lit up her whole face at the pact. She sunk her fingers into his golden waves and drew him down to her, kissing him deeply. “I love you.”

“Love you more.” He sighed, kissing her back, folding her up into his arms to lift her up. “Come on, we gotta get this back under the tarp before my Dad actually kills me.”

Chrissy nodded, putting the helmet back and climbing around him to the back seat. She held on to him tightly as he kickstarted the Harley.

Eddie watched them as they pulled out of the lot and disappeared down the road, Chrissy’s rose gold hair flying beneath her helmet.

Yeah. Some guys really did get everything.

[swayhere]

canon starter call - open to anyone !

i have a strong urge to write some canon muses, so if you would be interested in writing against any of the canon muses listed under the READ MORE below, please comment/IM me and i can send a starter your way or reply to one of your starters.

i do not require you to know anything about my muse's canon, but i'm more than happy to tell you about it if you ask. i'd be happy to write canon muses against your ocs! also, mixing fandoms is 100% ok with me unless your canon muse is problematic and makes me uncomfy. my canon muses do not have all their memories or relationships from their life unless we plot it, but they will have the same general personality/ambitions.

if you are willing to write against my canon muses but don't care which, just like this post, and i'll take a look at your open starters and/or send you a closed starter at random with a muse i think fits the vibe.

*please don't agree to write against my canon muses if you're one of those picky weirdos that will be up in arms if i don't write a cannon muse exactly how you would.

( if you'd prefer to write against an oc muse only, check this post. )

canon muses i'd like to write: bold = extra big muse rn. strikethrough = exclusive, so not rn.

muses from tv shows: 

911 — eddie diaz , evan buckley , athena grant , bobby nash , karen wilson

911: lonestar — carlos reyes , grace ryder , judson ryder , t.k. strand , owen strand

as the world turns — dr. reid oliver , luke snyder

boy meets world — shawn hunter , jack hunter , angela moore , topanga lawrence

chuck — sarah walker , chuck bartowski , bryce larkin 

degrassi — jimmy brooks , sean cameron , ellie nash , marco del rossi , sav bhandari , drew torres , zoe rivas , miles hollingsworth iii , tiny bell , esme song , 

gilmore girls — jess , luke

good trouble — gael martinez , jamie hunter , callie adams foster , mariana adams foster , evan speck , joaquin perez , dennis cooper 

how i met your father — sid , ian , sophie , jesse

how i met your mother — marshall eriksen , lily aldrin , victoria

how to get away with murder — laurel castillo , connor walsh , oliver hampton , michaela pratt , frank delfino 

jessica jones — jessica jones

lost — kate austen , juliet burke , daniel faraday , desmond hume , sayid jarrah , sun-hwa kwon , claire littleton , walter ‘walt’ lloyd , charlie pace , hugo ‘hurley’ reyes , shannon rutherford , miles straume 

new amsterdam — lauren bloom , elizabeth wilder , casey acosta

new girl — nick miller , winston bishop , cece parekh

one tree hill — nathan scott , lucas scott , keith scott , chase adams , brooke davis 

outer banks (obx) — jj maybank , kiara carrera

please like me — arnold 

rosewell, new mexico — michael guerin , maria deluca , isobel evans

scandal — olivia pope , prezzy fitz

scooby doo — daphne blake

stranger things — robin buckley , steve harrington , jim hopper , chrissy cunningham , eddie munson , max mayfield , eleven , mike wheeler 

superstore — jonah simms

the 100 — finn collins

the bear — richie jerimovich, carmy berzatto , marcus , sydney adamu  

the mindy project — danny castellano 

the office — ryan howard , jim halpert , pam halpert , kelly kapoor , holly flax

the politician — river barkley , astrid sloan 

the young & the restless — sally spectra , adam newman , chelsea lawson , phyllis summers , lily winters , sharon newman , chance chancellor , victoria newman , tessa porter , amanda sinclair , cole howard

younger — josh , kelsey peters

muses from books: 

along for the ride ( book version only ) — eli stock , auden west , maggie  

one of us is lying ( book version only ) — cooper clay , nate

red white & royal blue — alex claremont-diaz , prince henry , zahra bankston

we were liars — gatwick ‘gat’ matthew patil

muses from movies: 

dead poets society — neil perry , charlie dalton , todd anderson

harry potter — lee jordan

les mis — enjolras , grantaire 

super 8 — joe lamb , martin , preston

twilight — irina denali , jasper cullen

[hellcheer-heaven]

After some not so thorough research, I’ve finally decided to discuss Chrissy’s and Eddie’s child. Her age would be between 0-5 years here.

Name: Elizabeth Cunningham Munson

AKA: Liz, Lizzie, Princess Lizzie, and Lizzie Bear.

Birthday: October 10, 1997

She would have her mom’s eyes, nose, and ears.

She would have her dad’s height, hair (lighter shade of brown), and lips.

Personality: Kind, head strong, sometimes a little stubborn, silly, creative, and a ball of energy.

Favorite color: Switches between green, black, and pink.

Favorite things: Dinosaurs, princesses, and Elmo.

Favorite foods: Spaghettios, bananas, grapes, string cheese, and chicken nuggets.

Favorite books: Where the Wild Things Are, Peter Rabbit, Corduroy, The Very Busy Spider, Winnie the Pooh, and Rainbow Fish

Favorite music: Songs from animated movies, Sesame Street songs, Somewhere Over the Rainbow, and a combination of her mom’s and dad’s music from the 80s.

Favorite movies: The Little Rascals, Anastasia, Tarzan, The Wizard of Oz, Cats Don’t Dance, and The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh.

Favorite shows: Sesame Street, The Powerpuff Girls, Bear in the Big Blue House, Little Bear, Rugrats, Blues Clues, and The Magic School Bus.

Favorite places: Park, preschool, the library, the zoo, and the community pool.

Comfort items: Chrissy’s scrunchie, Eddie’s chain bracelet, and her Pooh bear stuffie.

Likes: Drawing, running around barefoot, bubbles, spiders, reading, and playing tag.

Dislikes: Nap time, bee stings, being told to wait, thunder and lightening, and asparagus.

Aside from her parents, she loves to spend time with “Uncie” Wayne Munson and Steve “Stevie” Harrington.

[binickandros]

Sweeter than Heaven, Hotter than Hell

Chapter 7/7

A Hellcheer demon!Eddie/nun!Chrissy au

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None

Relationships: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson

Characters: Chrissy Cunningham, Eddie Munson

Additional Tags: Dead Dove Do Not Eat! Lots of tags, click the link and don't go in unprepared.

