#hellcheer work in progress

[lilac-kitkat]

A sappy, pining Hellcheer falling-in-love story. Come for the drama and angst, but stay for the (very possible) happy ending.

From the telling of Eddie Munson's point of view... 🚬💀

Shoutout to @1lostsoul0fishbowl , @a-strange-inkling , + @floggingink for sharing their cute covers! ❤️

✨Chapter 1: here! ✨

[nature-and-music-art]

New work in progress Hellcheer fan art! I loved how the digital sketch of Eddie tickling Chrissy turned out, so I wanted to share it.

[lokinightfury]

If I post a WIP that means I'm admitting I might not finish it.... Delusional writer brain says 'of course I will finish them all'.... So instead I'm going to post one that's on the back burner. And has been through three other WIPs.

It started as enemies to lovers, but I realised as I was getting into it (41k but who's counting) that making these two both hate each other is hard. So I'm slowly going back and editing it to change the vibe just a little. Make the hatred more one sided, which also means getting to make Eddie just a little bit less off an asshole, which is always a win!

For now, heres a teeny tiny snippet!

“Since the takeover the label have been carefully evaluating artists on a cost-benefit ratio. Your outputs just aren’t quite where we would expect them to be, and haven’t been for the last three quarters. We’re pulling in the contribution clause.”

“In English?” Eddie asks once more. 'Cause it sounds like he might be about to lose his solo deal. Sure, the last album had taken a while to get out, and it had been a bit different without his bandmates there, so he hadn’t been quite as enthusiastic about the promo side of it.

“We’re pairing you up with another artist to help write their next album. They’re having a change in direction we think would suit you well, and your contribution to their work will bring your numbers back in the right direction.”

“Ok. Cool. Who is it?" He mentally runs through some of the newer bands the merger has brought onto the same label. There's a few names he'd sell his left kidney to work with, and a slightly longer list of bands he's pretty sure he'd enjoy working with.

"Chrissy Cunningham." One of the anonymous suits says crisply.

"Cunningham? The popstar?" He hears it come out like a curse word but he can't help it. "The one who did that god awful cover of one of our songs?"

"The cover that went viral and charted top five? That out sold the original five to one? Yes. That one." Bigwig number two chips in.

"Do I get any say in this at all?" Eddie trails off, the faces of the anonymous corporate lawyers say everything. Shit.

“Eddie. This is a lifeline. You need to take it.” his manager says, looking down at the file in front of her before lifting her eyes to stare him down. "The royalties from an artist with her profile are considerable, and would buy you creative freedom for your next projects. The label are just looking for a return on investment here."

There goes wish number two.

WIP Wednesday: WIP Amnesty

Sometimes we burnout on WIPs we were obsessed with and that's okay! That's why we're starting our WIP Wednesday Challenges with WIP Amnesty.

Tell us about a WiP that you may never finish. You can write a snippet (however long or short you want), tell us why your struggling with it, and/or give us a description.

Feel free to reblog this, tag us in your own post or send us an ask!

Maybe this will give you some closure to move onto another project or maybe just maybe it will start the spark to get you back into it!

Either way, have fun and happy WIP Wednesday!!

[hotluncheddie]

For the lovely @sidekick-hero as part of @steddiesummerexchange

Using the prompt 'meet ugly' which was so fun and pushed me to do some new stuff! so thank you! i hope you enjoy!! 🫂

Ao3 | wc: 6.2k | rated: M | cw: panic attacks | tags: 90's AU, No Upside down, Meet-ugly, Platonic Hellcheer, Background Buckingham, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Yoga Instructor Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson needs a hug

₊✩‧₊

‘Munson, this, there’s nothing here man.’ His manager sighs, looking over Eddie’s scribbled notes. 

Eddie sucks another lungful of his cigarette. arms and legs crossed on the too soft office sofa, foot tapping. 

He knows. 

Of course he knows. 

It’s shit. 

All of it. 

Disjointed song ideas and cord progressions that don’t work outside of a shitty blue grass wannabe and the weird none metal bullshit that somehow got him here; that people keep insisting is grunge.

‘You have till mid June, ready for Lollapalooza in July. Label said so.’ And Jake is a good guy, a good manager, but Eddie wants to rip his skin off and never see this ugly fucking Chicago office building or anyone in it. Ever. Again. 

He wants to write. He wants to create, and perform. 

But he can’t. 

It all shit. There’s nothing here. 

-

He speeds down the interstate. Foot pressing on the accelerator, pressing steadily harder and harder. The speedometer ticking up 10mph, more, 20, more. 

‘Shit, fuck.’ Eddie curses, trying to light the cigarette at his lips. Lighter sparking but no quick catching flame, just the click and fizz, dead. ‘Stupid. Fucking.’ He sniffs, scrubbing at his eyes, tears leaving sticky tracks across his cheeks. 

‘FUCKER!’ He shouts, throwing the shitty bic lighter out of the passenger window, into the inky blackness, scrubbing at his eyes again. 

He can’t fucking see. He needs a fucking cigarette. 

He’s running out of gas, fast. Rain starting to fall, heavy and sleeting. His hissy fit can’t last forever, but the itch is still under his skin. Mind blank to anything that could be remotely useful. He’s so creatively drained it’s a joke. A mean fucking joke handed out by god himself. 

Because Eddie had his whole life to write that album. To pour his brain out and stick it together into a mangled beautiful little thing. 

And now he’s expected to do the same thing. In months. 

And he knows. He knows, it’s possible, and it’s been done, and he has thoughts and feeling and music left inside him. 

But it’s hard. And he’s scared. 

Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever write another song again. Dry to the bone. Like his Dad always expected. Always knew. Knew he had nothing in him. Good for nothin’. 

Snot drips onto his top lip. He, he can’t see. ‘Fuck.’ He whispers - he. 

The lights of a gas station shine up ahead. 

Tiredness dripping down into his bones, suddenly. 

Eddie pulls off, parks off at the side. 

Punches the steering wheel till his knuckles go bloody. 

‘W-wayne ‘m sorry, I, I just can’t Wayne.’ Eddie stutters into the receiver. The distance between then crackling. Cold wind rattles the glass walls of the little gas station payphone. 

‘Ed’s? I need ya to take a breath for me kid.’ Wayne’s voice sounds deeper through the phone, more smoky. 

Eddie’s hands are shaking so hard he shoves one up under his armpit, can barely feel his fingers, tucking his elbow in close and squeezing. Stomping his feet, trying to ground himself into this time and space. He breaths in through his mouth and nose, shuddering as he tries to get as much air as possible into his frame. Blood pumping loud in his ears, and he still can’t fucking see. 

‘That’s it son, and again for me.’ Wayne says, in the same tone he says most things; calm and plain, for as long as Eddie can remember. 

He only heard his uncle raise his voice a couple of times, and never once over Eddie. It was always the disappointed looks that would get under his skin, keep him on the straight and narrow (or, not straight, and mostly narrow), kept him safe.

The main one that Eddie remembers, was when his dad came. 

His dad came to try and get him, take him home, wherever that was, whatever that meant. Wayne lost his shit, as much as Wayne can. Held his hunting gun too close to his dads heart and told him brother-in-law to ‘Get! Out!’ 

Eddie had hidden behind the arm of the sofa, crouched and only daring to peak over when he heard his dad huff, punching the doorframe once and stepping back to leave. ‘Fine, fine!’ He’d spat. ‘Don’t want the kid anyway.’ He glanced at Eddie then, a dark sort of indifference in his eyes. ‘Fucking useless.’

That darkness fills Eddie now, coating his lungs and stopping the air flowing through. His Dad’s right, he can’t be anything, not really. Doesn’t have it in him. 

Part of him is still there, cowering behind the couch. A coward, still now. Maybe always. 

‘You stop that right now Eddie y’hear? You might be yer Daddy’s son but you’re in no way him. Ain’t no way.’ Wayne says, stern. 

Eddie sobs, palm pressed across his eyes, fingers digging into his temple. ‘Fuck.’ He fucking, he just can’t. 

‘M’sorry Wayne. M’sorry. It’s so stupid but I nearly fucking killed him Wayne, if I wasn’t there he woulda’ got away, woulda’ got away fine.’ 

‘If you make one more excuse for that sack of shit Eddie I’m coming up there myself to talk it outa’ you.’ Wayne says. ‘You were a kid Ed, didn’t do nothin’ wrong other than trustin’ your own Daddy.’ Wayne’s voice softens, making sure Eddie’s still listening. ‘What happened wasn’t your fault kid.’ He says, like it’s final. 

‘Okay.’ Eddie takes a wet breath, shivering. ‘Yeah, okay Wayne, I hear ya.’ Closing his eyes, squeezing the receiver and rolling his forehead across the cool glass of the booth. 

‘You ring Chris for me now Ed, tell her you’ll be home soon. And I’ll ring tomorrow once ‘m off, leave you a message if you’re not in.’ Eddie sniffs again, a few more tears slipping down his cheeks. 

‘Ok Wayne.’ He agrees, it’s easier. He’s so tired. ‘Night.’ 

Eddie sneaks through the door, not sure if he wants a whole pity party right now. He kind of just wants to go to bed. 

