#hellcheer apartment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ebongawk · 5 months ago

Note

kiss 17 and or 18 for hellcheer

18. A kiss while laughing

🖤🖤 .

"Did you end up canceling your reservation then, Nance?"

"No," Nancy groaned before sucking up the last few dredges of her drink. She rolled her neck back, covering her face with both hands. "I've had these reservations for three months, and I was praying Jonathan would be better in time. Instead, he's hacking up new ecosystems into our entire life savings' worth of Kleenex."

"Bummer," Robin sighed, stirring her own drink absent-mindedly. "Vickie and I are having a cozy night in that she's really looking forward to."

"I'd take that over spraying Jonathan with Lysol every three minutes," Nancy grumbled.

"He's probably overreacting anyway," Barb interjected with a loose wave of her hand. "Men always think a little baby cold is the coming of Death."

Heather, Robin, and Chrissy all nodded in agreement.

"Jason was like that," Chrissy lamented, rolling her eyes. "I swear, he'd gripe and moan like his organs were failing."

"Was Jason your last Valentine, Chrissy?" Heather asked, pulling the attention of the entire table. Chrissy looked at each of them individually, sinking into her chair a little. Four pairs of scrutinizing eyes sized her up like hungry predators.

"I-I mean," she said, her voice small. "I've–– I've dated other guys, obviously, but––"

"None for long enough to have a Valentine," Heather finished.

"Have you ever had a Valentine?" Chrissy shot back, trying to yank the blanket of attention off her head.

"Nah." Heather flapped her wrist as she pulled from her straw. "But I don't want one, babe. I'm the free spirit. Every girl group has one."

"What does that make me?" Robin asked curiously.

"The comedic relief," Heather said with a shrug. Robin nodded appreciatively. Pointing toward Nancy, she continued, "The brains-slash-getaway driver." With Barb, "The sensible one." And, back to Chrissy, "The romantic."

Murmurs of agreement made Chrissy bristle.

"I am not the romantic," she argued, immediately regretting her decision when everyone's attention fell once again to her. "I–– I've basically been single for, like, four years now! How does that make me the romantic?"

"Because you believe in true love," Heather sighed dreamily. "C'mon, Chrissy, you can't lie and say you aren't holding out for that spark."

Blinking, Chrissy shrank even further into her chair. Staring at her own colorful drink and ruminating. Because Heather was right, and that was mildly infuriating. Chrissy was perpetually single, though not because guys hadn't expressed an interest.

It was because that instant jolt of connection hadn't run through her. Because the Hollywood drama of love-at-first-sight hadn't hit her, a strike of pink lightning igniting her inside and out. She'd settled for adequacy for years with Jason, and once the shiny newness of first puppy love had rubbed off, Chrissy was left trapped in a relationship of cooling embers and strange, unnamable guilt.

It took her a lot longer than she cared to admit to finally leave him.

"Y'know, I've got this friend," Robin started, glancing from Chrissy to Nancy. "I mean, he's a bit of a weirdo, but pretty much exactly what I picture for you. A romantic at heart. Single."

"And I do still have those reservations..." Nancy hedged, connecting the obvious dots Robin was spooning out.

"No," Chrissy stated, slashing her arms through the air in an X. "Absolutely not. I am not letting you guys set me up on a blind date on Valentine's Day."

The other four girls at the table all smiled, broad and a little maniacal.

🖤🖤🖤 .

Against her will, and with Nancy's extremely persuasive bullying nipping at her heels, Chrissy found herself rushing through her makeup routine the following evening. Nuggets, she was already running late, jumping into her heels and wrenching the front door of her apartment open just as the phone rang.

"Let the machine get it," she mumbled to herself, slamming her door shut and locking it. "Not a big deal. Not important. Nancy would kill me if me and this guy were both late and they gave away the table."

Not that she expected him to be late. But, in her experience, guys were always late to things like this. If they bothered showing up at all.

Her watch indicated that it was eight minutes past when Chrissy finally burst through the main door of the little French bistro Nancy had given her the address to. The Maitre'd was nowhere to be found, probably helping another couple among the sea of couples, and Chrissy took a cursory glance around the restaurant.

In all her detailing, Robin hadn't given Chrissy much of a descriptor.

"He's, I dunno, handsome, I guess? For a guy?" Robin had shrugged. "Brown eyes, I think? Shaggy brown hair? Probably in jeans?"

There.

In the middle of the restaurant, a guy sat alone at a table for two. Eyes obstructed by messy bangs, he thumbed absently at the petals of a bouquet. Shaggy hair (maybe a little longer than shaggy, actually) – check. Jeans – check, though he had a nice black button-up tucked into them. He looked a little bit more like a rocker than Chrissy was expecting, but it wasn't as though Robin described anything about his aesthetic. Just that she thought they'd look good together.

Chrissy didn't question why. Maybe she should have?

Taking in a deep, slow breath, Chrissy waded her way through the tables before she could lose her nerve. Swallowing something thick and anxious in her throat.

"Hi," she said, breathless despite centering herself. The guy glanced up, eyes widening in shock. "I am so, so sorry I'm late. Initially, it was my own fault, and then it was the bus's fault, and normally I'm early, I swear, but everything just fell apart today."

The guy blinked, lips parted, as he took her in. Eyes raking over the curl of her hair, the fit of her dress. Staring in obvious wonderment, making Chrissy suddenly feel entirely self-conscious.

"Shit," the guy breathed, bringing his gaze back up to her face. "You're gorgeous."

"Oh, um. Thank–– Thank you––"

Oh, God. Oh God, she couldn't remember his name.

"Aw, fuck, sorry, sorry," he said, jumping to his feet. Holding out the bouquet, he said, "These, uh, are for you."

Carefully taking the flowers, Chrissy blinked in surprise. She sort of expected roses, because that was the norm. Instead, in her hands was a beautiful bouquet of red carnations.

"Thank you," she said again, much more softly as the man once more jumped into action, helping her out of her coat and pulling her chair out for her. "Did, um. Did Robin tell you my favorite flower?"

Her question was soft enough that he didn't seem to hear her as he took his own seat again. Tucking a finger into the collar of his shirt, he stretched it a little against his neck as he cleared his throat.

"Sorry," he said. "Sorry, uh, just–– You're not exactly what I imagined when you got described to me."

Chrissy smiled a little, pursing her lips. He still had that awestruck look in his eye, so the small part of her that thought she should be offended was easily wiped away.

"Did I live up to your expectations?"

"Exceeded them," he admitted easily. Making a sound like a bomb exploding, he wiggled his fingers in an arc to emphasize his shattered expectations. "Entirely. Which, I know, I know, makes me sound like a total asshole. Just–– Fuck, this is gonna sound so much worse than I mean it, but, uh, you aren't exactly the type of girl people think to try and set me up with."

In spite of herself, Chrissy giggled. And the guy's eyes brightened, lips parting around a broad, beautiful grin.

Oh, he had dimples. This was dangerous.

"I understand," she admitted. "Honestly, I was expecting you to be different, too."

"By that, I'm sure you mean you're floored by my dashing good looks," the guy said, tucking his fist under his chin and batting his lashes at her. Chrissy laughed again, hiding the sound behind her carnations, as the waiter approached.

"Lovely of you to actually join us this evening," he said with a halting smile. Chrissy tucked her lip between her teeth, chastised, though that certainly wasn't how the waiter meant it. She was barely late. "May I get you started with something to drink?"

The waiter left after taking their drink orders, promising to return with the first course of their meal.

"Can I admit something without judgement?" Chrissy asked.

"This is a judgement-free zone," the guy promised, gesturing to himself. "Obviously."

"I, um. I'm so sorry, but I completely forgot your name."

He laughed. This big, broad sound that filled the candlelight between them, spilling joy across the fancy linen tablecloth with sound that Chrissy couldn't help but mirror.

"Eddie," he said, reaching across the table with an outstretched hand. For some reason, that didn't sound exactly right. Too simple of a name for such an interesting man, maybe.

"Eddie," she repeated, letting his name sit on her tongue for a long second as she reached out and put her hand in his. Something electric rushed up her arm, and Chrissy gasped a little as she looked at their clasped hands.

A moment, a breath, and she finally found the wherewithal to say, "I'm Chrissy. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Eddie gave her a curious look, head tilted to one side as though letting her name roll through his skull, but his eyes kept gliding back to their clasped hands.

Did he feel it, too?

"Trust me when I say," he began, "that the pleasure is all mine, Chrissy."

Conversation flowed like water between them. Picking up little snapshots of their lives like flower petals and rushing them downstream. Each one a little piece of the bouquet she had sitting on the table between them, smiling its gorgeous, red-toothed smile with every new modicum of information.

She found out that he was a writer, and that he was in a band, which made sense. Robin was always finding the artsy types to pull into her circle. He grew up in a small town, just as she had, and they bonded over the absolute shock of discovering how much bigger the world was when they finally left home for good.

In turn, she told him about the studio she was hoping to open someday.

"Music or art?" he asked.

"Yoga," she admitted, and Eddie laughed again.

"Do guys ever take yoga classes?"

"Sometimes."

"And, uh, do the pretty instructors ever give discounts to, y'know, guys they went on a really fantastic first date with?"

Pretending to think it over, Chrissy tapped her bottom lip with her finger. Searching the ceiling for the answer she already had waiting on the tip of her tongue.