Summary:

Edmodeus the demon is assigned the task of corrupting the innocent Sister Mary Elizabeth (née Chrissy Cunningham) days before she takes her final vows. He poses as an angel, she falls readily into his arms…and he learns that corruption can go both ways.

[waywardrose]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 18

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

4.7k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, angst with a happy ending, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: Trigger warning for Jason Carver.

18

“Do you know a Chrissy Cunningham?” your father asked, filling his mug at the kitchen counter.

You paused in the doorway with a frown. The kitchen TV was off. Mom buttered toast instead of making pancakes or waffles for breakfast.

“Yeah…?” You glanced at the calendar to confirm it was Sunday. “We have Western Lit together.”

Mom set a plate of crispy bacon at the center of the table before fetching a section of the newspaper. She brought it to you, a furrow of worry between her brows. You took the section to read:

CHEERLEADER MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD A Hawkins High cheerleader was heinously murdered on Friday night by parties unknown. Christina “Chrissy” Elizabeth Cunningham, 17, class of 1986, suffered from fatal internal bleeding and multiple bone fractures in a trailer in the Forest Hills neighborhood of Hawkins, according to reports. There were no witnesses to the crime. However, the trailer owner has been cleared of any wrongdoing. “There is an evil here,” said Laura Cunningham, the victim’s mother. “It’s been growing and infiltrating this good Christian town.” The cheerleader had been beloved by teacher and student alike. Her father, Phillip Cunningham, said, “There was no reason for anyone to hurt our little girl. Chrissy was a sweet girl with a bright future.” Neighbors in Forest Hills are horrified. A resident who wished to remain anonymous said, “It’s that heavy metal garbage. It opens the gates for Satan. [It’s] real scary [stuff]. Kids these days blast it all hours of the day and night. That’s got to have consequences.” Responding officers have yet to locate the perpetrators. “Deputies are working with state law enforcement to collect evidence and statements concerning this case,” the Roane County Sheriff’s Department said. Cunningham was well known in her community and had a kind word for everyone. She volunteered at First Church of Hawkins and the Roane County Animal CARE Humane Society. As head of the Hawkins High Cheer Squad, she always participated in school fundraisers. Hawkins High principal, Paul Higgins, called Cunningham an “exemplary student and person,” and said her murder was a tragedy. “I think I speak for my staff and our pupils when I say Chrissy will be deeply mourned. Our hearts are with her family.” Hawkins High will hold a memorial assembly when classes resume March 31st. Forest Hills’ sign has been piled with flowers and other mementos since the murder. A Hawkins High student said Cunningham was “a tender-hearted girl and the most supportive friend anyone could ask for.” If you have any information which can help the case, please contact the Roane County Sheriff’s Department.

Your mouth went gummy as you finished reading. Now that Chrissy’s murder was in the paper and on the news, everyone would be scrutinizing the residents of the trailer park. The mention of heavy metal wouldn’t work in Eddie’s favor, either.

You’d called the Munson’s trailer earlier, but the call wouldn’t go through.

Mom stepped aside as you shuffled to the kitchen table. You flopped into the first chair you came to and skimmed the article. Chrissy Cunningham, a shoo-in for prom queen, died at Eddie’s place while Wayne was at work. It had been just the two of them.

What had she been doing there? Buying drugs? The cheerleader who volunteered at church buying drugs?

You looked at the grainy version of Chrissy’s senior-year portrait and questioned if anyone had known her at all.

Still, her buying drugs sounded wrong in your head.

Had Jason put her up to that? Was she the go-between? Jason barely tolerated Eddie, but the basketball team was sure to have partied hard after the game. Maybe he’d sent her to buy some pot or whatever.

That made no sense, though. You saw the same footage again on the news before Saturday Night Live. There’d only been Wayne’s truck in front of the Munson’s. Also, Chrissy didn’t have a car. She might have a license, though. If she’d borrowed a car, it would’ve still been there. Unless there had been a third party…

Then Eddie could’ve come home from Hellfire, found Chrissy’s body, and ran.

But why would someone want to kill Chrissy? And frame Eddie for it?

“—okay?”

“What?” you asked, shaking your head and looking from the newspaper. “Sorry.”

“You okay, sweetie?” asked Mom.

“Um… Yeah, just…”

You didn’t know how to end that sentence.

“We don’t have to do anything today.” She sat next to you and placed a gentle hand on your forearm. “Take the day, if you want.”

“No, it’s… I’m okay. It’s a shock, is all.”

Your father sat, mug in hand, and remained quiet. For once, he looked sympathetic.

Mom studied your face for a second before nodding.

“Okay, but there’s no pressure.”

You attempted a grin, but failed.

“Thanks.”

She gave your arm an affectionate squeeze before returning to the toaster. Your father remained quiet and snuck a piece of bacon. You stared at the article, still wondering why Chrissy had been at Eddie’s.

A terrible thought arose that had you heading for the powder room.

What if she’d been there because she and Eddie were involved? What if you were the side piece?

You shut the door, flipped the light-switch, and sat on the closed toilet lid. Your breath wouldn’t deepen. It stayed right under your throat. You stared at the blurring ceiling and willed your chest to loosen.

They could make sense as a couple in The Breakfast Club kind of way. Maybe that was why Eddie antagonized the jocks: because one of them had claimed his girl. Maybe during his drug runs he stopped by Chrissy’s…

Then you remembered New Year’s when he said he’d give you everything, that he was trying to give you everything. He’d said he wanted to be good enough for you. His expression had been sincere — too sincere for a lie. He might be a good DM and storyteller, but he wasn’t a liar. Not like that.

You breathed deep and exhaled. There was no place for doubt at a time like this. Eddie was innocent — and he’d never given you a reason to distrust him.

A soft knock at the door interrupted your meltdown.

“Breakfast is ready,” said Mom through the door.

.

After breakfast, you changed clothes and hauled the galvanized planters Mom had purchased yesterday to flank the front door. You felt a little smug about how good they looked despite the overcast sky. Once you filled the planter with gravel and soil and the bushy lavender, they would look even better.

As you carted the supplies you needed, you thought of The Veil of Undeath spell from last night. It called for dead pieces of a living thing. You couldn’t make sense of what had dead pieces yet remained alive. Not even the incantation clarified.

Dead from the living Dust from the dead I consume like the worm I keep the grave by my heart As I exhale this last breath, I accept the embrace from Death

Naturally, the instructions weren’t much help, either.

The practitioner is to gather graveyard dirt and two dead portions of a living thing. One part to accompany graveyard dirt, the other to ingest. Place graveyard dirt and one dead portion in receptacle to keep on person. Keep living thing alive to maintain charm. Daily consumption is unnecessary.