Chrissys head pops up over the couch, looking at him with wide, wet eyes. 

Maybe he does want a little party, actually. He feels tears well in his lashes again. 

‘Hey Chris. I um, sorry for leaving. It uh, it’s bad again.’ He admits, voice cracking. 

‘Eddie.’ She soothes, coming around to him by the door and wrapping him in a hug. Holding him so tightly in her skinny arms. Too good for him. ‘I’m sitting with you while you ring the doctor tomorrow okay? And you’re coming to yoga with me Thursday.’ She says, wiping Eddie’s tears with her sleeve. ‘And I don’t want any buts mister.’ She mumbles darkly, squeezing his waist when Eddie snorts. 

‘Fine. I, fucking, anything to not feel like this anymore Chris.’ He sighs, he’s so tired. ‘Even fuckin’ yoga.’ And he knows she can hear his eyes roll but she just squeezes him again, humming. 

He buries his face in her neck. Taking deep breaths, till the shuddering goes away. 

-

They’re in the coffee shop below the yoga studio. Eddie’s anxious, already itching for another cigarette even though he finished his last one right before entering the cafe, not five minutes ago, shivering against the cold wind. He didn’t sleep last night, or get any words out, he just watched the shopping channel all curled up on the couch, biting his nails and wishing for something to come change him. 

But he’s here, as much as he doesn’t want to be. He trusts Chrissy, and the last call with the label about the very none negotiable schedule for a new song release in conjuncture with the tour has him ready to try anything. 

Even fucking yoga. 

‘I just don’t see how this is going he help Chrissy, it’s just breathing and shit.’ Eddie says loudly, stress making him obnoxious, the bell above the cafe door tinkling. ‘It’s not gonna help me get stronger. Plus it’s wrapped up in all that pseudoscience bullshit. Just trying to make money off unhappy people and their shit.’ He’s staring down and the flyer in his hand. They were on the counter and Chrissy had shoved it at his chest as she ordered. Probably a queue for him to shut up. 

‘Who the hell even is Stevie anyway?’ Eddie asks, flapping the paper around. It’s pink, with bold black writing and the outline of a striped flag in the corner. Hm. 

But no, gay yoga is still yoga, Eddie won’t be converted that easily. 

‘Chrissy, hey!’ Comes a deep voice from behind him, making Eddie jump. When he turns his arms fall limp at his sides. 

Golden skin and soft brown eyes. Hair that curls around his ears and sits on his head in a highlighted swoop; kinda messy, like he runs his fingers through it. Little gold hoop in his ear, neck covered in moles. Beautiful. 

They’re around the same height but this guy is broader, thick and sturdy with a layer of squish over his muscle, a layer of chest hair over his pecs, peaking out of his tank. He could suffocate Eddie with those thighs. Eddie could take great pride in holding all that bulk down, making him scre- 

‘Stevie! Hey!’ she beams. ‘Eddie meet Steve Harrington. And Stevie, this is Eddie Munson, my best friend.’ Chrissy say, introducing them and pulling the stranger into a side hug. 

Eddie can’t think straight. 

This, is Stevie?

The barista calls his name, Eddie coming back to himself to turn and grab his order. Plaster some kind of smile on his face in leu of an actual human greeting. 

Chrissys looking at him, smiling like she knows something. Knows more than Eddie does. 

He sips his tea. Doesn’t look at her. 

‘…Well nice to meet you man, I’ll see you both in there.’ Steve says, pointing his thumb towards the door. ‘just wanted to say hi. Gotta go prep some more pseudoscience bull before it all starts.’ He says, clapping. Smiling at Eddie like a fucking Stepford wife. Eddie gapes at him. Steve winks. 

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut. 

Slimy fucking guy. Eddie seethes, sipping his tea, watching Stevie leave. He looks like he could be the son of any of the record execs that’ve tried to fuck over Eddie’s music. Breathing down his neck to get another hit album, like Eddie has any control over that, can get himself to write anything like that again. Like he can handle the plans for a tour next spring, into the summer for festivals, said they want new songs to keep the fans interested. Fucking Steve looking at him like that, all spotless and put together and prefect and Eddie cannot fucking let this guy beat him. Not today. 

‘What does that look mean?’ Chrissy asks, amused. 

‘Means that I’m about to have the best fucking yoga session that guy has ever seen.’ Eddie says, still glaring at where Steve had just been. He hooks his arm through Chrissy’s and heads for the door. 

The studio is a renovated townhouse with hardwood floors and long windows. There’s a wall of mirrors and a bar across one wall, aerobics equipment stacked in the corner.

Eddie finds a spot with Chrissy nearer the back, but the rooms really not that big, he can see Steve’s set up at the front just fine. 

Chrissy leave his side to go pay, and apparently flirt with the tall freckled girl who’s taking said payments. Standing in the corner with a clipboard and a laugh that ends in a snort. That must be Robin, Chrissys long time yoga crush, and by the way Robin playful taps Chrissy on the head with her pen, she’s not doing too badly. 

Looking around Eddie’s surprised that there’s other people like him, with tattoos and some more visible piercings. 

Older ladies with pink in their hair. A younger guy with a cane and a Prince shirt on. People of different sizes, colours, shapes.  

Steve is making his way around the room, talking to people, he knows most of them by name. 

It’s. It’s almost nice. 

But when Eddie looks at Steve all he sees are the jocks who spat on him in high-school. The rich kids who said they couldn’t be friends because their parents found out he lives in a trailer. People who look at him with awkward, dead eyed pity when he mentions his uncle but not his parents. 

Steve walks over, snapping Eddie out of his head. ‘Hey, so Chrissy knows how it goes. But Eddie, I want you to take it easy tonight, okay? First session means you should be careful.’ 

Eddie leans back on his palms, festered. ‘Don’t think I can handle it Steven?’ 

Steve doesn’t take the bate, neutral face barely twitching. ‘Have you done yoga before?’ 

‘No’ 

Steve crosses his arms. ’Then no, I don’t think you can handle it actually. Last thing I want is you disturbing my class because you pulled a muscle being dumb, kay?’ 

Eddie just grunts, smiling at him in a little closed lipped sneer. Jerking his head and clenching his jaw. 

Stevie just rolls his eyes, walks away. 

Eddie hates him. 

Fucking yoga. How hard could it fucking be…

Eddie muscles are burning. He takes it back he takes it back. 

But he can’t let Steve know. Can’t bare to see that smug little smirk on his face again. 

‘Stay here if you're comfortable. But, if you want a little push tonight’ Steve says to the room, eyes flashing to Eddie in warning. ‘Move with me.’ And he bends down to touch the floor, hands then coming away, held in place by his core. 

‘Fuck’ Eddie grunts, tries releasing his hands but he comes too close to toppling over. His palms are sweating and his hair is sticking to his neck. Fucking yoga… 

‘Just breathing and shit right Munson?’ Steve says as Eddie spaces out on his mat, session over. Eddie can see more thigh at the angle, up the stupid fucking shorts Steve’s wearing. A little patch of sweat on his tank, sticking to his chest hair. 

‘Whatever Harrington.’ He grunts, forcing himself to sit up. Not looking Steve in the eye. 

Everything hurts. Even his fucking brain hurts from trying to imagine the smooth lake that Steve talked about during the ending meditation. Eddie couldn’t seem to imagine his without a ghostly pirate ship bobbing in the middle of the water. 

Fucking yoga. 

-

‘I hate him.’ 

‘Yeah sure, next thing you’ll be pulling his pigtails’ Chrissy rolls her eyes. ‘You don’t even know him, and I heard how well you slept after the session, your snoring woke me up Ed’s. Don’t give up just because the teacher is hot.’

‘He is not hot!’ Eddie seethes. 

He is so hot. So, so incredibly hot. 

Chrissy raises one eyebrow. 

‘Fine. I’ll keep going. but I hate him. ‘ 

-

One session, a few weeks in, Eddie feels it.

He dips down, back bending, coming out of downwards dog. Flowing onto his palms and toes. He breaths, feels his blood flow in his veins and his lungs fill. Rising back up and feeling the stretch in his feet, in his shoulders and hips. He breaths through it, moving with himself, connected to himself. 

Mind blank, room gone, just him and his breath. The smooth voice of Steve telling them to repeat. Eddie does. His eyes close and his mind smooths out. He flows. 

He doesn’t look at Steve again. Misses the glint in his eye, noticing the space Eddie holds on his mat, the tensions that’s been released. Misses Steve’s smile. 

Eddie breathes in. A chord progression plays in his mind. 

He breaths out. It plays again. 

It works perfectly with that scribbled line he re read this afternoon. 

Eddie breaths in. 

He goes home and writes. 

-

Winter eventually thaws and Spring begins slowly, slush still gripping to the sidewalks as the sun peaks through thick clouds. 

Eddie continues to work on demos, that don’t quite hurt so much to look at anymore, and goes to yoga once a week.

Twice a week for a couple weeks now, while Chrissy is away visiting family. Eddie doesn’t want to disturb her too much by phoning. But he misses her, the apartment too quiet, and empty. 