"Not normally first dates," she said with a shrug. "But, you know, fantastic fourth, fifth, and sixth dates? Then we might be able to work out a deal."

Eddie's responding grin was so bright, it lit up the entire restaurant.

The food was probably really good, everything a preset menu that the couples around them seemed to genuinely enjoy.

Chrissy didn't taste a morsel of it. Far too wrapped up in the existence of Eddie, she ate blindly and quickly, ready for the conversation to continue before she finished whatever part of the meal was in front of her.

"You took the bus here, yeah?" he asked after paying for their meal. Chrissy nodded, and Eddie helped her into her coat. "Can I drive you home? And I swear, I have no ulterior motive except to, y'know, spend more time with you."

Grinning, Chrissy popped up onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his jaw. Watching in fascination the way color suddenly pooled in his cheeks, staring down at her with that same unmitigated awe.

"I'd like that," she agreed.

Though Eddie turned the radio off completely when they got in the car, the drive was never silent. The brook of their conversation widening into a creek, then a stream, flowing faster and easier and pooling more and more petals of conversation in the basin.

She directed him to her apartment, and Eddie turned off the car entirely to walk her to her door.

"This was really great," he admitted. "I, uh. I'm really glad I took the chance, Chrissy. You're kinda amazing, you know?"

Chrissy grinned, tongue caught between her teeth as she shrugged. Feigning nonchalance.

"You're pretty fantastic yourself, Eddie," she said.

"Thanks," he chuckled, hazarding a step closer to her. "And, uh. Is it–– Is it cool if I, like, call you in the morning? Maybe we can get breakfast."

Still smiling, Chrissy took her own step closer. Having to crane her neck back to keep looking at him.

"That would be perfect."

"Nowhere near that fancy, though," he pleaded. "Like, I'm a fan of being pampered as much as the next guy, but those wine prices? Yeesh."

"Maybe we just don't get wine with breakfast, then."

"I like the way you think, sweetness," he murmured, still grinning. Chrissy, too, couldn't stop smiling, even as she leaned in. Their teeth clacked, a laugh escaping them both at the awkward angle, before Eddie's hands came up to cup her jaw and guide her into a proper kiss.

Incredible.

Sparks ignited up the entire length of her spine. Sitting, warm and bright and real, in the base of her skull as Eddie kissed her softly. Meaningfully. Pulling her close when her arms wrapped around his shoulders and holding her tight.

Holding her like maybe he didn't want the night to end.

And maybe she didn't, either.

"You know," she said, brushing her fingertips against his jaw, "you could always come upstairs. I have wine. And eggs. For breakfast."

"Yeah?" he breathed, tucking a strand of her hair back behind one ear. "You have enough breakfast for two, you think?"

"Definitely."

Chrissy's machine was blinking red when they found their way through her front door, but that was at the bottom of her list of cares as she led Eddie back to her bedroom. Bypassing the wine entirely.

Not that either of them seemed to notice.

The next morning, after waking up with Eddie in her arms, then spending an entire morning rolling around in bed, Chrissy finally donned a robe and made her way into the kitchen to pull breakfast provisions from her fridge as Eddie found his way into the bathroom. Pressing the little red button of her machine out of habit.

"Chrissy!" Robin shouted through the speaker of her phone. "Oh, my God, I hope you haven't left yet. But you probably have, because you're notoriously early. Ugh! Okay, okay, whatever, you'll listen to this when you get back, but please, please don't be mad at Steve. He didn't stand you up, I swear. He came down with whatever baby cold ailment Jonathan has, so he's, like, having a full-on crisis. The world is ending and whatnot. I'm sacrificing my own evening with my girlfriend to take care of this full-grown man, but he definitely wants to reschedule! Just, um, call me, or whatever, when you get home. Sorry. Sorry! He sucks!"

The message ended. Chrissy stared at her machine, confused, just as Eddie emerged from the bathroom.

"What have you got?" Eddie asked, grabbing her hip and smacking a wet kiss to her cheek. "Not to, uh, toot my own horn, but I am the fucking greatest at making a mediocre omelet."

Waggling his eyebrows for effect made Chrissy giggle, rolling her eyes, before she remembered Robin's message again.

"Hey, Eddie?"

"Hmm?" He'd slunk out of the kitchen, making his way over to her tape collection and digging through the music.

"Who set you up last night?"

"Uhh?" He popped a tape into the player, shimmying his hips a little as the music started. "Billy did. Of course. Which, honestly, I'm surprised he wasn't just being an ass. That'd be exactly the kind of bullshit he'd pull to make me make a fool of myself. He did tell me your name was Kristen, though." Rolling his eyes, Eddie took her hand in his and spun her across the kitchen floor. Pulling her back against his chest with a sultry grin as they began dancing off-tempo to her Fleetwood Mac tape. "Whatever. He's an ass, and you turned out to be fucking perfect. I'll have to thank him." Snorting, Eddie shook his head. "Never thought I'd say that out loud."

"How late was I?" she asked. "Last night."

He blinked down at her, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Did he give you the wrong time or something?" Eddie asked. "He told me to be there at six-thirty."

Chrissy looked over at the carnations on her counter. They were so beautiful. Her favorite flower. She'd just barely managed to get them into a vase last night before she was practically attacking Eddie to get his shirt off.

He was still gorgeously, beautifully shirtless, in fact. She let her fingertips trail against his sternum, swallowing heavily.

"Eddie," she breathed, a tiny bit of anxiety taking root in her lungs. Those carnations weren't for her. "I don't know anyone named Billy."

Eddie pulled their impromptu dancing to a sudden stop.

"What?"

"I was supposed to be meeting up last night with a guy named Steve, I guess," she said, nodding toward her answering machine. "My friend Robin set up my date for seven, but Steve got sick and didn't show. She called me as I was on my way out. I, um. I think maybe we highjacked each other after we both got stood up."

For a long, long moment, there was only the sounds of Stevie Nicks's vocals in her apartment.

Then, all at once, Eddie was throwing his head back and cackling.

"Wait," he said, pulling back far enough that he could look down at her. "Wait, wait, wait, baby, please, please tell me you're joking."

"I-I'm not," she stuttered, looking down at Eddie's bare feet. "I'm–– Nuggets, Eddie, I'm so sorry. That... I really thought––"

"Whoa, hey, babycakes, are you–– Wait, do you think I'm upset?" Putting his hands on her shoulders, Eddie swooped down to catch her eye. She looked at him, something wrapping around the anxiety in her throat. The utter happiness in his eyes had it slowly bleeding away. Dripping down her esophagus and choking whatever response she attempted. "Chrissy. C'mon. How fucking funny is that? We both managed to end up at the same place, at the same time, and neither of our dates show? But we don't even notice because we're having too much goddamn fun? That's incredible, if you ask me."

"Yeah?"

He leaned down, kissing her senseless all over again.

"Yeah," he chuckled, spinning her across the kitchen again. "Sounds an awful lot like fate, if you ask me."

kiss roulette!

#Happy Valentine's Day #hellcheer #eddissy #stranger things #eddie x chrissy #chrissy x eddie #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #tricia writes #ebongawk ask #corgilover2222 #kiss roulette #hellcheer fanfic

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slumped-in-the-arms-of-fiction · 4 months ago

Text

Hellcheer fic and art masterpost

Fic

Wayward Son Demon!hunter Eddie SPN-inspired au (multi-chapter, ongoing) (moodboard)

Stigma Kinktober 2024 prompt: sex pollen! (multi-chapter, ongoing)

Pictures of You Bachelorette party naked drawing fun! (one shot, 10,736, complete)

Aftercare Domestic wisdom tooth-removal fluff (one shot, 1,716, complete)

Dancing to the beat of your drum A modern day fluffy social media fic (one shot, 2,581, complete) (artwork and follow-up artwork)

Several people are typing... A modern day chat fic au (visual, multi-part, complete) AO3

It's all in the wrist It's the Fourth of July at Camp Jordan and all the girls want to know exactly how good Eddie is at pulling hair. (one shot, 7,464, complete)

On the Street Where You Live Lonely on Christmas Eve, Chrissy is spurred into action by a note from a stranger. (one shot, 5,762, complete)

Blood moon sex magick It’s Halloween night under the blood moon and there's some dumb, smutty Samhain fun afoot (one shot, 6,936, complete)

For a good time call Mary Jane Inspired by Kinktober 2023 prompt (phone sex) Eddie gets some unusual calls on the Hawkins High payphone (multi-chapter, 13,017, complete)

Wasting Love One washed up, one divorced, both back in Hawkins (one shot, 9,721, complete)

Two guys, a girl, and a cheerleader New Girl au (multi-chapter, 88,504, complete) Part of Apartment 4D series (ongoing)

Fortified Max talks to Eddie before the final battle (one shot, 1,338, complete)

Backpack Eddie thinks about Chrissy's backpack (one shot, 223, complete)

Missed connection Chrissy responds to a missed connection ad (one shot, 1,300, complete)

Being Human supernatural roommates (multi-chapter, 44,352, complete)

Those were days of roses Chance meeting years after highschool (one shot, 1k, complete)

Back to the Front Eddie wakes up wrong in the Upside Down (one shot, 4,276, complete)

Bruise Pristine Chrissy has pre-prom jitters (one shot, 3,950, complete) (moodboard)