You understood the spell was centuries old. Also, the book had been written almost a hundred years ago. Some spells you’d read were so heavily coded, you needed a reference book to understand them.

It was times like these you wanted to translate everything in modern language. That was what your personal journal was for. Of course, the danger of translating and making it public was: 1. getting it wrong, 2. harm coming to those who used your spells, and 3. exposing yourself as a witch.

None of that solved your current predicament. You needed to figure out the spell before tonight.

Just then, a shiny black Jeep pulled onto the driveway. You straightened and dusted your work gloves on your legs. The Jeep looked familiar. Your suspicions were confirmed when none other than Jason Carver climbed out of the vehicle.

You stepped onto the front path as he crossed the grass. He was picture perfect in crisp khakis, a spotless polo shirt, and a letterman jacket.

“Good morning,” he said, amicable yet serious.

“Morning.”

You glanced at the Jeep to see multiple silhouettes. Something about him and his buddies waiting in the car had you on high-alert.

Trying kindness first, you said, “I’m sorry about Chrissy. I just read about it in the paper.”

He nodded with a reserved ‘thank you.’

“Is there—”

“You’re Eddie’s girlfriend, aren’t you?” he asked.

“I occasionally talk to him in class.”

His eyes narrowed as his head tilted. Condescension suffused his appearance, raising your hackles.

“Yeah,” he said. “I heard it’s more than that.”

You snorted. “Or you’ve imagined it is?”

He moved closer as if to intimidate the answer he wanted from you.

“Like I fantasize about that freak and you.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped to the side, wanting to head for the back of the house where Mom worked. He caught your arm whip-fast, grip bruising, and yanked you near. A sneer marred his all-American face.

“I bet you two have done some nasty shit.” He gave you an oily look. “Yeah, you’re a little freak too, aren’t you?”

You closed the distance, because you weren’t terrified prey. Especially not for Jason Carver. Maybe he had intimidated Chrissy like this, but you weren’t Chrissy.

You glared into his eyes, finding his pupils wide.

“Tell me all about this nasty shit you’ve imagined, Captain of the Tigers. I’d like to hear you say it.”

“I’m not here to play into your crazy bullshit.”

“Then why are you here?”

His face darkened.

“Where’s Eddie?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” you said.

He shook your arm to jostle and throw you off balance.

“I mean it, where’s Eddie?”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

“Is he in there? Huh!?” Jason nodded at the house. “Did you kill her with him?!”

“No, and he didn’t kill Chrissy!” You twisted your arm in his hold. “He was at school playing D&D!”

He shoved you away. Your heel knocked into the lowest porch step, and you almost fell. You steadied yourself with a hand on the railing.

He leaned in to hiss, “Not all night, you goddamn freak.”

He marched away, hands balled into fists and shoulders hunched.

“Better a freak than an asshole!”

When he reached the Jeep, he yanked open the driver’s side door. He scowled at you, which you returned. You kept scowling until he reversed onto the road and drove away.

Once his vehicle was out of sight, you sagged onto the porch and threw your gloves to the stairs. Your neck and shoulders were stiff from how tense you’d been. You stretched out the tightness and massaged with shaking hands. You could feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. It rushed from deep in your gut and spread to your fingertips. Your heart was the hammer and the anvil, an engine in overdrive.

With a curse, you tried to think of where Eddie would hide. You had to warn him Jason and his cronies were after him. However, you didn’t know this town well enough. There were people and areas you’d never heard of. He might not even be in town anymore, which gave you a speck of hope.

Mom called your name from the open garage. You perked and replied. She came around the side of the house, then paused.

“You okay?” she asked. “I thought I heard a car pull up.”

“Oh, uh…” You thought quick. “Someone used the driveway to turn around.”

She hummed. “Perks of suburbia, I suppose.”

“Yeah…”

“Well, anyway, do you know where the garden shears are? I need to trim a few dead branches from the rosemaries.”

You frowned at her wording.

“What was that?”

“Garden shears?”

More to yourself than her, you said, “To trim the dead branches from the rosemaries.”

“Yes…?”

That was what the spell meant. You wanted to bonk yourself on the head. Plants can have dead pieces and still live. You could also consume those dead pieces without making yourself sick — as long as the plant was edible, of course.

You smiled at her, and said, “No, I haven’t seen them.”

She gave you a funny look, but accepted your response. As she disappeared into the garage, you wrangled your gloves on, stood, and returned to planting the lavender. You could eat lavender and roses and rosemary. It felt like fate to have bought them.

Before you planted both lavenders, you inspected them to find nothing wilted nor branches broken. Taking a cutting didn’t fulfill the spell’s requirement of ‘dead portion.’ Yes, it would die after you cut it, but it would be alive when you took it. That was very Grim Reaper, yet it wasn’t what the spell was about.

You neatened the porch, gathered your remaining supplies, and went to the pots of roses. There you found multiple dead leaves. You plucked a few and pocketed them before planting the roses in the ground.

Now all you needed was graveyard dirt. Unless there was a convenient cemetery down the block — which there wasn’t — you’d have to drive all the way to Roane Hill Cemetery. However, you had no excuse to be out. If you said your car needed gas, that would mean actually stopping for gas, which never took long. You could say you wanted to buy snacks at the grocery store, but again, that would mean actually shopping.

On top of that, it was Sunday. Everything closed early on Sundays around here.

You had to think of some excuse to leave the house that wouldn’t interest your parents nor rouse suspicions. And you had only a few hours to do it.

With hose in hand, Mom offered to water the new plants if you’d finish the last of the clean-up. You agreed, throwing out the empty nursery pots and washing the gardening tools. The clouds broke as you loaded the cleaned tools in the caddy.

You stood at the top of the driveway and breathed deep the scent of wet earth. Water droplets glinted like prisms on leaves and hung like crystal baubles. Sunlight danced between leaves. At one time, you would’ve sensed the flourishing life of each thing around you. Now all you had were ordinary perceptions—

“Strange day, huh?” Mom said, dragging the hose into the garage.

“Yeah.”

You trotted over to help her coil the hose and stow it with the other gardening supplies.

She said, “Doesn’t feel like a Sunday.”

“More like a Saturday.”

She hummed in agreement before perking.

“How about I make a cozy soup for dinner? That’s a good Sunday meal. There’s still some cheese bread from the bakery we could have with it…”

“Sounds good,” you said as you hit the garage-door control by the stairs.

You turned to go inside, but Mom stopped you with a hand on your upper arm.

“Sweetie, you know if anything’s bothering you, you can talk to me.”

You nodded.

“I know, but I’m okay.”

“Alright.” She patted your arm. “Good work today.”