He gets to class early. Kind of exited to feel the stretch in his muscles tonight, see if he can hit the lower warrior stance he’s been working on. Any excitement sifts into annoyance though, once he sees Steve, mingling, in a bright pink shirt and shorts that sit way too high up on his thighs. Eddie’s not a prude, but, does he really need to see so much leg hair and smooth inner thigh when he’s trying to work out? Trying to relax?

‘Ready to feel the burn Munson?’ Steve asks as he saunters past him, clicking on the boombox as he goes

‘Bite me Harrington, ‘m not in the mood.’ Eddie says. annoyed. Always annoyed that Steve is still as fucking handsome as last time. Always so annoyingly handsome. 

He misses Chrissy. 

He’s annoyed

Steve’s shorts are too fucking short… 

Steve’s smug smile does not go unnoticed when Eddie actually falls asleep during the wind down meditation. Steve had skipped the ending applause and instead ushered everyone out quietly, leaving Eddie to sleep for a solid 20 minutes while he packed up. 

Eddie has glared, not able to extend any gratitude to that being the best sleep he’s had all week, his cheeks bright red at being caught. But Steve’s smugness seemed to be thawing with the ice. A softness to his eyes as he bid Eddie goodnight; once Eddie had wrapped himself back up in his winter coat for the walk home. 

Eddie couldn’t help but say goodnight back. ‘See you next week Harrington’ Didn’t seem to sound so bitter anymore. 

-

Eddie watches Chrissy try and show Robin an old cheer move, somehow moving topics once Chrissy had added her money to the pot. Robin’s arms don’t seem to stay straight for long enough, too distracted so she looses form. Chrissy giggling and reaching over to grab her wrist and squeeze. 

‘You two been dating long?’ Steve asks, suddenly next to Eddie and joining him in watching the two girls dance around each other. Eddie gives him such a look of confusion and judgment that Steve puts his hands up in defence. 

‘I’m joking dude, Rob’s been crazy about her for months. Too bad she’s too chicken shit to ask her out.’ 

‘I know, I’m honestly just glad she’s real, Chris wouldn’t shut up about her.’ 

‘Tell her to make it obvious, would you? More obvious that she would expect, Robbie needs that.’ And Steve is smiling, eyes sparking as he looks at them. 

Eddie nods, and he doesn’t know why he feels the need to say what’s he’s going to, why he needs to explain. Why he feels like Steve needs to know, but.: ‘We uh, both swing away from each other on the ol’ spectrum, just so, so that we’re clear.’ 

And Steve is looking at him. At the side of Eddie’s head, because he refuses to see what kind of face Steve is making. 

‘That right?’ Steve says quietly. ‘Well, good to know.’ 

Eddie.. he. ‘Good?’ 

‘Yeah good.’ And Steve’s voice is soft. And Eddie still doesn’t know why but, he blushes. 

And Steve’s moving away and calling Robin to start the session. 

Eddie doesn’t look up from his mat. 

-

He can’t be in the apartment anymore. Going stir crazy, buzzing, trapped in his own head. Its too early, class doesn’t start yet. But Eddie needs out. 

Chrissy isn’t going tonight, working late. The weatherman said there might be a thunder storm in the early hours. the rain already started, pelting his windows and sending a deep swirling ache dripping through Eddie’s nervous system. 

It’s raining so hard he can barely see in front of him but he manages to slop to the studio in one piece, waterproof and face dripping all over the floor. 

It’s warm, once he’s through the doors, the now familiar soft yellow lighting and smell of hardwood greeting him. 

He can hear laughing from the usual room. Moving closer can hear Robin and Steve giggling about something. 

Eddie slips through the door, not really sure what to do but he’s almost ready to admit that he craves the soft light of the familiar yoga room. 

He slips through the door and the first crack of lightning snaps in the distance. 

Steve is in a head stand, giggling and telling robin to knock it off, whatever she’s said making him almost loose his balance. 

Upside down Eddie can see Steve’s back, his T-shirt up around his shoulders. 

There’s old raised lines of jagged scars all along the planes of skin and muscle. Sewn back together and healed all wonky. 

Eddie’s mouth is dry as he stares at them. The muscles moving under Steve’s skin, the softness at his hips. Eddie gulps. 

His dad setting the stupid boat house on fire, once he’d heard the sirens, not leaving enough room between himself and the gasoline. Throwing the lighter while he was off balance. The flames licking his arms and face. He told Eddie to run. Eddie did. 

Eddies mat slips from his fingers and smacks against the floor. Steve coming down from his position and turning around, shirt falling back and covering him. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ Eddie stammers, not sure what about. His hands are sweating. Steve, with skin like that. He’s not his Dad, he’s not. 

Eddie doesn’t even know if his Dad is out of prison. The lightning cracks again, closer. It was raining the day of the verdict, the courthouses grey brick so waterlogged it looked black. 

Eddie can barely look at him. Who even is this guy? 

‘Hey man, you okay?’ Steve asks, voice soft and Eddie needs to leave. He needs to leave. 

‘Water.’ Eddie slips back out of the room, into the hallway and he speed walks down the corridor to the water cooler. Thudding his shoulder into the wall next to it and sliding down into a crouch. Thunder claps and rattles its deep booming cry. 

His breath is shaky, a little too fast. When he closes his eyes he sees the black smoke and orange flames licking the forest skyline as he ran. Feet pumping and sweat dripping into his eyes. His dad told him to run. So he had. Leaving him there. 

Eddie can barely breathe. He’s already run for so long, the sirens faint and distant. His dad’s cold eyes on him in the hospital; burns unit. In court. Wayne dragging Eddie home in tears. Soaking wet. 

His head jerks and smacks the wall behind him. Pulling him back to the present. The wet slap of his hair against his cheek. Eddie can’t breath, his hands are shaking and, and. 

Steve is crouched in front of him, lips moving but Eddie can’t hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. 

Steve counts on his fingers; one, two, three. Holding them up for Eddie to see. Then his other hand reaches forward and pokes Eddie in the sternum over his slimy waterproof. Steve breaths in, fingers counting again. Steve hold it, fingers. He breaths out, fingers. 

For the next round Eddie follows, hands shaking and cupping over his ears. He breaths in, unable to hold it but he breaths everything in his lungs out. Does it again. Following the count of Steve’s fingers. He has a plaster over his thumb. Eddie wonders what happened. Eddie’s breaths in, holds it for three, breaths out. 

Eventually Eddie can breathe on his own, still shaky, but consistent. The thunder and lightning having moved off into the distance. 

Steve gets him a cup of water from the cooler, handing it over slowly and Eddie grips it in both hands. ‘You scared me there Munson.’ He says without heat. 

‘Yeah I, sorry.’ Eddie cheeks burn, it’s been, a long time since he’s had one like that. 

‘S’okay. I know these are pretty scary.’ Steve motions to his back, shifting to sit against the wall next to Eddie. Sad sort of smile pulling on his lips. 

Eddie panics. ‘No, no that. They’re, they’re not.’ Because they really aren’t. He just, he wasn’t expecting it. 

‘I’m kidding Eddie, you’re good.’ Steve says, smiling for real now, small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Those will look pretty as he ages, Eddie’s thinks. He nods. 

Steve nods back, eyes Eddie, flicking over his face. ‘You wanna do class tonight? I can take you home?’ 

‘Oh uh no.’ Eddie drains his water. ‘I mean no, I want to do class. It um, it helps.’ He stares into the little plastic water cup. 

But in his peripheral, Steve is smirking, smug as shit and Eddie tries to scowl. But he just ends up hiding his grin behind his hair. 

‘Let me give you a lift home after though, yeah?’ Steve asks, bumping their shoulders together. ‘Storm isn’t due to let up until tomorrow and I can’t have one of my best students getting sick.’ Steve says, standing up from the floor with an ease that Eddie still envy's. Holding his big hands out to haul Eddie up. 

It takes a second to reorient himself, Steve is, Steve is pretty strong. ‘Uh, thanks. Thank you, Steve.’ He manages, squeezing Steve’s fingers once. 

‘Don’t mention it.’ And Steve’s eyes are soft and kind and endless. 

Eddie pulls away. Slips down the corridor and back into the studio. 

Steve’s car is nice. A beemer that’s a few years out but it looks like he takes care of it. The interior cream and the leather soft, it’s tidy, and there’s an air freshener hanging from the mirror, a pinup of a sailor. Eddie flicks it, smirking. 

‘Gift from Robin. We used to uh, work at a sailor themed ice cream shop. The uniforms were, really somethin’.’ Steve says with a pained sigh, pulling into the street. 

Eddie smiles, aggressively forcing his mind away from Steve in any kind of sailor uniform, steering towards safer territory. 

‘Can I?’ He asks, motioning to Steve’s little box of tapes at his feet. 

‘Have at it man.’ Steve says, squinting slightly and turning up the speed on his wipers. 

Eddie picks the new Queen tape, Steve has a decent collection, a lot of pop and some 70s rock. Eddie nodding his head slightly to “innuendo”. 