In Focus Chrissy is stoned and staring at Eddie's hands (one shot, 1k, complete)

For I Have Sinned Eddie gives Chrissy some relief (one shot, 278, complete) (moodboard)

Art

Hellcheer & friends Garfield & friends inspired comic strips

Neightallica For Dancing to the beat of your drum fic

Wayward Son moodboard

Eddie and Frodo Quackins

Chrissy cheering for Eddie

Love is... Hellcheer comics

#hellcheer #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #my writing #my fanfic #my fic #my art #my fanart #hellcheer fic #hellcheer fanart #you love fanfic right? here here take it

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pearlypairings · 5 months ago

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Masterlist- Eddie x Chrissy

💐 In the Shade of Aurelias (updated 4/25) chrissy-centric || fantasy/nobility au, character study, magic || WIP 10/? commissioned fanart 1 commissioned fanart 2 ✨so much (for) stardust stardust film-inspired || mild angst to fluffy ending, fun || 5.5k one-shot ⚰️ all good dates at the cemetery chrissy pov || heavy angst, happy ending || inspired by that smallville cemetery scene || 3k one-shot gifted fanart from losty and artcake 🍃 not a sound, but the wind hurt/comfort || no vecna/upside down au || completed- 19k wc 🎨 painting (a masterpiece): established relationship || fluff/comfort; first apartment || 4k one-shot 📜 Dear Donna, chrissy pov || penpal letter format || canon divergent/fix-it|| completed- 8.5k wc 🧮 Meet Me at Our Spot library meet-cute || no vecna-upside down, fast-burn || 10k one-shot 🌧️Open the Sky and Let Her Come Down sleepover/crush confessional || pining, friends to lovers || completed- 10k wc 🤘 Do or Die S4 fix-it || slow-burn, hurt/comfort || completed- 61k wc commissioned fanart

hellcheer prompt series: collection of drabbles, ficlets, and graphics based on one-word prompts from fic club and posted on ao3

prompt-partycrashing: lady in red

prompt-tattoo: tattoed on my heart

prompt-sewing: mending a soul

prompt-fireworks: ignite the spark

prompt- homecoming: broken curses and kept promises

*will update as fics are completed and posted on ao3

#pearly hellcheer masterlist #hellcheer #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #stranger things #fanfiction #ao3 #hellcheer fanfic #hellcheer art commissions

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porkchop200324 · 2 months ago

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More Hellcheer AU refs from Pinterest

(Chrissy's car, her bouquet, and Eddie and Chrissy's Bloomington house. They live there from 1987-88. In 1988, they move to their first Chicago apartment.)

#Hellcheer #Hellcheer AU

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klausinamarink · 1 year ago

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Oop let's try this again; for the birthday fics: “Because you’re a jinx!” angsty Steddie established relationship, chasing fame Eddie and some guy Steve who gets discovered while Eddie's band keeps being passed over? Platonic hellcheer and platonic Stobin.

I couldn’t find a way to put in the platonic ships but it’s still Steddie. Enjoy the angsty flavour electric boogaloo.

It was supposed to be Eddie’s lucky day.

This was supposed to be his time. The moment when the rich suits would look at Eddie and immediately offer him the contract that finally pushed his music to fame.

But it was just another fucking mediocre performance. Only a few people out of the dozens in the crowd cheered, but that was worse than getting no response at all. Nobody even went up to them for an autograph, their numbers, Instagram handles, music samples, anything that would’ve made the night worth it.

Eddie stayed silent and seething for the whole drive home. The rest of the band left on their own respective vehicles, though Jeff had lingered longer to say something that Eddie mentally filtered out. Probably some shitty encouragement or a call to quit.

His hands tightened around the wheel. Eddie felt the pulsing headache crawl to the back of his eyes. Goddamnit, he needed to sleep.

Maybe in Steve’s arms, but for once, Eddie just wanted to be alone for tonight.

After he parked the car and trudged the stairs back to his apartment, Eddie bit his lip until he tasted the sting of copper.

He was so tired. Not just physically, but in very foul shape that took its claws into him. It was the apathetic crowds and uninterested advisors. How the rest of the band delayed practice more and more. The bland methodical act of cutting up another piece of his shrinking soul as a muse for his lyrics.

But still. He was close to that single star of recognition. Eddie had to taste it.

Unlocking the door, Eddie kept himself from collapsing until he dropped his guitar case and landed face-first on the couch.

In the bedroom, he could catch some muffled conversation, the floor creaking as Steve paced back and forth inside.

Eddie frowned and checked his phone for any missed messages. Steve hadn’t texted him since five, soon after Eddie had left for the worst night of his life. It was almost eleven now. So why was his boyfriend still up and talking to someone?

Before Eddie could try and get up, the door opened and Steve came out, his phone in hand. Steve glanced up and stopped in his tracks when he saw Eddie. He gave a bright smile.

“Hey, babe! You okay?”

Eddie groaned. If he had the energy, he could scream into the pillows.

The floor creaked as Steve approached and gently laid a hand on his back. “Was the band okay?”

Eddie groaned again, unable to hold himself back from pressing against Steve’s hand. He could really use a fucking massage. Or some quick, stress-relief sex. “It’s fucking awful. It’s always fucking awful.”

Steve made a sympathetic noise, “I’m sorry to hear that, Eds.”

Eddie lifted his head up and peered at Steve. Despite his words, there was an odd light in Steve’s eyes and his lips were fighting desperately not to smile.

“What is it?” He asked.

Steve had the nerve to look spooked, “Uh, well, I don’t want to ruin your mood-”

“What is it?”

Steve stared at him for a moment before he sighed like it was the start of a serious discussion.

“You know that audition I did back in Chicago two weeks ago?” Steve bit his lip. It only revealed the cracks of excitement on his face and Eddie already knew what he was about to say. “Well, my agent called and said that I’m officially casted. I’m gonna be in a HBO show!”

Record scratch.

Eddie only stared at Steve as the news hit him with the speed of a truck. When he saw Steve’s smile in full glory, he only saw blank faces who spat at him with rejection and disappointment and ‘try better’s.

How the fuck does Steve get so many gigs when Eddie could barely find an open venue in advance? And now he’s going to work for fucking HBO, Jesus Christ-

Steve was frowning at him, “You- are you not happy?”

“Of course, I am!” Eddie said quickly. It felt hard to speak when there was something now stuck and burning in his throat. He got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen. He needed a drink. Maybe not alcohol, though tempting. But some actual water but he was too exhausted and sober for this shit.

“I’m always here to support my wonderful and talented boyfriend who never misses an audition. Who always gets a spot in whatever he plays in, even if it’s a fucking diaper commercial or a glorified extra who gets five more cents than his less impressive boyfriend.”

As he spoke, his words became more tinted with venom. Eddie took an empty glass and filled it under the tap. He almost choked from gulping it down in one go. It cooled his throat, but the burning simply expanded through his veins.

“Okay, you’re mad.” Steve said slowly, now behind him.

Eddie laughed bitterly, “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. They taught you that in acting class or was it a trick from your last ex?”

“Jesus, okay, Eddie.” Steve put his hands on Eddie’s shoulders but Eddie shook him off with more force than necessary. “You’re obviously in a bad mood and my news isn’t making it better, but you did ask and-”

Eddie whirled around. He was seeing red at the corners of his vision. “And now it’s my fault?!”

Steve backed away, his hands up in a plea of surrender. His face pinched with concern and hurt. “Eddie, let’s, let’s just go to bed. Take a shower-”

“Stop treating me like I’m a child!”

“Fuck, even a child would tell me what’s making them this upset!”

“You wanna know why I’m so upset? Huh?” Eddie smacked a hand against Steve’s chest, pushing his boyfriend away. “Take a guess with your ‘subtlety’ talents and maybe you can fucking figure it out.”

“No, I- Eds, baby-” Steve stopped to take a breath. He looked back at Eddie with more firmness, but he saw the way Steve’s ego was crumbling in his eyes. “Can you please just tell me why are you acting like this? Was it because I did something or-?”

Eddie’s anger flared. It touched the back of his mouth so he spat it all out like a dragon. “Oh, everything you do with your squeaky clean and easy career is the reason why I’m pissed at you. You get all of these stupid roles to play some stupid character Twitter would make discourse for while I have spent the last three years trying to find someone who’s willing to listen to my band play in a goddamn studio! But I keep missing these opportunities for some reason that I’m starting to think that we’re cursed or shit.”

“Eds, it can’t-”

“And don’t you say you know how it feels like because you never knew how to fucking fail, Stevie! Everything you do is just rich executives giving you silver platters. I bet they all want that Harrington blowjob.”

Steve gasped softly and shook his head. He now had his arms around himself like it would protect him. “That’s not true- Why are you even saying these things to me?!”

“Because you’re a jinx! Because you’re Steve Harrington and I hate your dumb luck!”

Eddie’s words echoed across the apartment as he breathed heavily. He wouldn’t be surprised if it went out the windows and into the streets.

Steve held an unbelievably idiotic expression. Mouth half-open, a slack jaw, glossy eyes that just stared at Eddie without any more light shining in them.

Finally, he spoke so quietly that Eddie had to strain to hear, “Okayâ€¦ I’m going to Robin’s.”

With that, Steve hurried out, having some decency to not slam the door.