“You too.”

She gave you a genuine and kind smile. You had the sudden urge to explain everything from the beginning, but she wouldn’t understand. You also had a deep dread she would see you differently if she knew it all. It was better for her not to know, maybe safer. In many ways, your perceived mundanity protected you both.

Up in your room, you pulled the dead rose leaves from your pocket and placed them on your desk. By a school library book. You barked a laugh. The public library was a perfect excuse to leave. You didn’t know if they were open, but there was a book return slot in the vestibule. It wasn’t as though your parents would recall if you had a library book due. There’d be no evidence, either, and the drive to the library was equidistant to the cemetery.

You went to the closet to search the storage box that held your spell supplies. There you found an unused sandwich bag that would work for the small amount of dirt you’d need. You folded that into your purse, grabbed the library book, and headed downstairs.

Mom was in the kitchen, browning chicken thighs in a dutch oven. You popped your head in the doorway to tell her you’d forgotten to return a library book. She glanced at you before asking if you needed money for the fee.

Of course, you didn’t. You told her it was due tomorrow, so it was no big deal.

She waved you off with a mellow grin and said dinner was chicken and wild rice soup.

You paused in the garage to consider taking a garden trowel. It would help if the ground was hard packed. With a shrug, you grabbed one you’d cleaned earlier and tossed everything on the passenger seat.

The drive to the cemetery was quicker than you expected, with hardly anyone on the road. You couldn’t tell if it was because it was a Sunday or because everyone was freaked out over Chrissy’s death. Or possibly both.

It turned out to be a backhanded blessing when you pulled into the deserted cemetery. You cruised to the back, seeing no one and passing no cars. In this section, the graves were abandoned, yet the grass remained tidy. Something told you the dead wouldn’t mind you removing a tablespoon or two of dirt.

Trowel and sandwich bag in hand, you headed for an old oak that shaded a few rows of headstones. Roots undulated through the earth like waves; the headstones were ships riding the swells. You knelt in front of a headstone and placed a hand on the ground. In hushed tones, you introduced yourself and explained your situation. You told them what you needed. Finally, you asked for their permission.

Then you waited.

A soft breeze rustled the oak’s leaves. Goosebumps trailed along your arms until they met at your nape, making you shiver. That was as good a sign as any, you supposed.

You thanked the dead and scooped dirt into the bag. After sealing the bag and smoothing the earth, you returned to your car.

Back home, you stowed the trowel, greeted Mom from the hallway, and hurried to your room. At your desk, you read The Veil of Undeath spell again. The spell’s annotation said it was for concealing oneself from an enemy. You assumed it hid you from curses — or what some referred to as the evil eye. While you didn’t know if you were being cursed on a nightly basis, you didn’t want to experience that level of pain until it killed you.

You laid out the dead rose leaves and the sandwich bag of graveyard dirt in front of the book. The only thing missing was a receptacle to keep on your body. You hummed in thought. A locket could work if you had one big enough, or a vial if you had one small enough.

You brought out the jewelry box you’d stowed next to your underwear. It held small trinkets along with old jewelry. Inside you found a silver locket from your late grandmother, but its openwork front wouldn’t secure the dirt. Beside it lay a plastic baby-bottle charm from a necklace you’d worn in middle school. It had a tarnished bell that now clacked instead of tinkled.

Placing the charm to the side, since it was useable, you continued searching. At the bottom of the jewelry box lay a small medicine bag an old friend had given you after a trip to North Carolina. She swore it was native made. The necklace part was long enough to hide under a shirt. Its leather was soft enough to tuck inside a bra cup, too.

Even though the medicine bag’s stitching was tight, you didn’t want dirt leaking out. You decided to cut a corner off the sandwich bag, putting the dirt and rose leaf inside, and burning the plastic closed. You could use a smaller portion and use the silver locket, but you would have to fold or tear the leaf.

No, you decided, better to use the medicine bag.

You fetched a candle and incense stick of frankincense. Once you set your desk as an altar, you inhaled the incense smoke and exhaled your fears in the candle flame’s heat. Your inherent magic might’ve been drained, but the energy remained in the tools of ritual. You had to trust them.

You held the medicine bag open over the incense smoke to cleanse it. Then the leaves. To finish, you swept smoke into the sandwich bag.

“Dead from the living,” you murmured, touching the leaves. “Dust from the dead.” You placed your hand on the mound of dirt in the sandwich bag.

“I consume like the worm.”

You brought a leaf to your mouth and put the brittle thing on your tongue. It tasted old and brown and dry. It fragmented against the roof of your mouth. The midrib crackled between your teeth. You gathered saliva and forced it down, swallowing with a shake of your head.

You said, “I keep the grave by my heart,” and held the medicine bag to your chest.

With a deep breath, you shook the dirt into one corner of the sandwich bag and snipped the corner off. You slipped the second leaf into the dirt before pleating the plastic closed. You kissed the pleat to candle flame and pinched it secure. The plastic cooled within seconds.

You then eased the packet into the medicine bag and looped the bag around your neck.

“As I exhale this last breath, I accept the embrace from death.”

You inhaled a stuttering breath, then blew out the candle.

The taste of the dry leaf vanished — as did the temperature of the room. Not that it went cold, but the temperature no longer affected you. When you went downstairs for dinner, the scent of the food didn’t induce hunger. And while the soup had a pleasing texture, it tasted lifeless on your tongue.

.

You’d forced yourself into bed during the small hours of the night and closed your eyes. When you opened them, it was morning. You weren’t rested, yet you weren’t groggy. Regardless, you lazed in bed to stare at the dim ceiling.

It had been a peaceful night with no pain. That didn’t mean you were safe without the spell. As they said, the absence of evidence wasn’t the evidence of absence. Something could still be coming after you.

As you sat up, you wondered if Eddie was safe and if he’d gotten any sleep. Perhaps you should try Wayne again. Eddie could be home. Or maybe Wayne knew where he was.

You went to the phone and dialed the Munson’s number. The line clicked a few times instead of ringing, which sounded as though it was being monitored. You hung up, letting your hand linger on the phone. If the Munson trailer was being monitored, the people doing it didn’t mean you or Eddie any good.

Pressing your other hand over the medicine bag, you prayed for the spell to keep them — whoever they were — from tracking you. Because it was obvious now Eddie was the prime suspect, and if you were going to find him, you needed anonymity. You didn’t want a visit from the police or the FBI or some shady government organization.

After going through your morning routine, you went downstairs. It was quiet with your parents at work. They’d left the morning newspaper folded on the kitchen island. On any other day, you’d throw it out, but the yellow sticky note attached to the front page caught your attention.