He sneaks glances at Steve as he drives. His hand big and veined where it rests on the gear shift. There are raindrops stuck in his arm hairs and the bomber he slipped on is dark across the shoulders. He doesn’t really look anything like those record execs, or their sons, probably. His socks are mismatched and there’s a spot of stubble on his upper lip that he must’ve missed this morning. He runs a yoga studio and is aggressively accommodating when he teaches. He always learns clients names before the end of their first session and he loves his best friend. 

Eddie feels his fringe sticking to his forehead, half sweat half rain. The car windows are slightly misted and he blinks a few times to clear his eyes. ‘Thanks, uh, thank you. For the lift man. You really didn’t have to.’ 

Steve smiles at him, glancing away from the road. Some of his hair has tucked itself into the his little hoop earring, something in Eddie’s chest softening. ‘Do you want to talk about it? Earlier?’

Eddie, he doesn’t. Not really. 

‘It was raining the day my dad got sent to prison. Thunder and lightning by the time my uncle could got me home.’ Eddie settles on, voice thick.

‘Fuck, Eddie. I’m so sorry.’ 

‘’S fine. I’m, he wasn’t that great of a dad.’ Eddie huffs, he really doesn’t want to get into that. 

Steve glances at him, smile sad. ‘I’ll cheers to that man. But yeah, still.’ He shrugs. 

‘Thanks. Um, if you take a left here my place is just at the end.’ Eddie says, quietly, tired. 

They arrive at the base of his apartment, the rain hammering on the roof and blurring the glow of the yellow streetlight. Eddie moves for the door, hand on the mat between his knees. 

‘Oh hey, wait, uh.’ Steve says, moving in a little closer. 

He reaches out, fingertips brushing the soft skin below Eddie’s eye. ‘Eyelash.’ He murmurs, holding the little hair up for Eddie to see. ‘Make a wish.’ 

Eddie swallows, feels the ghost of tear tracks still crusted over his cheeks. A boy just touched his cheek. He sniffs.

When he was a kid and his dad remembered his birthday he’d get Eddie a slice of pie from the diner. Linda who worked there always managed to find a candle out back for him; squeezing his shoulder and giving Eddie a smile that only read a little bit like pity. His dad would tell him to make a wish and ask for money, or fame, or for Al to one day own a new Mustang. 

Eddie always wished for the same thing.

For something to change. 

Figured something had to give. 

Now Eddie thinks about it, again, and maybe evrything has changed. Maybe everything is exactly what it looks like, and he’s here, in the centre of it. And there are parts, parts that are quite beautiful. 

He breathes in, opening his eyes and watching the eyelash flutter away on his breath. Eddie wishes to be able to see it.

-

‘Mind if I touch you?’ Steve asks from behind Eddie. ‘You almost have it.’ 

Eddie starts, muscles shaking a little. ’Sure, sure Stevie.’ He whispers. 

Steve’s warm finger press gently under Eddie’s arm so he lifts it slightly. Then on his shoulders so they dip minutely lower. Finally his palms wrap around Eddie’s waist, twisting him so he’s facing forward more fully. 

Eddie breaths out the air he’d been holding, long and slow, sinking into the pose. 

‘That’s it. Perfect.’ Steve soothes and moves on to the next person. 

Eddie falls asleep that night with the phantom press of palms on his waist. 

-

It’s raining again, but, no thunder. On a Tuesday, the session that Chrissy and Robin can’t make. The session that only Eddie attends in his now comfortable bi-weekly yoga routine. 

The night that it’s also routine for Steve to drive Eddie home. 

Tonight Steve wore a long sleeve and track pants to class. It’s not that unusual but, it’s warmer out now. So, a little unusual for Steve really, who’s usually sweaty during class even with ice clinging to the windows. 

He’s quiet too, doesn’t roll his eyes at Eddie playing one of the handful of tapes that he’d squirrelled into the car for these short rides. Doesn’t bat Eddie’s hand away from the temperature dials, telling Eddie to zip his coat up if he’s so frail. 

Tonight Steve is just quiet, moving the class into child’s pose three times. Leaving the ending meditation in silence. His breath wavering on the classes final group goodnight. 

‘…Steve? Are you okay?’ Eddie finally asks, the quiet too suffocating, the downward pinch of Steve’s mouth making Eddie’s heart feel heavy and rotted. 

‘Hm? Yeah, I’m just. Bad day, scars itch.’ And Steve smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks almost sadder. 

‘Can, uh. How did? I mean, you don’t. But.’ Eddie stammers, he’s never been much good at comforting but if Steve needs someone to listen, he can do that. Wants to. 

Steve sighs, pulling up next to the sidewalk, Eddie’s apartment just at the end of the street, cutting the ignition so it’s just the two of them, and the rain. 

‘They’re from a car accident. When I was 18. I, shouldn’t have been driving, it was so stupid. I wasn’t drunk or anything just, upset. Had a fight with my Dad, bad one. This other car was driving, pulling up along side me. It was this asshole from my high-school asking to race. I said yes like an idiot. But I was so, so angry. At everything. I thought, winning maybe, winning and wiping that smug fucking look from his face. Would like, help?’ 

Eddie doesn’t really know what to say, or do. Steve is picking at the skin on his knuckles, the joints going red and raw. So Eddie takes his hand, holding his finger between both of his own; smoothing his thumb over its ridges. 

Steve sniffs, corner of his mouth tucking up, bottom lip wobbling. ‘Anyway, we’re driving way too fucking fast and then there are these kids, suddenly, biking on the road. And, and this asshole, he speeds up. Planned on running straight into them, I could see it in his, cold fucking eyes. And I just, I swerved. Went right into him. Better me than those kids u know?’ Steve runs his free hand through his hair, laughing in a way though could just as easily be a sob. ‘He got off without much of a scratch, but uh, my door crumpled against a tree and like, fucked up my back a load, got these scars and aches and stuff now. Didn’t get charged with anything, luckily. Those kids actually vouched for me, babysat them here and there and, now we’re actually friends, as much as they annoy the shit outa me.’ And Steve’s cheeks are red, wetness glistening in his lash line, threatening to spill. He sniffs again, scoffing and turning his head away. 

Eddie pulls their joined hands into his lap, so Steve turns back towards him again. He’s hunched; looks young, and scared, and tired. 

‘But, yeah. I dunno why I told you all that honestly but. I guess. Anger only gets you so far, usually somewhere stupid. That’s my, uh, my pro tip I guess. Harder to forgive but way better for you.’ 

The silence stretches again, more comfortable this times. Eddie runs his thumb over the downy hairs on Steve fingers, over the scar by his thumb. Massages his palms, digging fingers into sinew. 

‘You know, I hated you that first session.’ Eddie says, tired of the ache that Steve’s tears are causing in his ribs. Tired of being angry, tired of being scared. 

‘Yeah.’ Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes, grin stretching slow and sweet. Like it’s a good memory, a memory to savour. 

‘Yeah. Too fucking handsome for his own good this guy. And charming, and rightfully cocky; you’re good at your job Stevie. Really good, and it pissed me the fuck off.’ Eddie says, his own smile stretching.

And Steve laughs, a honking snoring ugly little thing and it makes Eddie heart swell, his cheeks flush and his cheeks hurt from smiling so big. 

Steve is looking at him, tears gone. 

‘You wanna go get something to eat? The diner around the corner does really good cheeseburgers? My treat?’ 

‘Yeah Eddie, I’d, um, I’d really like that.’ Steve says.

-

‘We’re going to get coffee, don’t wait up.’ Chrissy shouts at them, linking arms with Robin and pulling her down the street. 

Robin sends Steve one wild grin, honking a delighted snort of laughter and following Chrissy. 

‘Well.’ Eddie says at Steve who’s grinning like a loon. 

‘Home?’ Steve asks, twirling his keys on his finger. 

Eddie nods and get in, so used to the smell and the feel of the car now. The way Steve drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping on the window ledge or fiddling with the temperature or gesticulating as he talks. Eddie comfortable in the passenger, curled up in his sweater and squeezing the mat between his knees. Some rides home he realises he didn’t even take a glance out of the window, eyes set on Steve the whole time. 

‘Hey, do you want to come up?’ Eddie ask. 

‘Come up and do what?’ And Steve’s smiling at him, cocky and confident and sweet and Steve. 

Eddie leans forward, kissing the corner of Steve’s mouth, which is a little stubbly from his moustache coming in. Where he smirks and licks his lips before a difficult pose. He’s Steve Harrington, and Eddie kissed him. 

-

‘Hey Wayne.’ Eddie smiles, squeezing the receiver. 

‘Hey kid, you all packed.’ Wayne sounds tired but relaxed and Eddie nudges the box by his foot, full of merch ready to load in the van come morning. 

‘Yeah, just a few more bits, Steve just left so, got distracted.. you remember Steve, he my, the uh, the yoga instructor?’ Eddie asks, cheeks flushing. 

 ‘Mmm I ‘member Steve. You sweet on him boy?’ 

‘Yes Wayne, he is!’ Chrissy shouts as she walks past. 

Eddie jumps and almost hisses at her like a cat. She, where did she even come from?

Wayne’s smoky laughter draws Eddie back to the phone. ‘I. God Wayne are you 12?’ But that just makes him laugh more. 