And then it was just Eddie, alone in the kitchen with the nasty thoughts and words that would soon bite back at him.

#the klaus birthday special #klaus writes #steddie #stranger things #klaus answers #hurt/no comfort

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foundtherightwords · 2 months ago

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The Minstrel, the Maiden, and the Knights of Hellfire - Chapter 5

Pairing: Hellcheer, Medieval AU

Summary: England, 1139: the civil war between King Stephen and Empress Maud looms large, threatening to tear the country in half. For Ed and his band of traveling minstrels, however, the more pressing matter is how to survive the upcoming winter, now that they were tossed out by their latest patron. When they stumble upon a naïve pageboy looking for warriors to escort the lady Christiana to safe haven in Wales, Ed comes up with a daring plan - pose as knights, take the job, and collect the reward. After all, how hard can it be? What Ed doesn't count on is endless battles, treacherous roads, marauding bandits, Lady Christiana's pompous fiancé, and his own growing attraction to the fair maiden herself...

Chapter warning: none

Chapter word count: 6.3k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The road north of Winchester was wilder and lonelier than the one they'd travelled on from the southern coast. The villages were fewer and set further apart, and although they always managed to find a tavern or a farm to put up for the night, these places were rough, little more than a dry roof over their heads, a great comedown compared to their stay at Bishop's Waltham. Worse still, the clear blue sky of the past few days had given way to lead-colored clouds and a chilly, drizzling autumn rain that dampened hair, cloaks, and moods. It also churned the road into mud, which stuck to the wagon wheels. Warlock hated the rain, and whenever the wheels became stuck, he would refuse to budge or do anything to help shift them. This slowed them so much that they could do no more than a few miles a day.

All this set Ed's teeth on edge. Having come face-to-face with the fearsome Vecna, he now wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and that wolf, and longed for the safety of Wales, for the Welsh hills to rise up and enfold them like a mother's warm embrace. But at the speed they were going, it would take them at least two weeks, if not more, to reach that haven.

Christiana didn't seem to mind the hardship or the slow pace. It both bolstered and bewildered Ed's spirits to see her walking steadily along the wagon, her skirts kilted up to avoid muddying their hems, never complaining, even giving Dustin and Maxime a few words of encouragement when they faltered. She didn't ask as many questions as Dustin, but she took in everything with the same curious, fascinated look Ed had seen in her that first day. She kept an eye out for nuts and berries on the sides of the road, and whenever they stopped to rest, she and Maxime would add what they'd managed to gather to the store of food. When they had to prepare their own food—which was often—she would hover around Tadhg, offering to help and asking questions after questions about how to cook this dish or how to prepare that dish. This greatly bemused Tadhg, whose cooking skills didn't extend further than throwing things in a pot and heating them until it was just on this side of getting burned, yet Christiana treated every one of his dishes as a meal fit for Lucullus. She also offered to help Geoff, who was their designated seamster—Ed may have painted the demonic device on their tabards, but it was Geoff who mended and patched them when they inevitably got torn. Here, her assistance was much more welcome, for her sewing was neater than Geoff's.

She probably thinks this whole thing is a great lark, Ed told himself. A highborn lady playing at being a country lass. Yet for all his steadfast refusal to be swayed by her cheerful disposition, he couldn't help but admire her, no matter how grudgingly. There was a steel core beneath her delicate frame that kept her upright through the rain, the mud, the uncomfortable nights in a barn or a stable, or the even more uncomfortable nights out in the open.

There was only one thing in which Ed refused Christiana's assistance, and that was their minstrelsy.

She brought up the possibility one evening, as they stopped at a village inn and Ed and the troupe were preparing to entertain the patrons. "It distresses me that you have to do all the work," she said to him, timidly. "I can sing for my supper as well. Or dance—"

Yes, he'd heard her sing. She had a sweet and clear voice, and an ear for music too, as she'd proven by learning their songs after just one or two listens. At first, Ed and the lads had blushed to sing such bawdy words in front of her, but she seemed unbothered by them and even grinned impishly along with them.

But the notion of her performing caused Ed some disquiet, though he didn't know why. "No!" he hastened to say. "It's unseemly!"

Christiana's eyes sparked, and for the first time, Ed realized not only could her eyes glow bright blue as the sky, they could also turn hard and sharp like two sapphires. "Unseemly?" she said. "Who do you think you are that you can dictate what I can and cannot do? You're not my father, my brother, or my husband!"

"We are doing fine; we've no need for your help," Ed said curtly. He bent over his gittern, ostensibly tuning it.

Christiana retreated from him, blinking back tears. Ed's sense of chivalry chided him for speaking so harshly to a lady—no matter how unconsciously done—but his common sense prevailed. Although her telling of the legends of King Arthur had been a great success with their fellow travelers, it was a spur of the moment that he had no wish to repeat. Christiana had been right to worry; she had drawn too much attention to herself. While Dustin had been given the honor of walking around with a cap to collect any coin the spectators wanted to part with after each performance, the girls must remain to the side.

As they played and sang, Ed tried to avoid Christiana's reproachful eyes watching him from the corner of the inn. Doubtless she's not used to being refused, he thought grimly. If anything, this proved to him that Christiana indeed saw their journey as a leisurely outing and not a flight from danger. Why else would she want to perform with them? No, he refused to entertain such childish whims and fancies. He had to be sensible.

***

Andover, Ludgershall, Marlborough. The flat lands of the south gave way to the undulating hills of the Berkshire Downs, and now they entered the secluded stretch of road into Oxfordshire. Ed sighed as he pondered the possibility of spending yet another night out in the open. The rain had stopped, but the ground was still too wet and muddy to be a comfortable bed. It was too late to push on for Swindon. Dusk was falling, and the woods loomed thick and dark on either side of the road, looking none too hospitable. There was a hamlet behind the wood, its few lights winking like distant stars, but it was probably like most of the hamlets they'd passed through, too small or too suspicious to house them for the night.

Ed glanced at Christiana. She was walking by the wagon, her head held high. She had steadfastly refused to ride on the wagon, just as she had refused to speak to Ed or indeed even look at him since their quarrel—if it could be called a quarrel—about her singing.

"We may have to rest here for the night," he announced to the group. Two sets of groans answered him—one of relief from his friends, and one of dismay from Dustin and Maxime. Christiana said nothing. So she planned to keep ignoring him, didn't she? "Or, if you are not too tired, we could carry on to Swindon, though the town gates may be shut by then," Ed continued. He turned to Dustin, "Ask your lady what she would like."

Dustin frowned at him. "She's only two paces behind you. Why can't you ask her yourself?"

"Just ask her, will you?"

Dutifully, Dustin repeats the question to Christiana. Lifting her chin even higher, she said stiffly, "You may tell Sir Edmund to do whatever he pleases. Certainly, my comfort, or indeed my opinion, is of little importance to him."

Aware that five pairs of eyes were staring at him in bemusement, Ed drew Warlock to a stop. "Fine. Let us make camp here."

"Uh, Ed—" Tadhg said quietly.

"What?!" Ed snapped.

"We should go on a little further, to find a stream—hullo, what's that?"

Tadhg's concern with the camp was diverted by something on their right, and they all turned, following his pointing finger. A strange sight indeed: a stream of torches, flickering in the gathering gloom like a somber procession of fireflies, was approaching from the hamlet in the distance and moving into a clearing just behind the trees. The torchbearers' voices floated toward them, rising excitedly, but it was a strange kind of excitement, not joyous or hopeful, but rather anxious, fearful even. It sent shivers down Ed's spine. Who were those people and what were they about? Refugees from the war, fleeing from some destruction? No, they were too loud, too conspicuous. And if they were seeking a safe haven, why should they be moving away from the hamlet? Unless something terrible had happened...

"Let me go and find out what's happening," Ed said, beckoning to Dustin. "You come with me. The rest of you wait here." Dustin puffed out his chest, proud of being singled out. What Ed didn't say was that out of all of them, he trusted Dustin would be the quickest to sound the alarm, should there be any danger.

As they approached the clearing, it became apparent that there was no danger. Children were running around, chasing each other, screaming excitedly at being allowed to stay up so late; men were busy setting up trestle tables and benches while women were laying out food and drinks. It seemed to be a feast, a celebration of sorts.

The only strange thing was that it was being set up in a graveyard.

Torchlight flickered on the crosses and tombstones dotted around the clearing, some so old and weathered that the engravings on them were no longer legible, others quite new—chillingly so. Ed and Dustin gave each other a wondering look. The villagers seemed to pay no mind to this macabre setting, and they went about preparing the feast with an industrious air, as though this was a bright June day on the village greens, not a darkening evening in late October amongst the dead.

Ed remembered that it must be close to All Saints Day now. Was this some sort of All Hallows' Eve celebration? He knew people visited graves and brought flowers and offerings on that day, but he'd never heard of an All Hallows' Eve feast in a graveyard before.

Ed and Dustin hovered on the edge of the graveyard, unsure how or who to approach. Just then, a man, setting down a heavy bench, happened to glance their way and strolled toward them. He was of late middle years, and there was an air of authority in the way he carried himself. Still, he sounded friendly enough as he presented himself as the reeve of the village of Poulton. "Now who might you be, lads?" he asked. "And what can I do for you?"

Using his best manner, Ed explained that they were traveling minstrels in search of a place to stay for the night.