The newspaper headline read, ANOTHER FOREST HILLS MURDER. Mom wrote on the sticky note, Don’t leave the house.

You peeled the note from the newspaper to scan the article. It wasn’t just the location of this murder that copied Chrissy’s. This victim was a Hawkins High student who died from fatal internal bleeding and multiple bone fractures. You hoped it wasn’t Eddie. With the numbing effect of The Veil of Undeath, you weren’t sure you’d be able to feel if he died.

The article only identified the victim as an eighteen-year-old male. That detail had you relaxing, because Eddie wasn’t eighteen. That also meant the victim was in your class.

You frowned as you thought someone was targeting high-school seniors. That connection made no sense, though, unless Chrissy and this victim knew their murderer. Which didn’t narrow the pool of suspects, honestly. Everyone knew everyone else.

The article didn’t mention if the victim was a resident of Forest Hills, either. You had to assume he’d snuck into the neighborhood. To do what, though? Was he some dipshit looking to catch Chrissy’s killer? Did he want a souvenir?

With midday television news hours away, you returned to your room. Before leaving the kitchen, you threw away the newspaper, poured yourself a glass of juice, and grabbed a granola bar from the pantry. You weren’t hungry or thirsty, but you needed fuel.

In your room, you turned on lights and brought out all your spell books. There had to be at least one tracking spell. You spread the books across your bed, then drew one onto your lap. It didn’t have an index, and its chapter titles weren’t overly descriptive, but that was typical.

You tore open the granola bar’s wrapper, took a flavorless bite, and began skimming the book.

An hour later, your phone rang. You dropped the book you’d been reading as the phone rang again. Maybe it was Eddie. You scrambled off the bed, heart in your throat. Paper and pens and books clattered to the floor in your wake.

You picked up the phone in the middle of the third ring.

“Hello?”

“He didn’t do it,” said a young male in lieu of a greeting.

It only took a second to understand he referred to Eddie.

“I know he didn’t,” you said. Eddie was alive. “He’s not like that.”

“He told me to tell you she was a customer — and she was attacked.”

You nodded and steadied yourself with a hand on the desk. You’d known deep down he wouldn’t have hurt Chrissy, but it was nice to have the confirmation.

“I believe you.” The tight coil in your chest loosened. “Is he okay?”

“As okay as you can get while being on the lam.”

A small laugh bubbled out unbidden, and you closed your eyes.

“Where is he?”

“He swore me to secrecy.”

You snorted, because, yeah, that sounded like Eddie. “Oh, like he’s the brains of the operation over there.” Eddie was smart, but he wasn’t using every resource at his disposal, i.e. you. Instead, he relied on his little sheepies. “You’re one of the freshmen, right?”

The other end of the line went silent, which was answer enough. Your gut said this particular sheepy was Dustin Henderson, the clever smart-ass.

“Is he the leader there, Freshman?”

“No, but—”

“Look, I have access to things! Resources. I can protect him.” You waved a hand in the air. “I have a car! I can get him out of town!”

“Do you happen to have a gun?”

In the background, multiple voices shouted, “No!”

Dustin cleared his throat. “Never mind. You can’t get involved. He’d kill me.”

You didn’t want to threaten a freshman with a horrible, slow death if he didn’t tell you where Eddie was hiding. That would be wrong on so many levels. Dustin might be a pain in the ass, according to Eddie, but he was a good kid.

You took a deep breath you knew Dustin heard.

“Tell me, or I’ll track him down myself.”

“He’s on the move.”

Whether that was true or not remained to be seen.

“Makes no difference to me,” you said, hiding your uncertainty about your abilities. “I’ll find him.”

“Please, don’t. He doesn’t want you hurt or in trouble.”

Your eyes flooded as you shook your head. If Eddie thought you’d sacrifice him for your own comfort, he had another thing coming.

“I’ll see you around, Freshman. Be careful, okay?”

You hung up before Dustin could say more.

[glorious-spoon]

the dreams in which i’m dying [Stranger Things; Eddie & Chrissy, 1/1]

Rating: Teen Wordcount: 1400 Warnings: Implied canon-typical homophobia Other tags: Male-female friendship; Alternate universe; Coming out; Eddie & Chrissy live

ON AO3

Two months after she wakes up screaming on the floor of Eddie Munson’s trailer with her arm shattered in three places, Chrissy goes out to the woods behind the school again.

The path is familiar this time. She doesn’t wear her cheerleading uniform. No more cheerleading for Christine Elizabeth Cunningham, no more basketball star boyfriend. She’s in jeans and a loose blouse, although the cast is finally off and she just has a splint and a sling to contend with now. Just in time for prom, her mother said brightly on the way home from the doctor on Monday. Her freshly bare arm is white and withered like a plant that’s been growing in the dark. It aches, continually.

Eddie is already waiting for her this time, perched on the edge of the table and rattling his feet to some internal beat. When he sees her, he hops lightly down to sweep a dramatic bow.

“Your majesty,” he says, and there’s a mocking edge to it but it's not mean, not really. He looks happy to see her. Chrissy smiles at him, and when he lifts his head, he’s grinning too. “Skipping school to hang out with the freak. To what do I owe the honor?”

“I’m hiding,” she says. It’s easier to say things like that these days, she’s finding.

Read the rest on AO3

[foundtherightwords]

Love in a Mist - Chapter 1

Pairing: Hellcheer Regency AU or Regency!Eddie Munson x OFC (see Author's Notes)

Summary: Christine Conyngham, a young debutante whose marital prospects are less than ideal, believes her happiness is secure when she falls in love with Joshua Craven, the handsome future Duke of Hauxwell. However, after her lack of a fortune prevents her and Joshua from marrying, Christine impulsively accepts the proposal of Edward Munson, the eccentric Baron Hurstfield, who is in need of a wife to obtain an inheritance. But with her heart still pining after Joshua, can Christine learn to love her husband and build a life with him?

Series Warnings: sloooooow burn (it's a fucking novel, I'm sorry), angst, suicide attempt, mentions of domestic abuse, some smut in later chapters. Also, my deepest apologies to the people of Yorkshire for the accent and any other details I might have butchered.

Chapter Warnings: None, I think? This is to set the plot, so there's only some implied premarital sex.

Chapter word count: 3.6k

A/N: This started life as an original idea, for which I imagined JQ as the male lead. As I worked on it, however, I started to notice certain similarities between my two leads and Eddie/Chrissy, so I turned it into a Hellcheer fic instead. Honestly though, the Hellcheer connection is strenuous at best - I've never written an AU before, so as I wrote this, I kept feeling like it's just an original fic with characters that share names and certain traits with Eddie and Chrissy (which, to be fair, it is.) So you can imagine this as a Hellcheer AU, a Regency!Eddie x OFC, or even a Regency romance with JQ & GVD as the leads, if you prefer. I don't even know. I just want to get it out there.