‘I’m going okay? Love you old man, I’ll call when I can.’ 

‘Love ya too ed, be safe. I’ll come visit once you’re back. Wanna meet this Steve everyone keeps going on about.’ 

Eddie huffs but he can’t help smiling, imagining Steve and Wayne together. 

‘You deserve someone good Ed, ye understand?’ 

Eddie blinks, blinks back tears. The things he has around him now, the people, the tools, his music. What he’s been given. What he always wished for. 

‘Yeah, yeah Wayne, I think I do.’ 

₊✩‧₊

Tag list: @pearynice @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots

@marvel-ous-m @tangerinesteve

title form 'Today' but The Smashing Pumpkins

[foundtherightwords]

The Hollow Heart - Chapter 10

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

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

Chapter warnings: animal death, domestic violence

Chapter word count: 4k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Chapter 10 - Warned by a Vision

Sometimes Christabel felt there was a veil over her eyes, blinding her to the truth of her marriage, of Henry's true nature. Each time he hurt her, it was like a tear in that veil. In the early days of their marriage, those tears were far apart, easily ignored, but over time, they kept building and building. Now, there were simply too many, and the veil was falling apart.

Then came another incident, and this time, it wasn't just a tear. This time, the whole veil was wrenched painfully from her eyes, and finally, she understood what it meant to suffer death by a thousand cuts.

Luna was growing fast. Christabel knew that soon she would have to hire a trainer or perhaps send Luna to a stable to get properly trained, but for now, the horse was making great progress. Christabel dreamed of when Luna was big enough and they could ride up and down the shore, to Golden Gate Park and Sutro Heights and beyond.

The only thing about Luna that worried Christabel, the only thing that marred her perfect beauty, was that she had a rather strange bump on her forehead. Indeed, Christabel hadn't even noticed it in the first few weeks, thinking it was just bones, but as Luna grew, so did this bump, until it protruded into a quite visible nub between her ears. She often rubbed it against things and really enjoyed it when Christabel scratched around it.

When Christabel brought the matter up to Henry, he became oddly excited. Though he hadn't spared Luna another glance since he gave her to Christabel, that day Henry personally went into the stall to examine the horse. Luna, who was always so calm and friendly, gave a frightened little whicker and ran in panicked circles around the stall, refusing to let Henry come near, let alone touch her. Henry had to retreat before she quieted down.

"We may have a unicorn on our hands, darling," he said to Christabel with a grin.

"Don't be absurd, there's no such thing as a unicorn," she retorted. If he was not going to have the bump looked at, then she was not going to waste her time convincing him. Since it didn't seem to bother Luna much, Christabel put it out of her mind.

A few nights after that, Christabel's old nightmare came back. Since Christmas, thanks to the phonograph and her growing collection of records, her sleep had been specter-free. That night though, despite having listened to the phonograph before sleep as usual, Christabel found herself face to face with those three ghosts again, their eyes gray and empty like the mist, their chest gaping and dripping blood. They were on the beach this time.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, as she'd always asked them in her dreams, but she wasn't expecting an answer. Almost resignedly, she screwed her eyes shut and waited for the inevitable moment when the mist came for her and erased her. Once, when she was little, she had been skating in Central Park on one of the rare occasions her mother allowed her out of the house. Unbeknownst to her, the ice had cracked earlier that day. As she slid across the ice and felt, rather than heard, the gunshot snap beneath her skates, her heart had dropped to the bottom of her stomach, and it had seemed like an eternity before she hit the freezing water. There had been no more ice skating after that.

It felt just like that now, only increased a hundredfold, as she waited for the mist in her dream.

But the mist never came. There were hoof beats behind her, and Christabel turned just in time to see a streak of silver rush past her in a spray of sand. It was Luna. With the certainty of dream logic, she knew it was Luna, although other than its shiny white coat, this horse looked nothing like Luna—it was fully grown, and a long, sharp horn grew out of its forehead. A unicorn.

The unicorn headed straight for the three figures by the edge of the water, its horn aiming at them. Somehow, Christabel knew that if it touched them, something terrible was going to happen, just as something terrible always happened to her when she touched those figures. "No, Luna!" she screamed. "Stop!"

It was too late. The horn went through the chest wound of the figure in the middle—Frederick Benson—and it was no longer Christabel that was screaming, but Frederick, Patrick, and the still unnamed girl, their mouths yawning dark holes, issuing forth terrible screams, like those of a dying animal. To her horror, the unicorn was fading as well, swallowed up by the fog. Luna had taken her place.

"No, Luna, no!" Christabel cried, trying to hold on to the horse, but her hands only ran through cold, wet, empty air.

Luna reared up, looming over Christabel, and let out a scream, a too-real scream of fear and pain. The moment Luna's front legs, now little more than two wisps of fog, came down over her head, Christabel woke up.

She lay still, feeling the pillow damp with sweat under her cheek, listening to her thundering heartbeats. It had been so real, that dream, even more real than her waking nightmares, especially those screams... The figures had never made a sound in any of her previous dreams, they'd only stood and looked at her in silence. So what had changed?

When her heart refused to calm down, Christabel got out of bed, threw on her dressing gown, and went to the window. It was still dark outside, though a lighter strip of gray on the horizon told her that dawn was not far off. There was a light on at Kas's window, but that was nothing unusual. He often kept a light on throughout the night. Everything was quiet.

No, not everything was quiet. Straining her ears, Christabel could make out voices rising in contention and panic. They were coming from the other side of the house. Heart hammering in her chest again, she flew downstairs and followed the voices into the garage.

Blazing lights hit her full in the face, blinding her after the gloom of the house, and for a moment, Christabel couldn't see anything. When her eyes finally adjusted, a horrible sight greeted her—in the middle of the stall littered with crushed straw and splintered wood, evidence of a great struggle, was Luna, lying on her side, unmoving, a tongue so dark it appeared almost black protruding from her foaming mouth, legs bent at stiff, unnatural angles. Henry and Kas stood over her, their eyes wide, chests heaving from exertion. Dangling from Henry's hand was what Christabel thought was a leather belt at first, but upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a cobra, its head smashed.

Christabel didn't remember what she did then. She must have screamed and run to Luna, for the next thing she knew, Henry had tossed the dead snake aside and was hauling her to her feet, while she fought him to reach Luna's side.

"Let me go!" she screamed. "Let me help her!"

"She's beyond help!" shouted Henry. "Kas, put the carcass under the cypress, while I take Mrs. Creel inside."

The carcass. She thought he meant the snake, and then it hit her. He meant Luna. Her lovely Luna, now nothing but a carcass, like one of those weather-bleached skeletons she'd seen from the train.

Kas threw Christabel an anguished look. "Yes, sir," he said, taking a blanket and draping it over the inert white form. That simple, irrevocable gesture finally convinced Christabel that Luna was really dead. All her panicked strength drained out of her, and she let Henry drag her out of the garage and back to the house.

"What happened?" she asked, the moment they were through the door.

"The cobra escaped its cage. I guess the horse got spooked, and the cobra fought back."

"But you said the cages were secure!"

Henry shrugged and steered her toward the stairs. "Accidents happen. Now, go back to bed. Kas will bury her."

His dismissive tone stung. "I want to be there," she said.

"What?"

"I want to say goodbye to her. At least give me that."

"Don't be hysterical. It's just a horse. I'll buy you another one."

"I'm not a child," she said, pushing his hand away. "Do you think you can just give me another toy and I'll shut up?"

Henry rolled his eyes. "I don't have time for this."

He headed back to the garage. Some of Christabel's shock was wearing off, and anger rose in its place. How dare he be so nonchalant, how dare he dismiss her like this! She lunged after him.

"You're not even going to apologize?"

"For what?"

"This is your fault! You did this! You and those monsters of yours!"

She didn't see him move. Something struck the side of her head, leaving her cheek stinging and her ear ringing. She clasped a hand to her face, out of shock and fear more than pain, while Henry opened the door. He didn't even look at her. "Go back to your room," he said calmly and stepped out.

The moment he disappeared into the dark, Christabel turned and ran. But she didn't run upstairs. She ran outside, down the drive, and all the way across the path bridging the island and the shore. Upon reaching the shore, she kept running, driven by sheer grief and despair, ignoring the cold wind across her face, the rough sand under her feet. She only wanted to get as far away as possible from Creel House.

***

Christabel ran until her legs and her lungs gave out. The sun was coming up, shining through the gray clouds like a silver coin on a pewter tray, doing little to warm the air. Creel House still loomed behind her, enveloped in its own mist, a dark, malevolent mass, scowling, mocking. She would never be able to outrun it. She crumpled to the ground, leaning against a sand dune, too exhausted and heartbroken to move.

She told herself not to think of Luna, though everything around reminded her of the little horse, from the cold, white sun that put her in mind of Luna's coat, to the sand where Luna used to run. But the tears wouldn't come. A heavy, somber fear, the remnant of her dream, weighed her down like a shroud, preventing the grief from taking over. That particular dream had been prophetic. Did this mean that her previous dreams all foretold her future as well? Was she fated to die a horrible death, like poor Luna?