The reeve's twinkling eyes popped as he lifted his bushy eyebrows, intrigued. "Minstrels, you say? Play and sing, do you?"

"That is what we minstrels usually do, yes," Ed replied, becoming even more curious.

The reeve was overjoyed. "This is a blessing, a blessing indeed!" he said, clapping Ed and Dustin's shoulders with hands so callous and thick with muscles that it felt rather like being hit by two wooden oars. "For we are having a wedding, and no music to make merry! The Good Lord himself must have sent you to us!"

Ed didn't stop to ask why they were having a wedding at night in a graveyard. He only saw that here was an opportunity to play and to earn. When he mentioned to the reeve that they had friends waiting on the road, the reeve urged him to bring them over, "the more the merrier!"

When Ed and Dustin brought this astonishing news back to the company, Geoff exclaimed, "I've heard of this custom! It's called a black wedding. Supposedly, if two people are wedded in a graveyard at the expense of the village, it would protect the village from some catastrophe. Although"—here he frowned—"it is often done to protect the village from plague or disease."

"Plague?" squeaked Gareth.

"We didn't see any sign of the plague," Dustin said.

"Fool boy," Gareth snapped. "If there were signs, then it was already too late to perform this wedding, wasn't it?"

Dustin opened his mouth to retort, but Ed gave them both a stern look that silenced them. They went to clear things up with the reeve.

"Oh no, there is no plague here," the man was quick to say. "You can assure yourself on that count. No, this is to keep our village safe from the war."

Ed couldn't see the reason behind that. "But… which side are you on?" he asked.

The reeve sighed. "Our lord swore fealty to the Empress when old King Henry demanded it, but then he sided with King Stephen when Stephen took the throne. Now... we no longer know. Haven't you heard? Stephen has withdrawn his army from Arundel and granted Maud safe conduct to Bristol."

That was news to Ed and his company. So King Stephen had decided to give up his siege of Arundel after all. Understandable, as Arundel Castle was rumored to be nigh impenetrable. His decision to release his rival, on the other hand...

"Isn't that very foolish, to let her go free?" Geoff asked.

"Indeed, but the King is very chivalrous and insists women not be harmed during the war," said the reeve. Geoff could be heard mumbling something about chivalry and stupidity under his breath, which luckily the reeve didn't catch.

"Our village is on the path to Bristol and Gloucester, both strongholds of Maud's allies," the reeve continued. "Maud may find fault with our lord for defecting, while Stephen may distrust him for having been once loyal to Maud. We are truly caught between a rock and a hard place. If the fighting comes here, what's to protect us from destruction?"

What indeed, Ed wondered. What care did these warring cousins have for the land and the people they were trampling underfoot in their contention for the throne? Ed himself didn't care who ruled; he was only afraid that once the blood had run dry and the clashes of steel had quieted over the battlefield, there would be not much left for the winner to rule.

Geoff was still trying to find the reason behind this unreasonable act. "But in that case," he said to the reeve, "shouldn't you use your time and effort to fortify your village, instead of wasting it on this wedding?"

The reeve's countenance darkened in offence, and Ed was beginning to fear that Geoff might cost them this opportunity, when Christiana spoke up, softly, "It's not wasted if it brings them hope. We can all do with a little bit of hope in these trying times, can we not, master?" This she directed at the reeve with a winning smile.

The reeve brightened up. "Indeed, lassie, indeed," he said, clasping Christiana's arms in an embrace that seemed to Ed far too enthusiastic. "And bless you, all of you, for sharing it with us!"

As the reeve led them into the torch-lit graveyard, Christiana said, as though trying to explain her interference, "I think it's a beautiful custom. Any couple should consider themselves fortunate to be chosen for this."

"I wouldn't call them fortunate," Geoff said grimly.

"Why not?" asked Christiana, surprised.

She soon had her answer. In the place of honor in the middle of the graveyard, the bride and groom were sitting under a canopy beribboned and festooned with sheaves of grains, fruits, and flowers like the central table at a harvest home, its beauty and abundance contrasting sadly with the two people it sheltered. The groom looked quite old, almost as old as the reeve, though how much of those weary lines was from his true age and how much was from suffering and hardship, it was impossible to tell. He had a hunched and twisted back, his shoulders and arms disproportionately large compared to his sadly withered lower limbs, which were hidden by the knotted legs of his hose. Next to him, the young bride looked more like his child than his wife, and this impression was only heightened by her emaciated frame and her wide, unseeing eyes. Some kindhearted woman had given her a blue gown to wear for the occasion, but it was too large for her and hung on her thin shoulders like a shroud.

"See, for the black wedding to work, the bride and groom must be the two most unfortunate people of the village," Geoff explained to Christiana, who was looking at the bride in horror and pity. "Cripples, beggars, orphans. And they must be strangers to each other."

"And what is going to happen to them?" Christiana asked.

Geoff had no time to answer, because a grim-faced priest was stalking to the front of the canopy, signaling the wedding was about to begin.

It was a quick ceremony. The priest clearly found the idea of blessing a marriage in a graveyard blasphemous and an affront to his office, but the glowering, expectant villagers forced him to perform it anyway. The groom stumbled through his vows like a schoolboy having neglected to learn his lesson, and had to be prompted many times, which caused the guests to titter and murmur amongst themselves whether the groom or the priest was the one to recite the vow. Then the ring—which even from a distance Ed could see was fashioned from a strip of copper—was slipped onto the bride's thin finger, and the priest announced they were man and wife, to everyone's relief.

The reeve waved at the minstrels, telling them to start playing. As Ed and his friends readied their instruments, Dustin led the girls to where the women congregated. Christiana went meekly and sat down in a corner, still watching the bride and groom. At least she won't be demanding to sing this time, thought Ed. Then shame pricked at his insides. She hadn't demanded; she had simply asked, and she'd never meant any harm by it. He pulled his gittern out of its case and busied himself with tuning it, to avoid the muddling thoughts that always seemed to plague his mind whenever Christiana was concerned.

For hours, Ed and his friends played and sang while the wedding guests danced to the lively tunes. Although their merriment was tinged with a certain tension, even desperation, they seemed to be doing their best to enjoy themselves. Even Dustin and Maxime were pulled into the ring and pranced and jumped along with the villagers. The only ones not dancing were the bride and groom, the priest, and Christiana—Ed saw a few young men coming up to her, one even so bold as to pull at her hand, but she smiled and shook her head, and they went off, looking disappointed. All the while, her eyes never left the nuptial canopy and its occupants. Strange, that. Why should these two poor souls capture her attention so? Was it simply the morbid fascination of a highborn lady who had only seen beauty and grace her whole life, and was now facing the ugliness of the world for the first time? Or was it something else?

As the night grew late and the revelers grew weary, the musicians were allowed a brief respite. Ed, who had been taking up most of the singing, gratefully accepted a tankard of ale from the reeve. Geoff still mumbled about the pagan superstition of these backwoods places, but he, too, sat down and showed off his rebab to an interested lad. Tadhg, who was used to village feasts like this from his days as a farm boy in Lincolnshire before losing his parents to fever, seemed the most at home. He demolished whatever dishes were left on the table and entertained the children by juggling some apples. Only Gareth was missing—but Ed had seen him making sheep's eyes at one of the village girls, who was now nowhere to be seen either. Ed could only pray that Gareth's latest conquest wouldn't land them in trouble again.

Christiana had gone to sit next to the bride and was trying to talk to her—trying, because the bride made no reply or indeed showed any sign of hearing Christiana. She just kept staring around with bewildered, vacant eyes. Ed wondered if she was deaf, or if she was simply so used to being ignored and cast out that she didn't know how to respond when someone spoke to her. On her other side, her new husband was stuffing food into his mouth and guzzling ale as though he was afraid it would be snatched out of his hands at any moment.

After trying and failing to get the bride to eat something, Christiana turned to Maxime, who was hovering nearby, and whispered into the girl's ear. Maxime looked doubtful, but Christiana gave her a push, and she ran off. A few moments later, Maxime returned with something in her arms. Christiana shook it out and put it on the bride. It was a bliaut of fine, wine-colored linen, beautifully embroidered along the neck and the opening of the sleeves. When put over the oversized gown, it fitted the bride better and hid some of her thinness, and its color lent a blush to her sallow skin and a luster to her mousy brown hair, so she looked almost pretty.

The bride stared at the bliaut, fingering the embroideries in disbelief. It was plain compared to Christiana's silk and brocade, but likely this girl had never seen anything so fine in her entire life, let alone touch it or wear it. Some of the dazed look was gone from her eyes, and she even gave Christiana a timid smile. Christiana smiled back and patted the bride's hand, before walking away.

"You know she is just going to sell that after the wedding," Ed said when Christiana came by his table to pour herself some ale. "Better to give her some coin. That would be of more use to her."

"I did give her a coin," Christiana said. "And if she does sell the gown, so what? She has felt beautiful in it, even if it was only for a short while."

"She's not some doll for you to dress up as you please," Ed said, before he could stop himself.

She whirled around to face him, her blue eyes blazing, a tremble on her lips. "Must you always assign the worst intention to everything I do?" she snapped. "If you dislike me so much, then perhaps we should find someone else to travel with!" She downed the ale, slammed the tankard on the table, and stormed off.