A note on the names:

Edward Munson and Christine Conyngham are self-explanatory. Apparently there was a noble family by the name of Munson in Kent. "Conyngham" is not just a fancy spelling to make "Cunningham" look more old-timey either; one of George IV's last mistress was Marchioness Conyngham. "Christine" sounds too French for a Regency English lady, but that will get explained later.

Hurstfield = Eddie lives in Forest Hills Trailer Park; "Hurst" means "wooded hill". Plus Hurstfield sounds a little similar to Hellfire.

Joshua Craven = Jason Carver ("Jason Carver" is too modern, too American).

Hauxwell = Hawkswell, similar to Hawkins.

You'll notice other ST names too, but for the most part, they're just handy names, not Regency version of the same characters.

The setting: I didn't want to specify a year, but George IV was still Prince Regent, so it was anywhere between 1811 and 1820.

Chapter 1

It was March, but spring didn't seem to have reached this corner of Yorkshire. The distant, craggy hills still wore a cape of white, while down in the valley, the snow had melted and reduced the roads to half-frozen puddles and patches of mud that clung to wheels, hooves, and shoes. The ground was bare, and the sad, yellow grass poking up here and there only accentuated the grey earth underneath. A few dirty sheep, foraging in vain for some new buds among the gorse bushes, looked up as a carriage clattered past, splashing mud as high as its windows.

Sitting inside the carriage, Lady Christine Elizabeth Munson, nee Conyngham, the new Baroness Hurstfield, met the sheep's forlorn stare with eyes equally melancholic. Here she was, rattling in this carriage through this God-forsaken world of browns and grays, when not four months ago, she had been in London, enjoying the season with all its dizzying pleasures and glamor.

No, she admitted to herself, she hadn't quite enjoyed the season. When she made her debut a year ago, the first few balls and parties had been exciting, but the novelty had quickly worn off. They all seemed the same, the preening debs trying to make eyes at the bachelors without being obvious, the leering bachelors appraising the debs like farmers viewing cattle for sale on market day, the gossiping chaperones, the lecherous old men, prying eyes and smirking mouths blending into one in the dim glow of the candles. However, if Christine even dared to suggest to her mother that they missed one ball or one party to spend a quiet evening at home, her mother would launch into a long-winded lecture about how Christine never had a thought for her future, their future, how her mother had to take care of everything, how they would end up in the workhouse because of Christine's thoughtlessness. So Christine had endured it. But it hadn't been so terrible after all, because it meant she could be with him, the man who had captured her heart - Lord Joshua Craven, the future Duke of Hauxwell. 

They had met in Brighton the previous July. Disappointed with Christine's less-than-successful debut season, Mrs. Conyngham had decided to summer there, though they could scare afford it. But it hadn't worked. It was just as it had been in London. The bachelors admired her beauty, their eyes linger appreciatively on her golden hair and sapphire eyes, but the moment they learned her maternal grandfather had been in trades and that the late Colonel Conyngham had left most of his fortune to the children from his first marriage, leaving his second wife and young daughter all but destitute, they turned their attention to other ladies, wealthier or of higher status. Unable to face the humiliation, Christine had begged her mother to cut their stay short, and had only received another lecture for her trouble. She couldn't think how different everything would have turned out had her mother agreed to quit the town.

That day, they were on the Steine, rubbing shoulders with the rich and the desperate, the famous and the anonymous, ostensibly promenading and enjoying the sea air, though in truth, like most others, they were there to see and be seen. As Christine was miserably trailing behind her mother, a loud murmur suddenly went through the crowd - apparently the Prince Regent had been observed going into Mrs. Fitzherbert's house. The promenaders eagerly surged forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the couple, and before they knew it, Christine and her mother were swept along like two corks caught in a wild current. Some ruffians elbowed their way through, separating them, and Christine was pushed toward the road, into the path of a rushing gig, while her mother's scream went unheeded...

And suddenly her wrist was caught by someone, who pulled her back to safety in one swift motion. Christine found herself wrapped in a pair of strong, steady arms, heard a voice, gentle yet ringing clear in the hubbub, asking, "Are you all right, miss?", and looked up into laughing blue eyes, as bright as the summer sky above, eyes she could lost herself in.

She hardly noticed that the crowd had left them behind, and that her mother was making her way to them, her bonnet askew, her face pale, stammering her thanks to the young gentleman. She hardly knew what he said in response, so captivated she was by those eyes, and was only startled out of her trance when her mother nudged her in the rib, hissing, "Answer the gentleman, Christine!"

"I do beg your pardon," Christine said, flustered. "I didn't hear your question."

"I said, may I see you at the Old Ship tonight?" he repeated, smiling at her.

"Yes," she said breathlessly. Faced with a smile like that, she would have said yes to anything.

"Then I shall look forward to making your better acquaintance." He lifted her gloved hand, which he was still holding, and brushed his lips across her knuckles. "I bid you good day, ladies." He tipped his hat and walked off to join his friends, who were waiting impatiently for him.

Mrs. Conyngham waited until he was out of earshot to turn to Christine and said, in her usual critical tone, "Where is your sense of propriety, Christine? Why did you agree to meet him? He's a stranger!"

"I'm sure you can find someone to introduce us, Mama," Christine snapped, not looking at her. She could still feel his lips on her hand.

That evening, as they were preparing to go to the Old Ship, she chose her dress with more care than usual, finally choosing the pink satin trimmed with velvet of a darker pink with an overdress of white gauze. My rose, he had said to her, afterward. I couldn't take my eyes off you.

Upon entering the Old Ship Assembly Rooms, Christine eagerly scanned the crowd, but after sitting in the dark carriage for a long time, her eyes were dazzled by the light and she couldn't make anything out. Once she became accustomed to the glow and the glitter, she saw no sight of him. Her heart sank. Had he learned who he was and decided she wasn't worth his time? Was he no different than all the others?

But then there he was, cutting a dashing figure through the throng, his smile even more dazzling in the glow, heading straight to her as if he had been waiting for her. He was accompanied by Lady Harrington, with whom Mrs. Conyngham had managed to strike up a small friendship based on the flimsy excuse of them having gone to the same school together. Her mother's gripes about making promises to strange young men were instantly silenced the moment Lady Harrington introduced Christine's gallant rescuer as the son and heir to the Duke of Hauxwell.