No. She couldn't think that way. It was bad enough that she was out here on this God-forsaken beach in her dressing gown and bedroom slippers like some madwoman, now she believed in premonitions and fate too? No. She must stay rational. As much as she hated to admit it, Henry had been right. What happened to Luna had been an accident, no more.

At the thought of Henry, another kind of grief, mixed with anger and fear, surged up within her like bile, and her cheek throbbed again. It wasn't just that he'd hit her. She could even accept that he'd done so in the heat of the moment. But what disturbed her most was the casual way he'd done it, without a care, without a look back, like swatting away an irritating fly. That was what she was to him. Nothing.

What could she do now? Where would she go? Leave Henry and return to New York with her tail between her legs, admitting to her mother that she'd made a mistake? No! Not in a million years, not after she'd made such a show to Jason about how happy she was. And to be one of those divorcees, to have people turn their backs on her, to see their mock-polite smiles, knowing how they whispered about her behind closed doors? No, no, no. She couldn't bear it. She had married Henry to escape all that, she couldn't leave him to go back to that world now. The very thought of it made her stomach twist with shame and disgust.

Then her stomach twisted with something else, and Christabel realized the sun was now high in the sky. She had been out since daybreak. She was tired and cold and hungry, and there was nothing around her but sand and sea. With a sigh, she struggled to her feet. Creel House may be loathsome and frightful, but it was also her house, in name at least. She was not going to give it up just yet.

As she reached the causeway, Christabel saw, with dismay, that the path was now completely submerged. The tides must have come in while she was running down the shore. The boat was back on the island. She rang the bell. The sun was too bright for Kas to be out, but if Henry was home, he would come for her, surely. She rang the bell again, straining to see if there was any movement on the island. There was none. Was Henry out? Was he looking for her? The shore stretched on for miles and miles, had he missed her behind the sand dunes?

She dipped a foot into the water, testing it, only to jerk back as if she'd been bitten. The water was freezing cold. If she tried swimming in this, the cold would kill her before she could reach the island.

She rang the bell again, her hope of getting answered diminishing by the minute. Perhaps she could wait until Henry came back, or until sundown... It wasn't the day for grocery delivery, so nobody would come down this path and she need not worry about having to explain her awkward predicament.

Just as Christabel dropped down onto the sand again in fatigue and despair, a movement on the island caught her eyes. A dark speck was bobbing over the water toward her. It was the boat! As it got closer, Christabel saw that the parasol had been rigged over it, and shielded under it, wearing his long cloak and the gloves, was Kas.

"Are you all right?" he shouted the moment he came within her earshot.

"Yes." Something burst in her chest at the sight of him, something warm and pleasant that chased away all the pain and hurt. By now, she was desperate enough to accept any rescue at all, but she was glad it was Kas that came for her, glad in a way she knew she wouldn't have been if it had been Henry.

"I'm sorry it took me so long. I couldn't make the parasol stay upright," he said, maneuvering the boat so she could step on. His eyes widened as they landed on her face, and Christabel put a subconscious hand to her cheek. It must be more swollen than she'd thought.

"Don't worry about it." She meant both about the boat and her cheek, and Kas clearly understood, for he said nothing more. Once she settled on the seat opposite him, he started toward the island in long, steady strokes. Only his white-knuckled grip on the oars betrayed his true feelings.

"I wish you didn't have to risk yourself for me," she said.

"I don't mind."

"Where's Mr. Creel?"

"He had to go into town on urgent business." She was silent. Of course. He hadn't bothered to comfort her about Luna, why would he care when she ran away? Sensing her anger, Kas added, "I wanted to go after you, but he told me to let you blow off steam." He watched her for a moment and said, more quietly, "I'm so sorry about Luna, Mrs. Creel."

Pain squeezed her heart, choking her.

"What have you done to her?" she managed to ask.

"I've—I've buried her."

"Under the cypress trees?"

"No, by the beach."

Christabel nodded. She couldn't bear the notion of Luna being confined to those dark, haunted trees. "Thank you," she said. "She would like that. It's her favorite place."

Then she thought of Luna, sweet, pretty, clever Luna, dead and buried now, and she began to cry. Never again would Luna run on the beach alongside Christabel, never again would she nip Christabel to ask for pets or push her nose under her hand in search of sugar, never again would Christabel open the garage door to find Luna waiting for her. How many times she could have petted Luna or given her sugar without being asked, and hadn't? It was too late to make up for it now. The tears kept coming, wrung out of her in bitter, gulping sobs, and Christabel buried her face in her hands and cried and cried, for Luna and for herself.

The boat stopped. She felt Kas sit down by her. He held the parasol in one hand, shading them both, and his other arm went around her, pulling her to him. She held back at first, but when he drew her forward to his chest, she let her head fall onto his shoulder. Oh, how lovely! How lovely! For so long, too long, Christabel hadn't been properly held, and she had almost forgotten how lovely it was to sit like that, with his shoulder taking on the weight of her grief and his hand massaging the knots out of her back. Her sobs quieted. With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck, breathing in his familiar scent of earth and smoke and the sea.

"It's all right," he murmured, rocking her against him, gentle as the rocking of the waves on the sides of the boat. "You'll be all right, Mrs. Creel."

The name rankled. "Don't call me that," she said. It came out sharper than she'd intended, and Kas's arm stiffened across her shoulders.

"What'd you want me to call you then?" he asked.

She lifted her head to look at him. "Call me by my name. Call me Christabel. At least—at least when it's just the two of us together."

Those words struck her as oddly intimate, and she became aware of how close their faces were, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, could see his dark eyes, enormous in the shade under the parasol. He'd heard the desperation in her voice too and was looking at her, eyes wide in shock or fear. How foolish she'd been! Just because she'd been fantasizing about him didn't mean that he felt the same about her. What she did in the privacy of her bedroom was shameful enough, but here—she was practically throwing herself at him. A servant! What would her mother say? My God, what if he told Henry?

"You know what, never mind." She sat up straight and pushed him away. "Just take me back."

"As you wish, Mrs. Creel," he said. Something in his voice was like an arrow through her heart. Had she really worried about what her mother would've said? Why did she still care? Everything she'd done had been to get away from her mother, and it seemed she hadn't escaped at all.

Kas got to his feet to return to the bow. She grabbed his hand, pulling him down by her side. She didn't know what possessed her to do so when she'd pushed him away only seconds ago, but at that moment, she couldn't bear to be away from him. He looked down at her hand clutching his, then lifted his eyes to her face. The look in those eyes made her breath catch in her throat, and, without thinking, she kissed him.

His lips parted in surprise. She pushed forward, taking his bottom lip between hers, marveling at how soft his mouth was, how responsive he was to her kiss, so unlike Henry, whose answer to her kisses was always a tight-lipped grimace. Kas's arm was around her again, his mouth moving hesitantly under hers, returning the kiss with a fervor that matched her own. Her hands came up to clasp his temples, her trembling fingers sinking into his curls, holding him close, while she captured his mouth again and again, draining it, like one dying of thirst—

He wrenched himself away from her, so abruptly that he left her dizzy.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, even as she was drawn back to him by some invisible magnet. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I..." She hardly knew what she was saying. She only saw his mouth, still temptingly close, and couldn't stop herself from pulling him to her once more, from claiming that soft, lush mouth with hers once more— 

"We can't," he said, seizing both of her wrists to hold her at arm's length.

The parasol dropped out of his hand into the water, and Kas's face began to redden as sunlight spilled over him. He snatched the parasol up and scrambled to put it back in its place by the bow, but it wobbled, refusing to stay.

"Here, let me." Christabel took the parasol and held it over him. For a moment, Kas looked like he wanted to protest, but he took up the oars again without another word.

Though they sat side and side, he held himself stiffly, as far away from her as possible, while they traveled the rest of the way to the island. When they reached the shore, Christabel got off the boat on her own and held the parasol for Kas as he pulled the boat up and tied it to the dock. The house loomed above them, and the fog reached out its fingers, drawing them back into its grayness.

"I'm fine from here," Kas said, taking the parasol from her without looking at her.

Christabel turned away, but she couldn't bring herself to go into the house, to face its gloom and Henry's silent contempt. Her feet took her toward the garage. She had to see for herself, to believe that Luna was really gone.

The stall had been cleaned up. The saddle, reins, and brushes were gone from the wall. The straw had been swept away. There was no sign that a horse had ever been here.

The sight of that empty stall brought on a fresh flood of tears. Christabel slowly sat down, put her forehead on her knees, and let the tears flow down her face and drop onto the floor, like rain.

Something between the floorboards caught her eyes. Christabel picked it up and turned it over in her hand curiously. It was a flat, triangular shape, the size of her palm, slightly curved, grayish green in color and ridged all over. She would've thought it was simply a piece of tree bark, if it hadn't been for its strange shape and feel, rough and smooth at the same time, almost like a fish scale.

"Don't touch that!" Kas yelled behind her, making her drop the thing.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It could be from the cobra. Anyway, it's not a good idea to pick up unknown things around here." He tried to appear casual, but from the way he used a piece of rag to pick up the thing, Christabel realized Kas knew more about it than he let on. It was too big to be from any cobra, unless that cobra was the size of a python. But she was too tired to press him about it.