Ed wanted to bite off his own tongue. What had possessed him to carp at her so? She had been nothing but kind and considerate, not only to him but to his friends as well. She may be naïve, but hadn't he himself possessed that same naïveté, before hardship and life knocked it out of him?

He wanted to go after her, to apologize, but the reeve was already calling for all the guests to see the bride and groom to their new home. The torches were taken down, and the same procession began in reverse, leading back to the village. The groom got around with astonishing speed by pulling himself on two wooden pattens fitted to his hands, which explained the developed muscles of his arms and shoulders, while dragging his shriveled knees behind him on a little wheeled trolley. He paid no attention to his bride, who was limping after him, supported by some of the village women and Christiana.

Gareth came running back, his auburn hair all tousled, followed by a blushing girl. As they blended in with the procession, Gareth scooped up his neglected tabor and joined his friends in playing the wedding march. Ed glared at him, and Gareth answered with a wink. Ed sighed, having no heart to reprimand the errant member of his flock. At least someone had found love, or some form of it, at this wedding.

The procession stopped at a little hut on the edge of the village, clearly newly constructed, but looking sturdy enough, with thatched roof and wattle-and-daub walls. There was a clearing in front that could be turned into a garden, and a willow basket stood by the door, containing a few sleeping chickens. It seemed the village had really come together to set the bride and groom up for their new life.

The newlyweds were led into the hut. Some of the more bawdy-minded young men wanted to stay for the bedding of the bride, but the reeve waved them on with a stern word.

"You see, mistress," Geoff said to Christiana, after they had left the newlyweds and were on their way to the reeve's house, where they were staying for the night. "They have done a service to the village, so the village will support them now."

"I suppose that's better than most could hope for with their marriages," said Ed reasonably.

Christiana looked back at the little hut, concern etched across her brow. "But what of her hope?" she said quietly, almost to herself, so that Ed, walking beside her, was the only one who heard. Suddenly, it all became clear to him, her interest in the bride, her pity, her anger towards him. She saw herself in the bride, a friendless girl being forced into marriage against her will. Perhaps there was guilt in it as well. At least Christiana could afford to run away from her marriage and forge her own path. That poor deaf and mute girl was now tied to an old man for the rest of her life. If she were lucky, he might turn out to be kind, and they could build some kind of life together. But what Ed had seen of the groom didn't inspire much confidence.

And with the realization, his shame also returned. Before, it had been like a little needle pricking at his conscience, but now it was like hot coals scorching him from the inside out. He had been so quick to judge and to condemn Christiana, because he thought he knew her and the likes of her. In truth, she was not like the highborn ladies he'd met at all. She was like no one he'd ever met.

Without thinking, he reached out toward Christiana—to do what, he didn't quite know. Perhaps he wished to take her hand, to hold it and squeeze it gently, to show her that he understood. But just as he did so, she quickened her pace—whether to deliberately avoid him or not, it was impossible to tell—so his hand only grazed hers in the briefest of touch. She didn't react. Perhaps she didn't feel it at all.

The reeve lived with his family in a large, comfortable home near the center of the village. While his wife took their children to bed—the youngest having fallen asleep in her arms—the reeve led the company into the kitchen to wash with some hot water, a luxury Christiana appeared to greatly appreciate. Afterward, he showed them where they were to sleep—the boys in the barn, where there was plenty of straw for them to make their beds, and the girls on a pallet in the undercroft.

Ed went to bed with the others, but although the straw was warm and the reeve's wife had given them plenty of blankets, he couldn't sleep. He kept seeing Christiana's face as she snapped at him during the wedding, and, unable to endure his shame any longer, he went outside, making for the well at the center of the yard, hoping that a good douse in cold water would clear his head and calm his heart.

To his surprise, he saw Christiana sitting by the well, looking up at the star-strewn sky. Hearing rather than seeing Ed's movement, she turned toward him. For a moment, they both stared at each other, frozen by surprise and unable to retreat. Christiana recovered first. She jumped down, like a nymph caught by a mortal man, and made for the house.

Ed rushed forward. "Wait!" He couldn't let her slip out of his grasp a second time. "Please, just a moment."

A brief hesitation, then she turned back and looked at him, waiting, searching. He cleared his throat. "Mistress," he began. "I wish to apologize for the way I spoke to you. I'd censured you when I had neither business nor indeed any cause to do so. It was discourteous of me, and I apologize."

She continued to gaze at him, unmoved. Then she raised her chin and said, coldly, "You need not worry. Our agreement still stands." She then turned on her heel and stalked back to the undercroft. That was all. No sign to show if she'd accepted the apology or even acknowledged it. Clearly, she thought he was only apologizing for fear of losing the promised forty shillings.

Ed remained where he was, stunned by Christiana's dismissal and irritated at being misunderstood. He did what he'd always done when words failed him—he turned to his music.

Over to the wagon, now unhitched and standing by the barn, he grabbed his gittern out of its case. Then he returned to the well, sat down with his back against its cool stone wall, and began plucking out the melody of Jock o' Hazeldean and sang along with it, quietly, so as not to wake the others, only the one to whom he was playing.

Why weep ye by the tide, ladie, Why weep ye by the tide? I'll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye shall be his bride...

The music, sweet and aching, floated around the little yard, so gently that it seemed to whisper and hush and become one with the silver-speckled darkness, never breaking the silence of the night.

As Ed started on the second verse, in which the prospective father-in-law enticed the young lady with a chain of gold and other riches so she would marry his son, the door to the undercroft opened. The small figure of Christiana appeared, standing just inside it, leaning against the frame. For a moment, she seemed to waver, unable to make up her mind if she should step fully out to better hear the song or not. By the third verse, the spell of the music had won her over, and she came and sat next to Ed by the well, wrapped in her cloak, her head tilted, her hair in a loose braid like a rope of gold down her back.

At the end of the third verse, Ed paused for a breath of air and turned to Christiana. Were those tears in her eyes, or was it just the reflection of the stars that made her eyes shine so?

"Play something else," she said. "That song is too sad."

Her voice was softer, her coldness and snappishness from earlier had gone. Ed smiled at her. "Do you command me, mistress?"

"I do."

Even sitting on the ground, in a rough woolen cloak and with her head bare, there was still a touch of regalness in her speech and manner that compelled him, whether he wished it or not. He dutifully took up the gittern and started on the last verse of the song.

The kirk was deck'd at morning tide, The tapers glimmer'd fair. The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there.

"Do you mock me?" Christiana said, her nostrils flaring. "Why do you still sing that?" Furiously, she rose to her feet, but Ed pulled her down by her wrist and raised a finger, signaling her to silence and patience, as he continued singing.

They sought her baith by bower and ha' The ladie was not seen. She's o'er the border and awa', Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean.

"She ran away, you see," he said, once the song was finished. "She was only biding her time, and in the end, she ran away with her lover, Jock o' Hazeldean."

Christiana let out a soft sigh, a breath of relief, as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Am I forgiven?" Ed asked.

A small smile hovered over her lips, like the sun shining through a rainbow. "You are."

Quietness reigned over the little courtyard once more, until Christiana broke it by asking, "Who taught you to play?"

"My mother." Ed tucked the quill plectrum into the pouch he wore around his neck and ran a hand over the neck of the gittern. "This was hers. The only thing she left for me."

"How old were you when she died?"

"Six."

Christiana's hands moved in her lap, as though she longed to reach out for him but couldn't. "I begged my father to take me to France with my mother and brother, you know," she said quietly. "But he insisted on leaving me behind."

Her lips trembled, though not from anger this time, and tears stood in the corners of her eyes. Ed felt a twinge of sympathy. She, too, had been abandoned by her family, though their circumstances could not be more different. Indeed, he was even more fortunate—he still had an uncle and friends. Christiana had no one, only her servants. He berated himself again for all the hurtful words he'd thrown at her and made a vow to himself never to repeat them, even in thoughts.

"Perhaps it was for the best," he said. "You are free now to make your own way."

"Alas, there is no Jock o' Hazeldean waiting for me over the Welsh border," she said, smiling wryly.

"You may meet him yet."

Her smile turned wistful. "Will I? Love is for songs and poetry. People cannot afford to love, no matter how rich they are. It's all about surviving. Just look at tonight's newlyweds. You said so yourself, they were lucky to get a hut and a few chickens. Love has no place in their life."

Her despondence was unbearable to him. He couldn't live with the fact that he'd stamped out her light. "Pay no words to my heed, mistress," he said. "What do I know of love anyway?"

"No? And here I thought you must have left strings of broken hearts whenever you go."

He grinned. "Gareth's the heartbreaker, not me."

Christiana tilted her head. "It is said a troubadour needs three things—an instrument, a horse, and a ladylove. You have your gittern and Warlock. What about the ladylove?"

I had her once, he thought, and I don't even know her name. But he had never told anyone that, not even his friends, and he certainly was not going to reveal that to this majestic, unfathomable girl sitting next to him, no matter how much he'd warmed to her. He was about to say some jest, or perhaps tell her a white lie to divert her attention, when he caught her eyes and felt his own heart caught in his chest.

She was looking at him, her eyes wide and sparkling like the stars above them, her lips parted as if in wonder. How would it feel to kiss those lips, to taste their warmth, to feel rather than to see them trembling, not in anger or offense but in passion?