For Christine, though, he could have been the son of a cook for all she cared. She had fallen in love. When he was sure of her returning his affection, Joshua admitted that he had hired those ruffians to jostle her that day on the Steine, so he could act as her knight in shining armor and have an excuse to make her acquaintance. "I didn't expect them to be so rough about it," he said apologetically. "I didn't mean to endanger you. Please forgive me." Christine had laughed and kissed him to show that she forgave him. She wasn't offended by his deception. In fact, she was flattered. It proved he was so smitten with her he was willing to do anything for her. Truth be told, though, he hadn't needed to stoop to subterfuge to impress her. He only had to show that he was different from the others. And he was different - he didn't care who her grandfather was or how much her dowry was. All he saw was her. All he wanted was her. And she gave herself to him, heart, soul, and eventually, body as well.

She knew it was foolish of her, and it would ruin her reputation if words of it ever got out. But she trusted, had trusted Joshua's promise that they would marry as soon as he reached his majority. When they parted that September, she to go back to London, he to his family estate in Hampshire, he had given her a ring as proof of that promise, a gold band engraved with the words "My love shall last 'til life be past", which she had been wearing on a chain around her neck, close to her heart.

And she couldn't deny that there was a certain thrill in their secret trysts, in knowing that she was directly defying her mother. Before they met again in London that season, Joshua had warned Christine that even their acquaintance, let alone their attachment, had to be kept a secret, because his father, the old Duke, was bound to be disapproving. Once Joshua came into his majority, he could do as he pleased and they would no longer have to be secretive. So Christine had acted the part of debutante at the balls and parties, enjoying the moment their eyes met conspiratorially across the room, a discreet touch as the hem of her gown swished across his shoes, a brush of his hand across the back of her neck as he passed her chair. During one thrilling evening, they had even danced together and carried on a stiffly polite conversation as if they had only been introduced. Their reunion later that night had been all the more delicious.

And then it had all come crashing down.

On that cold February night, it seemed the entire ton was at Lady Harrington's season-opening ball, but Christine was there in body only. Her mind was already at the secret room above a certain tavern in Covent Garden, where she and Joshua often met. So she almost jumped out of her chair when a shout went up in a corner of the room, which could be heard even over the din of the music.

Heads swiveled towards the source of the noise. Christine only saw a black-clad figure gesticulating wildly amongst a group of men. The music had now come to a lull, and their voices rang clear, to the apparent shock and secret delight of every person trying to get a glimpse of the unfolding drama. "My God, man, we're not all Luddites and Speceans up north, you know!" the black-clad man was saying, the faintest trace of Yorkshire accent in his voice.

A whisper went round the room. The machine-smashing riots at the Northern mills and factories had been a cause of concern for some time, but everyone knew it was not a topic of conversation at a ball.

Then Joshua's voice rose above the angry buzzing, and Christine's heart skipped a beat. "It is a noble pursuit, to be sure, but I'm afraid it might be a waste of time and money," he said in a calm but slightly mocking tone.

"Oh, yes, it is a waste of time and money to educate children, as opposed to spending thousands of pounds on balls and dinner parties, or on horses and hounds to chase after some poor wild creatures, or waging it on a turn of a card!" the black-clad man retorted.

Now the pretended shock had turned into real outrage. It was one thing to talk of politics and social reforms at a ball, but it was another to come to a ball and insult everyone there by mocking their past-times. Some guests were even demanding that the boor be thrown out. Then Lady Harrington's graceful figure glided through the crowd, a permanent smile on her face. Christine was quite sure that smile would still be fixed to the hostess's face even when she slept. Perhaps even when she was dead. She shuddered mischievously at the thought.

Lady Harrington pulled the black-clad man aside, no doubt to admonish him. Soon, the crowd around him dispersed, the murmurs died down, the music started again, and it seemed, for now, a crisis had been averted.

Christine was dreaming about Joshua again, when Lady Harrington suddenly appeared in front of her with the black-clad man in tow. Mrs. Conyngham's face hardened at the thought of the hostess foisting this rude stranger on them, but Christine turned to him with interest. He may have been rude, but he spoke the truth, and she always valued that over politeness.

"Mrs. Conyngham, Miss Conyngham," Lady Harrington said in her sing-song voice, her smile ever present. "May I present to you Edward Munson, Baron Hurstfield, just lately arrived in London."

Whatever Christine had been expecting from his firebrand display a minute ago, this wasn't it. He was a strange, contradictory mixture of world-weary cynicism, which showed in his dark eyes, and a boyish lankiness and gawkiness about his person and demeanor that made him seem younger. His hair was unfashionably long, tumbling down his collar in messy brown curls, almost hiding his face. The simple, almost severe cut of his coat helped to hide the fact that it was a few years out of fashion.

He bowed curtly to Christine and her mother, but said nothing.

"Hurstfield. I've never heard of it," Mrs. Conyngham said. She must have decided that a baronage was enough to forgive his insolence. "Whereabouts is your estate, sir?"

"North Yorkshire, ma'am," he replied. Now that he wasn't shouting, his voice turned out to be deep and surprisingly melodious.

"Oh. It must be quite the journey for you." Christine didn't have to look at her mother to know her smile had cooled again. Mrs. Conyngham considered everything north of Oxfordshire to be backwoods and barbaric. Yorkshire was practically savage country as far as she was concerned. "And are you enjoying yourself in London?"

"Not particularly, no," Munson replied.

This time, Christine did turn to her mother, to enjoy the sheer look of shock on her face. Munson clearly was not afraid of speaking his mind. He had even managed to wipe the sticky smile from Lady Harrington's face. Christine couldn't help feeling rather impressed by that.

"Well." Lady Harrington cleared her throat. "You would enjoy yourself more after a dance with a pretty partner, perhaps?" She all but shoved Munson toward Christine.

Munson reluctantly extended a hand. "May I have the honor...?" he mumbled.

Out of habit, Christine glanced at her mother. Mrs. Conyngham was pressing her thin lips together, a clear sign of her disapproval. But Christine knew her mother could not risk offending Lady Harrington by objecting directly. That was all the encouragement Christine needed. She put on her brightest smile, placed her hand into Munson's, and, gathering up the hem of her silvery gray velvet gown, walked with him to the middle of the room, not stopping to see her mother's eyes narrow. She would pay for this act of defiance later, she was sure, but for now, she didn't care.

As the familiar tune of "The Merry Wives of Westminster" filled the room and the dancers fell into steps, Christine cast her eyes around for Joshua. She quickly caught his blonde head in the corner, where he was conversing with his friends. Feeling her gaze, he turned, and Christine felt the usual electrifying jolt as their eyes met. Joshua raised his eyebrow almost imperceptibly upon seeing her dance with Munson. Christine let her eyes twinkle at him and turned down the corners of her mouth, to let him know she took no pleasure in this dance other than to defy her mother.