"You go up to the house," Kas said. "I'll bring you some food later."

There was nothing else to say then. "Thank you, Kas."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Creel."

Mrs. Creel.

Pulling the belt of her dressing gown tighter, Christabel stumbled into the house, swallowing the lump of disappointment in her throat.

Chapter 11

[hellfiretropical]

Hellcheer week 2024 Day 3: Second Chance

Hellcheer week 2024 Day 3: Second chance

'86 wasn't their year, baby. Even with all the affinity, friendship and latent love between them, things didn't end well for Chrissy and Eddie after graduating from high school. Hurting each other, they went their separate ways and didn't see or speak to each other again for 4 years. Now in 1990, after following their dreams and achieving relative success in their paths, they are back in Hawkins for different reasons: Eddie came to spend the holidays with Wayne and Chrissy to marry Jason…

The invitation to the wedding affects Eddie more than he would like. And Chrissy never imagined that she would be even more in love with Eddie than when they last saw each other. The Freak and the Cheerleader will have the opportunity to reconcile and make different choices this time.

Is there a second chance?

@hellcheerweek

Sorry to friends who do not speak Portuguese, there was no time for a proper translation of the full text. But you can always use your browser's translator, it usually works well for me and it will be a pleasure to have you as readers.

This is now officially a work in progress (WIP) and it's been two years since I started writing it, right when I first made the prompt for HellcheerWeek 2022. I thought HellcheerWeek 2024 deserved to have something a little more than a prompt. And it has at least two chapters ready. I intend to continue it as well as the other two fics.

[werepuppy-steve]

a piece from my platonic hellcheer roadtrip wip that i want to make some progress on soon

Chrissy rolls over to face him. Eddie can't tell if she's still drunk or not.

She giggles when he reaches over and swipes a thumb under her eye where her eyeliner is smudged and the corners of Eddie's lips tick up in amusement. He lets his hand fall back to the bed and tucks it underneath his pillow.

Chrissy's eyes are starting to droop and just when Eddie thinks she's out, she takes in a sharp breath and shifts under the covers, pulling them under her chin. She looks at Eddie with an unreadable expression.

"Do you think..." Her voice is barely above a whisper, like she doesn't want to disrupt the comfortable silence that's settled between them. It's a stark contrast to how loud she was at the bar and when Eddie dragged her through the door of their hotel room, still drunkenly slurring that Cyndi Lauper song from karaoke.

"And you've taken all you can bare, you call me up because you know I'll be there."

"Alright, superstar," Eddie chuckles fondly as he sits her on the edge of the bed. "I think it's time you hit the hay. You're gonna have a bitch of a hangover in the morning."

He kneels down in front of her and starts unlacing her boots. Her singing stops and Chrissy sits up from where she'd flopped onto her back and gives Eddie a look that he equates to a pouting bunny. "I am not a bitch in the mornings, Theodore Munson."

It startles a laugh out of Eddie so hard that he almost chokes on it. "That's not even remotely close to what I said, but," he gives her an apologetic look, "you kind of are, babe."

It earns him a deserved smack on the head but Chrissy quickly goes back to humming her songs and Eddie is able to get her out of her party clothes and into her pajamas without much fuss.

"You can always call me," she says before he turns the lights out. Her back is turned but her voice is clear. "You know that right? Just like I can always call you."

Eddie blinks, hand froze under the lamp shade. "Of course I know that, Chris," he says after a blip of silence. She doesn't say anything else so Eddie turns the light off and slips under he blankets beside her.

Eddie nudges her socked foot with his own bare one. "Do I think what?"

Chrissy bites her lip like she does when she's nervous. "If we both weren't gay and you weren't dating Steve, do you think we would've worked out?"

The question catches Eddie off guard. "Oh."

Chrissy shakes her head and quickly sits up. "It's a stupid question, I know. I shouldn't have asked–"

"Hey." Eddie grabs her hand before she can get out of bed. "It isn't stupid. Nothing you ever say is stupid, don't say mean things about my best friend."

That gets a watery laugh out of her. Eddie gently gives her hand a pull and Chrissy easily lays back down. The lights stay off because this feels like a lights off kind of conversation.

"I don't know," Eddie says honestly, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. "Maybe. But I think that deep down we would have known we aren't right for each other that way."

Chrissy looks at their hands and nods. "Yeah... Even if it meant figuring this stuff out later, I think I would have liked to try."

A sadness makes a home in Eddie's core. Deep down he knows he never would have been able to give her the kind of love she deserves, but he also knows that Chrissy thinks she doesn't deserve any type of love at all.

So he scoots closer until he's got her pulled into his chest, their arms around each other. "What I do know is that you're my best friend in the whole world. And I know that there isn't a single universe in which I wouldn't find you and make sure you know how much I love you."

He feels Chrissy hug him tighter and he kisses the top of her head.

"You're loved by so many people, Chrissy Cunningham."

[hellcheersource]

Modern Day Hellcheer AUs

Sharing some of our favorite Hellcheer fics in themed collections just for you. Starting off strong with the modern day AUs. Most of the fics in these colletions are complete, but a few stellar in progress fics might make the cut. Have one you think deserves a shout out? Let us know!

The Buzz @hangon-silvergirl

A wrong number text. Radio host Eddie. Barista Chrissy. Twists and turns galore in this super cute fic. Best play on words in a title ever - but you’ll have to read it to figure out why

Alexa play ‘she bop’ by Cyndi Lauper @majicmarker (katttyshack on ao3)

Friends to lovers where Eddie just happens to work in a sex shop. So much more fluff than you would expect, in a very good way.

Two girls, a girl, and a cheerleader @slumped-in-the-arms-of-fiction

Hellcheer meets New Girl with all the cast you’d want to have around as Chrissy moves into the loft.

Semi-Charmed Life (Series) @uwusillygirl and hunter_gatherer

Chrissy is the porn star sweetheart who’s a fan favourite on Eddie’s website. Turns out it’s not just the fans who love her.

Max’s Annual Uncanny Hootenany (series) @barriss

Texting fic with the whole party involved. All of the in-jokes and banter you’d expect between these lot, with the added joy of Hellcheer

[griefabyss69]

Congrats on 100! For the game, how about "by the glow of candlelight", feel free to make it as E as you'd like, and Steddie or hellcheer maybe? (Also I feel you, my fingers are much more clumsy on the phone keyboard than a computer's)

This was immediately such a solid idea in my head <3 Thank you for the prompt!!! I hope you enjoy it 🕯️💗

Hellcheer (Eddie x Chrissy) - Rated: M - 639 Words

cw: one of the themes is about the journey of healing religious trauma (The other one is about touching each other <3)

(Full thing under the cut)

Eddie wouldn't have ever considered the backs of his knees to be a particularly sexy part of his body, for other people or even to touch, before tonight.

But with all of the attention they're getting, he feels a simmering up his legs, all the way to the tip of his dick.

He's on his stomach, his head pillowed in his arms as Chrissy touches him all over – under the guise of giving him a friendly massage.

While they'd both gone into it with the knowledge that it was just an excuse, he knows that she still needs one while she continues to work through years of religious guilt, especially about bodies, and the thousands of things you're not supposed to do with them.

There are many things about their situation that would make even a more progressive church goer shake their head at her, though Eddie doesn't think any of it would qualify her for actual Hell. Maybe one day, though.

Her fingers ghost over skin he never thinks about, and he finds it sensitive and a little ticklish in a way that really works for him.

"You look pretty like this," she says, her voice small, all hushed like she can't bear to call a man pretty to his face.

To the back of his head. Whatever.

He lifts his chin and tries to look over his shoulder at her, wants to see the shine of the candles in her eyes, to try to see what she sees when she gazes as him.

"Lay down, I'm not done," she says, tapping at his back, her knees nudging against the insides of his calves.

He complies, not as tempted to misbehave and tease her as he usually is. He likes to push her buttons just enough that she can forget about the ex-Looming Threat in her life, even if it's only for twenty minutes at a time, but tonight something feels different. Special.

She's the one who initiated it, which makes him choke up with pride when he thinks too hard about it. It's also… moody, in a sexy way. He knew vaguely that candles were supposed to be good for that, but had never bothered because his lamp seemed good enough.

The difference is clear though, and he already plans to get her to pick out more candles.

Chrissy's fingers are at his lower back, rubbing circles into his muscles and he wants them lower – has no idea how to make his ass appealing and friendly enough that the shame doesn't scare her off.

"Eddie," she says, her voice trailing off.

"Mmm?" He asks, lifting his head up again.

She pushes at his shoulders and he lays back down with a huff, pretending to be annoyed.

"Can I… touch you?"

He bites back the obvious response. He doesn't want to ruin a perfect gift, and he's too busy groaning into his arms anyway, spreading his legs a little bit in invitation.

"Yes," being as clear about it as he can.

"Thank you," she says, and her hands slide over the skin of his ass, stopping right under it to knead his thighs. "I like this part."

He thinks she means his body, but he likes this part too – when she settles into what they're doing enough to ask for what she wants.