Ed didn't realize he was leaning forward, getting closer and closer to Christiana, until a voice rang out behind them, and they sprang apart like two thieves caught with their hands in the coffer.

"My lady? Please come to bed."

It was Maxime, who must have noticed Christiana's absence. Silently cursing the girl, Ed picked up his gittern and jumped up. Before he could scurry back to the barn, Christiana grabbed his hand.

"Thank you," she said. "For the song."

She let him go then, for Maxime was tut-tutting at the doorway, full of disapproval like an old nursemaid. Carrying with him the memory of her smile and the feel of her hand in his, Ed returned to the barn. It wasn't until then that he realized Christiana had spoken of him as a troubadour, not a knight, but before he could ponder this curiosity, sleep had found him, sweet and easy, and he thought no more of it.

***

A few days after Ed and his company left Poulton, the reeve had a rather unsettling encounter at the market in Swindon. A rider, a crusader no less, was asking if anyone had seen a party of minstrels passing through, and the reeve, all guileless, said that such a party had performed at his village not too long ago.

"And did they say where they were headed?" the crusader asked.

By this time, the reeve had seen the man's face more clearly, and those sunken cheeks, yellowed teeth, and that one blind eye frightened him so much that he wondered if he was doing right by those minstrels, telling this fiend about them. He was about to lie, when his little daughter, Emma, brought along for an outing, piped up, "Wales, sir."

"How did you know, little girl?" the crusader asked.

"I heard the pretty lady talk to the singer. They were sitting by the well. He was singing to her, and I heard them."

"You are a keen child," said the crusader. "Here's a penny for your sharp ears."

He tossed Emma a coin. The child was delighted, only less so when her father scolded her for eavesdropping. That Sunday, Emma, amidst much protesting, reluctantly put her coin into the collection box in church as atonement for her nosiness, while her father prayed that his honesty and Emma's quick tongue had not been the cause of harm for those nice lads and lassies.

Chapter 6

This chapter contains two instances of creative liberty:

One, the Black Wedding/Plague Wedding is more of a Jewish tradition (one was performed as recently as 2020, during the COVID pandemic!) There's no evidence that it was present in medieval England, but the Jews started arriving in England after the Norman Conquest (1066), so it's not out of the question that they brought this tradition with them and some English people picked it up.

Two, these lyrics for Jock o' Hazeldean was written by Sir Walter Scott and not published until 1816, but again, the song itself is a traditional English ballad (my favorite version of the song is this one by Gary Lightbody of Snow Patrol.)

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheer au #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #joseph quinn #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #joseph quinn fic #medieval au

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wheremermaidsdwell · 16 days ago

Text

WIP Wednesday - Hellcheer Bingo!

Have a peek at one of my fills for @hellcheeranniversaryweek I remain on my torturing Chrissy agenda so have some screaming in the woods:

She takes a breath, ready to scream again but as she inhales she hears footsteps. Her eyes snap open and she whirls around in a panic to see Eddie Munson stopped ten feet away from her with his hands up in surrender. “Uh, you ok?” he asks as their eyes meet. She lets out her breath, but doesn’t know what to say. Obviously she’s not. How can she lie about screaming her head off without looking stupid? Although it’s not like Eddie is probably gonna report this to the gossip circuit at school. He hates that stuff. “Um. Just…needed to scream. Sorry if I disturbed you.” “It’s ok. Glad you’re not, you know, being ax murdered or something. Don’t know if I could have handled that,” he jokes. She lets out a ghost of a laugh. “No ax murders. Just some rage.” “Rage I get. You wanna scream more? Want company? Scream together?” She looks at her watch. She has 3 minutes. “Ok.” Eddie smiles. Chrissy cautiously smiles back. “On three?” he offers. She nods. He counts them down and they both scream. There’s no time to feel ashamed, she has three minutes to get it together so she can last through cheer. Eddie Munson has no leg to stand on when he regularly makes a scene at Hawkins High so she lets loose. Chrissy howls and so does Eddie and that feels…good. Not being alone feels good. She’s always so alone. So many friends and no one sees her. She screams as long as she can before she needs a breath and when she breaks - she laughs. It’s high and a little hysterical, but also relieved. Eddie’s still screaming, but he stops, and he looks at her, and he breaks out into laughter too. His smile is wide and unabashed in a way she never gets to be. It encourages her to smile a little wider, laugh a little louder. They laugh together and slowly her giggles subside and she clutches her chest that feels a little less like she’s going to shake apart now. She has to wipe a tear away, and she’s not sure if it’s a bad tear or a good tear, she’s too mixed up. She’s been mixed up since she found out and she feels better right now, but it’s all going to come back soon enough. “Better?” Eddie asks. She nods. “Better.”

#i wrote shit

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anyataylorsoy · 10 months ago

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I would love to know five facts about a hellcheer art school AU 🥰

several days later

1) I think Eddie would probably be a traditional media artist, like illustration. He would be working on his own graphic novel. Chrissy would be more into textiles and she’d tell her mother that she was going to school for fashion, but really she’s making a giant quilt of her mental health journey for the school exhibition 💕

2) Eddie would be paying for school by doing various odd jobs including posing for the art classes, playing guitar in a church’s band on Sundays, and working in a retirement home cafeteria. Chrissy volunteers at the retirement home for her scholarship program and she waits until class to tell Eddie that she noticed him: “you look much better without the hairnet.”

3) Obviously, Corroded Coffin still exist in this universe, and they play in a seedy bar with an alleyway entrance on Tuesday nights. It’s popular amongst the college kids, though, because happy hour is $2 drafts. Eddie finally gets the nerve to invite Chrissy to come see them play. She unfortunately has a panic attack in throngs of drunks and goes home. Eddie shows up to her apartment after the show with his guitar: “I believe I promised you a song.” He doesn’t even get to the chorus before Chrissy is in his arms.

4) Chrissy’s mom finds out she isn’t doing fashion design and is “wasting her life” on an art degree and stops paying for the other half of Chrissy’s tuition. Eddie gets her a job as a barback at the bar. Eventually, the bartender teaches her how to make drinks during the slow times and she gets a promotion. She demands they give Corroded Coffin the prime Friday night spot.

5) They eventually find a converted warehouse apartment and move in together in their senior year. Chrissy’s completed quilt hangs on their wall and Eddie has stacks of his comic book on the coffee table waiting to be sent off to publishers. They’re hosting Wayne for thanksgiving, nothing is going right, but they’re on the third bottle of wine and having a grand time. Wayne’s brought Eddie his grandmother’s wedding ring and it’s burning a hole in Eddie’s pocket, but he’s waiting until Christmas. …or at least the Macy’s day parade.

send more AUs, maybe?

#i’m so sorry i abandoned this in my drafts for daaaaays #hellcheer #ask meme #erythromanc3r

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fuctacles · 1 year ago

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An offer you can't refuse

@stevieweek Day 1: Stobin + Dom!Stevie | T | 2127 | no cw | bar setting, modern au, Steddie, Buckingham, Stobin, Hellcheer, mentions of polyamory, everyone is horny, Eddie is a switch for hot ladies | Ao3 Stevie Week: Day 1 | Day 2 (art) | Day 3 (art) | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

"I hate you so much!" Robin slurs slightly, her hand slapping against the bar. Stevie presses her lips together, trying not to laugh at her distressed and intoxicated friend.

"Why this time?" she inquires, calmly sipping her drink.

"You're so pretty!"

"Why, thank you," she beams, but Robin huffs.

"Stevie," she says, putting her drink away and grabbing Stevie's face. "You did this on purpose," she accuses, though her tone has no real anger. "For not dating you when you wanted to."

"Uh-huh."

"And now you got so cute. But I know what your farts smell like!"

Stevie snorts, but Robin presses her cheeks harder together until her lips pucker out. She stares at them, dark and shiny with the lipgloss she uses.

"Robs..."

Robin only shakes her head with her hands, making a wild sound of distress and frustration. It forces Stevie to put away the drink and grab her.

"Stop it, you're ruining my hair!"

Robin grumbles but lets her pry her hands away.

"You hate me because I'm hot?" Stevie asks, amused. Robin huffs.

"I didn't say you're hot," she protests.

"But you think that?"

"Evie." Her fingers flex like they're itching to abuse her hairdo and makeup again but Stevie keeps her wrists in a tight grip. "You know you're hot, you bitch. And I'm stuck here—a 6 with a 10 for a best friend. And if we weren't best friends, if I didn't know about your gross pickle breath, you'd be exactly the kind of girl I crush on, but—!"

"But you're stuck with a hot best friend?" Stevie asks, pouting sympathetically.

"Exactly!" Robin deflates angrily.

"I mean, we can make out if you want," she offers with a shrug.

Robin, in her drunken state, seems to be considering it, before she crunches her nose.

"No, thanks." But then, her frown deepens. "But if we had, like, a threesome? Or foursome?"

"Ooookay." Stevie pushes her away, so she sits fully on her barstool instead of perched on the edge to be right in her friend's face. "We can get back to it when you sober up. See if you still want to see me naked then," she snorts. There was a time when this kind of confession would lead them to the back of their current workplace, but Stevie shares the sentiment that their relationship had evolved in a completely different direction by now. Robin was too much like her sister.

And she doesn't want to think about a threesome with her sister right now. Not with the alcohol pumping through her to the beat of the music.