"Am I boring you, Miss Conyngham?" Munson asked.

Christine turned guiltily back to him. "My apology, Lord Hurstfield," she said. "I fear I've been very remiss in the proper attentions of a partner."

"And what are these 'proper attentions', pray tell?"

"Usually I would ask if you enjoy dancing, how long you have been in town, have you been to court, and so on," she said.

"That sounds awfully dull," he said. "Why don't we talk of something more interesting?"

Christine hesitated. Here was her chance of speaking freely. This man obviously did not care for polite conversation, and she sensed he would not mind her being blunt. So she took the plunge and threw tact to the wind.

"Well, you've said that you're not enjoying yourself," she said, "so I was wondering... why do you stay in London at all?"

He appeared to be thinking about his answer. "May I be honest?"

"It seems to me, Lord Hurstfield, that you are nothing but honest," Christine replied.

"Well then, if you insist, Miss Conyngham. I am here for the same reason that you and other unattached ladies and gentlemen are here," Munson said. "Matrimony."

Though his candidness was refreshing, Christine had expected something more shocking than that. So he was just another bachelor in search of a wife after all. As if he could see the disappointment on her face, Munson smiled ruefully, "Alas, I wish I had a more noble reason."

"So you believe that everybody is here simply to find a husband or wife, and none to enjoy the ball itself?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm not denying that there are those who genuinely enjoy a ball," he said. "But I don't see them here. Look at them." He nodded at the dancers around them. "Some would rather be at home warming themselves in front of the fire. Some of rather be drinking at an alehouse. Some would rather be at a brothel." Christine's mouth dropped open, and Munson gave a little chuckle. "I didn't mean to shock you. I merely think we would all be happier if we were permitted to follow our hearts, instead of doing what society dictates, don't you?"

She noticed that he didn't follow the dance steps precisely, but would add little flourishes or movements, which annoyed the other dancers, but he seemed to take delight in their annoyance. There was a certain impish air about him that belied his grim outward appearance, and her heart warmed to him.

"Some evenings I'd much rather stay home," she admitted. She had never said that to anyone, not even Joshua. If she had, Joshua would have pouted and accused her of not wanting to make an effort for him, so she just grinned and bore her way through another ball. Somehow, this quarrelsome young man had a way of talking that brought out the truth in her.

"It is rather a waste of time, don't you think?" he said.

"What on earth do you mean?"

"All this... ritual, to find a mate." He gestured at the ballroom in general. "Dancing around each other, literally and figuratively, trying to gauge one's suitability. I've heard that in China, parents who wish to marry off their daughter would simply write down their name, age, and dowry on a card and send it off to the families of prospective grooms. Whoever accepts would respond. It saves a lot of time and effort."

Christine was appalled, not at the matrimonial custom of the Chinese, but at his apparent approval of it. "But that sounds positively mercenary!" she exclaimed. "What about love?"

"Love?" he repeated with a cynical smile. "How many couples you know marry for love?"

She didn't have an answer for that. His eyes, of a brown so dark they appeared almost black in the candlelight, looked straight at her, as if challenging her. "Do you talk this way to every lady you dance with?" she asked, not willing to let him see that he had caught her.

"Only those that accept my honesty," he said.

Before Christine could decide if he meant to sound flirtatious or not, the music ended. Munson led her back to her mother. Mrs. Conyngham barely returned his bow. As soon as he had melted into the crowd, she unleashed her displeasure on Christine. "I wish next time you would be a little more discerning in your choice of a partner, Christine," she said out of the corner of her mouth, afraid of being overheard. "Lady Harrington was telling me, this Munson is neck-deep in debts, his father had the most terrible reputation when he was alive, and his death was so shocking I couldn't even repeat it..."

But Christine was only half listening. Her eyes had just caught Joshua leaving the ballroom. He paused at the doorway, turned, and looked straight at her, as he reached up to fix his cravat. Blushing, she responded by touching the ornament in her hair - their secret signal for a rendezvous. She thought no more of the strange young man in black or her mother's carping voice. Her head was filled with the image of Joshua adjusting his cravat and all the pleasure it promised.

After a decent interval, she turned to her mother and asked if she could return home early, as she was tired. Mrs. Conyngham would not be home for hours, too busy with spying on the revelers and gossiping about them. That would be hours she would have with Joshua. Once her mother nodded her consent, Christine left, remembering to say thank you to the hostess and taking care not to appear too hurried. She then slipped into a familiar hackney cab that had been waiting at the corner of the road. Little did she know how her life would change before the night was over.

Chapter 2

[rebelliousfamily]

Welcome to rebelliousfamily!

A multimuse featuring many different muses from many different fandoms! Be sure to check out the rules, and my muse page!

My muses vary from mostly Stranger Things, to Wednesday, The Last of Us, Dead by Daylight, Marvel, The Walking Dead and more. Including a couple of OC's thrown in there for good measure that can work for any fandom.

This is a drama free blog. I will not participate in call outs, dni's or anything under that umbrella. I just want this to be a positive blog where people can write with me and my muses

-Cat (26, they/them)

Affiliated with: @fatalframez, @soughtserenity , @depictedblue, @hauntedxwritings, @hiisheart, @storiesofthenight, @thesoulbound , @he11fireclubtm / @stopthecarrrr

muse list under cut

Stranger Things:

Robin Buckley Nancy Wheeler Chrissy Cunningham Max Mayfield Joyce Byers Heather Holloway Eddie Munson Steve Harrington Eleven Holly Wheeler Melissa Buckley (Robin's mother) Graham Mayfield (Max's father) Ronnie Ecker

Marvel:

Gwen Stacy Yelena Belova

Wanda Maximoff

The Walking Dead:

Maggie Rhee Judith Grimes Enid Rhee

The Quarry:

Emma Mountebank

The Last of Us:

Ellie Williams

Wednesday:

Enid Sinclair

Doctor Who:

Amy Pond Rose Tyler Ruby Sunday

Heathers:

Veronica Sawyer

IT (2016/2019)

Beverly Marsh

Dead by Daylight:

Susie Lavoie (The Legion) Sable Ward

Bridgerton:

Eloise Bridgerton

Heartstopper:

Tori Spring

Life is Strange:

Rachel Amber

Ghostbusters:

Phoebe Spengler

Scooby Doo:

Daphne Blake

Percy Jackson and the Olympians:

Annabeth Chase

Until Dawn:

Jessica Riley

Pirates of the Caribbean:

Elizabeth Swann

OC's (Multi-fandom):

Skye Turner

Finch O'Malley