It wasn't Robin's usual scene, but ever since Stevie's transition, she's been helping her to get out more. Thanks to that, her experience with women has been expanding. Stevie got something from these outings too, they helped her feel better in her skin, feel like a real woman, and be treated like one. Back when her features were stronger, and her makeup skills lacking, the club lights helped to hide them. Now they both felt comfortable in these settings and knew where to go to to feel safe and have fun.

But sometimes it was nice just to be in their tiny New York apartment, just the two of them, and a mildly amusing sitcom on their second-hand TV. Stevie presses the back of her fingers to her friend's shoulder.

"Do you want to go home?"

Robin shakes her head slowly.

"Not yet. Let's dance for a bit."

Dancing was also something that hadn't been a Robin thing until Stevie dragged her into it. She was still uncoordinated and awkward but after a few drinks, neither she nor other people seemed to care. So they finished their drinks and Stevie pulled her onto the dancefloor.

She usually dragged her friend out to the bar in hopes of helping her find a girlfriend or at least a hookup, but having fun with her friend was more than enough after a week of working in a quiet bookstore. So, with a pleasant buzz fueling their movements, they dance close together, hands laced because they are that comfortable with each other. And since it was a queer-friendly club, someone unfamiliar with them couldn't tell if they were friends or lovers.

People would bump into them and make offers they have to decline. It's been assumed they were a pair of lesbians looking for a threesome more than once. But since Robin wasn't into dicks and Stevie was afraid of how people would react after finding out she had one, it's always been a 'no'. Even if she liked the idea of having sex with multiple partners. It was tricky being born a woman, and even more becoming one.

So when someone gently touches her shoulder, she sobers up in case she needs to defend herself and her friend.

"Do you mind swapping up?"

She turns to see a long-haired man wearing a leather jacket, one of many frequenting a club like this. But instead of another man accompanying him, he has a petite blond girl by his side.

Stevie hesitates and turns to Robin to find out what she thinks about it. She does seem wary as well, but interested in the blonde girl nevertheless. So, hesitantly, Stevie nods.

"One dance," she decides, accepting the man's extended hand.

But she's not about to let him dream up impossible scenarios in his head. Halfway through the song, a pleasant mix of energetic and sensual, she leans into him, so she can be heard over the music.

"If you're hoping for a foursome, it's not happening. We're not a couple," she says before pulling away to watch his reaction. He seems surprised at first before shaking his head. He's the one to lean in now, and his breath hits her neck in a way that makes her body throb.

"Don't worry, I'm just wingmanning for my friend tonight," he says and they both turn to where their friends are dancing next to them. They seem to be getting into it, hands grasping at hips or thrown over shoulders, bodies pressing tentatively together, shy yet hungry.

Stevie huffs out a chuckle.

"Same here," she says, raising her palm. The guy seems surprised but he laughs and slaps her hand in a high five.

"Wanna grab a drink, give them some space?" he offers, and Stevie nods. They give their friends a heads up, and they both seem to be equally reluctant about being left without their human shields, but with the assurance they'll be waiting at the bar, they let them go.

Stevie's the one to lead the way, and she likes the feeling. To be leading a guy where she wants him. She's always been a people pleaser and still is, but there's something about being in charge that just tickles her brain the right way. Which has been something she's been missing since she's started being hit on as a woman.

"What do you want?" she asks once they reach the bar, before catching her mistake. But the man doesn't seem to either notice or mind.

"A simple screwdriver," he answers without missing a beat. "Just need to let loose tonight."

Stevie nods and flags down the bartender. She orders the screwdriver for him and a strawberry daiquiri for herself. After she's done with the order, she can feel him leaning over her. He's not touching her, his hand dropping to the bar counter, but his presence hovering over her makes her feel caged in. In a good way.

"I'll pay," he offers, flashing his card, and the bartender nods, reaching for the terminal.

Stevie looks up at him, but craning her neck like that is uncomfortable, so she turns, which in turn makes her chest to chest with him.

"I have money," she protests with a pout.

"I don't doubt that," he agrees with a nod. Behind her, he reaches out with his card to swipe it through the terminal. It brings them even closer together for a second, and she tries not to fucking smell him because she's not a creep. "But I haven't paid for a cute lady's drink in a while. Please let me have it," he asks, and he's not doing the I'm better than you routine so she nods.

"Fine. I'm paying for the next one, though."

"Of course." He smiles, tucking his wallet into an inside pocket of his jacket. She notices the dimples appearing on his cheeks. They're stupidly cute.

"There's an empty seat there, wanna sit while we wait?" he offers and she nods. No matter how often she wears heels, they never feel easier to deal with.

He leads her to the stool he pointed out, but then before she can hop on it, he grabs her hips and puts her on the leather cushion himself.

"That was unnecessary," she murmurs, knowing full well she's on the heavier side. She tries her best not to blush while he leans against the bar next to her, in the already limited space. She has a ridiculous urge to spread her legs for him, to make more room, but she kills that thought immediately.

"Sorry." He looks actually apologetic. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just don't have many opportunities to treat a woman properly. My friend Chrissy, you see," he points his chin to the dancefloor where Stevie notes with pride that Robin's hands are now confidently wrapped around Chrissy's hips. "She's strictly on that feminist lesbian agenda, and while I'm completely on board, of course, I still want to treat someone like a princess, you know? She used to let me..." he trails off, hesitating before he catches Stevie's curious eyes. He sighs. "Okay, so we do have this friends-with-benefits kind of thing? But we're not like, together-together," he starts rambling. "Only when we get really unlucky on dates. She's more women-leaning. And we're both dominant? So I swear we're not looking for a foursome—"

Stevie has heard enough. She pressed two fingers to his mouth.

"It's fine, shut up. We've been thinking about it anyway."

"About what?" The man blinks.

"A foursome." She shrugs, and he suddenly seems to be choking on air. Stevie observes it with amusement while the bartender slides their drinks to them. She grabs her daiquiri. "It's just a thought," she reminds him. "You might not be into me."

The guy blinks. He grabs his glass like a lifeline.

"Why is that?" he asks curiously, but his eyes wander down her body like he already has an idea.

"I have a dick," she confirms what he's probably thinking.

He closes his eyes, and she braces herself for the inevitable rejection. It's happened countless times before, she can handle it once again. Even if he's insanely hot.

"Damn, I was hoping but I didn't know how to ask."

She blinks at him owlishly, her face falling.

"Huh?"

"Is that weird?" The guy retracts into himself and she can sense another incoming word vomit. Robin has similar tells. "I just think it's hot. I go both ways but I prefer women and I love a girl who's packing. But strap-ons kinda kill the mood for me? Of course, it's fine if you don't want to use it, I wouldn't make you do anything that makes you feel anything less than the beautiful girl that you are."

He holds her gaze for two seconds and then busies his mouth with the drink in his hand.

Stevie leans on her elbow, eyeing the man curiously. It seems her flirting skills won't be needed tonight. The man was gone without her doing much of anything.

"You sure you're a Dom?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "You don't sound like one."

He doesn't take offense, to Stevie's pleasant surprise. His cheeks get redder in the neon lights.

"I make exceptions," he says with a shrug. "For exceptionally beautiful women." He's laying it on thick but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't eating it up.

"And that would be me?"

"Absolutely," he nods eagerly. She considers him for a long moment and he holds up the silence, albeit he goes twitchy under her gaze.

"What's your name?"

"Eddie," he answers immediately like he's been waiting for her to ask. "Yours?"

She moves her mouth thoughtfully, feeling his eyes on her lips before she makes up her mind.

"Miss Stephanie," she says with finality.

The shift is immediate. His pupils blow out and he straightens up, ready to listen to orders and serve. A feeling of power shivers through Stevie's body.

"Finish your drink and we'll go somewhere quiet."

"Yes, Miss." He nods obediently, sipping on his orange drink.

"You won't be needing your friend's help tonight."

#steddie #stevieweek24 #stevieweek #mine #buckingham #platonic stobin #platonic hellcheer #transfem stevie harrington #stevie harrington #transfem steve harrington #dom steve harrington #steddie ff #steddie one shot #stevierything #cj x stevieweek #shipping myself with my own event what a loser

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ebongawk · 11 months ago

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13 for hellcheer, she asks anxiously

13. A Sorry Kiss

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

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

Hurt she wasn't sure she could fix.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She'd proven that today.

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

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

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

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

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

It was always delicious.

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

"Eddie?"

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

Plink. Plink. Plink.

"Can, um. Can we please talk?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other people from Hawkins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie.

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

"D-Don't––"

Don't call him that.

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

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

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

Someone she would recognize.

Someone she would hate.

What if she––?

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, fuck you, Munson––"

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

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

Eddie laughed, rolling his eyes.

"Uh, ye––"

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

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

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

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

This was none of those.

This was pure, absolute devastation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I––?"

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

"I'm not––"

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

"Eddie, no––"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was being a dick––"

"With good reason––"

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

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

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

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

"You hate everyone."

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

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

"I'm sorry."

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

"I'm sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

Never new. Always Eddie.

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"'m soloverry."

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

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

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

"Soloverry, Eddie Munson."

(a very late) kiss prompt!

#hellcheer #eddissy #stranger things #eddie x chrissy #chrissy x eddie #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #my writing #hellcheer fic #light angst #cunninghamchrissie #happy ending

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