Later he's going to return the favor, tickle the backs of her knees and make her feel good, maybe get her to rest on her back so he can give her an even friendlier massage with his mouth. However he can get her brain to shut up and let her rest, however she wants to use him – though she'd never agree with him about that phrasing – Eddie's going to give it all to her until the candles are flickering out in their burnt down wicks.

[opaldraws]

Harringrove For Turkey

Hey y'all! I’m participating in Harringrove for Turkey! That means I’ll be creating art in exchange for donations to an organization that supports the people of Turkey and Syria after the Earthquake.

I’m asking that you donate money to one of the following organizations in exchange for me creating your commission:

Disaster Tents Donations

GlobalGiving

Search and Rescue Association

CARE

Follow These Steps If You’re Interested!

Send me a DM and let me know which slot you’re interested in and what you want me to draw (DM ME BEFORE DONATING!! I want to make sure I can fulfill your request before you spend your money)

Donate!! Remember PLEASE to screenshot your receipt – you need to send me this to show you’ve donated

Don’t forget to block out any private contact details you don’t want me to see!

What I Have To Offer: 3 lineart illustrations and 1 full color illustration (limited backgrounds as seen in the example illustrations). I’m open to creating art for stranger things (harringrove,hellcheer,ronance, etc.) obviously, but also cobra kai, the walking dead, or bill and ted! I prefer fluffy sweet pieces, but I’m open to hear your ideas if they are more angsty! SFW ONLY

Other Important Info: I am currently a full time art student, that means that it is going to take me some time to fulfill your request. I will keep you updated and communicate clearly about the progress of your commission, but I will need at least 30 days to complete your piece (pieces are worked on in the order in which I receive commissions).

Masterpost of creators here

[hellcheer-heaven]

Hello, hello! I absolutely adore your hellcheer art!!! It's so sweet and fluffy (and sexy occasionally 😉). But it always makes me sad whenever I see you putting yourself down about your art. It's so good!!!! Don't tell me the anatomy is bad or the shading is off. The rest of us don't even notice that stuff. Be proud of the work you did and the amazing results you got!!!

I hope you'll eventually see your stuff in as positive a light as I do. That's all 💖

Thank you dear anon, that means a lot. I know that I can be harsh towards my art and myself. My brain tends to focus on what’s wrong rather than the progress that I’m making.

I’m hoping and practicing to be nicer towards myself. It’s difficult since I’m used to putting myself down instead of raising myself up.

Thank you again for your kind words.

[phoenixwrites]

Hey! So I’m planning on writing my own original novel (it’s sadly just an outline and diagram right now) and I was wondering if you have any tips? 👉🏻👈🏻🥹

First of all, congratulations! That’s a huge decision!

My best advice for writing a novel is to figure out what works for you and do it consistently. Every writer has a different style and process and half the journey is figuring out what is the most effective way that works for you. So bear in mind, when I share my tips and tricks, these might not work for you! These might be completely unhelpful and just do not vibe with your brain dance. That’s okay. You will find your process and style, as long as you’re willing to practice and experiment!

Write every day, even when you don’t feel like it. I don’t believe in writer’s block or lack of inspiration. But I do believe in being gentle with my brain when my talents are not flowing properly. I live and die by the Three Sentence Rule. If I’m really stuck on something, I force out three sentences. Just three. Then I watch an episode of something or take a walk or read a chapter of something. Then I write three more sentences. I repeat this cycle over and over. I’ve gotten so many chapters and projects written by doing this. Even three sentences is progress.

I need more than one project to work on. I am always writing two different projects. Right now, I’m working on the sequel to my novel and smoothing out a proposal for a nonfiction academic book. My brain does not like focusing on just one thing; I get bored and impatient. If I can switch back and forth, page by page, I’m able to complete projects.

Try your very hardest not to edit until you have a complete draft. A dirty draft is so important. When you finish your first manuscript’s rough draft, you have proved to your brain, “Okay, I can write a book.” Everything else is immaterial. Yes, you need to add things, yes you need to clean it up, but you have completed a book. That injection of confidence is key to executing it all. I am a perfectionist Virgo and I support the dirty draft.

Find a writing community. No one writes a book alone. You need a village to support your highs and lows, to ask questions to, to engage with. For me, my village was the Hellcheer fanfic community, the Rumbelle fanfic community, and the Swanfire fanfic community. I met querying authors there and that made a significant difference. Querying and writing by yourself can be desperately lonely and isolating.

Be stubborn! You are going to run across a lot of people who will say “no” to your book, so you have to be the ultimate “yes”. You have to have enough confidence in yourself, almost to the point of arrogance—that the story you want to share with the world is good enough and special enough to fight for it. No one else can fight for your book. It’s all up to you. So channel every ounce of stubbornness you have and keep going, no matter what.

Good luck!

[staceymcgillicuddy]

WIP Weekend Challenge

This is so fun! Thank you to @hilarychuff for the tag - it's like you knew I was sitting here, bored out of my skull.

in a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

post a snippet from one of them. snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. we’re posting progress here. if you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

after you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. you must then write 3 sentences in that file. if the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

that’s it! you can invite others to join in, or just post. if you tag me in your post, i will send you an ask request!

File names:

Hellcheer-Trucker.scriv Hellcheer-Munch.scriv Hellcheer-Summer.scriv Hellcheer-Western.scriv (I haven't touched this one since... last November, ha) The only one I've worked on in the last seven days is Hellcheer-Trucker, which, surprise! That's the weird file name I have for Soul. So, here is an unedited snippet from Chapter 28 that I hope isn't too spoiler-y:

“It does. It’s good.” She relaxes against the cushions again, pulling the blanket over her chest as Wayne toggles between NBC and CBS before settling on the former. They sit in companionable silence, watching the morning news. A woman is suing a wrestler for sexual harassment, and there’s something happening with Israel that she doesn’t fully understand. Locally, there’s been a string of burglaries in a neighborhood in a rich part of Indianapolis, and there’s a lot of handwringing about ruined Christmases. Then, there is fluffy nonsense about a dog in a Santa hat, as well as a review of Dustin Hoffman’s new movie with Tom Cruise. The reviewer has just finished giving the movie four stars when a knock comes at the front door, startling them both. “Six-thirty in the goddamn morning,” Wayne says with a scowl. He rises, and Chrissy can hear his knees pop. 

The knocker is NOT WHO YOU THINK IT IS, I promise. But literally every chunk of Chapter 28 spoils something that happens in as-yet-unposted chapters, so this is all I've got.

Anyway, I'm tagging @bisexualchrissycunningham because I know you have a load of exciting WIPs on the go, as well as @khaleesa and @blondiest and @pipergirl17 aaaaaand... anyone else who wants to!

[heavencasteel420]

I finally made a list of all my ST WIPs and fic ideas, and they basically break down into five categories (Cute, Regular, Weird, Dark, and Super-Dark) and three lengths (oneshot, short multi-chapter, and long multi-chapter). Here is the list of working titles:

Cute

Oneshot

The P Is for Perfection (and You Know That We Are Freaks): AU where the Byers family stays in Hawkins after S3, El becomes a cheerleader, and Chrissy takes her under her wing.

Raised on Promises: El finds a new hobby in California, bonds with Jonathan and Will.

Regular

Oneshot

Rock and Roll Is Here to Stay (Come Inside Where It's Okay): Lucas-centric, pre-S4, Lumax but mostly vibes.

I Know It Breaks Your Heart: future fic about Tommy.

Short Multichapter

Oh, I'm Bound to Go: companion to Drive All Night, focusing on the kids.

How Will You Make It on Your Own?: no-UD Stonathan college AU, mostly Cute tbh.

Tomorrow May Not Be Your Day: no Vecna, Jonathan in California, Jargyle.

Let the Broken Hearts Stand: companion to above about Nancy going to Emerson, becoming friends with Carol who’s unpacked some of her hostility towards other girls, maybe they become girlfriends?

Long Multichapter

Drive All Night: in progress.

Tomorrow's a Long Way Off: Robin and Jonathan hot girl summer 1983.

It's All a State of Mind: it’s the 1930s and Jonathan and Will and El are carnival workers with psychic powers who are gonna pull a fast one on the sleepy town of Hawkins. Byler plus Jancy or Stoncy, don’t know yet.

Nancy Wheeler Can't Win: no-UD AU but Nancy has to figure out how to navigate high school cliques and family stuff and the Annual Turkey Trot is tomorrow!!! Jancy eventually.

Life During Wartime: companion to above about Jonathan and Will. This is the one with the Lonnie funeral and Will’s clueless girlfriend. Jancy Byler.

Horse Girl: my nice Stoncy idea where Jancy break up temporarily in S3 and Steve kinda wants to get back together with Nancy but also wants to make friends with Jonathan finally (maybe more) but also is weirdly bummed that they broke up…can he have it all?

Weird

Oneshot

How Well I Remember: Jonathan/Jason, kind of, between S1 and S2. Not that weird tbh.

The Sin Eater's Prom Date: Jonathan/Chrissy, AU where he never got with Nancy in S2 and she never got with Jason and also the supernatural stuff ended much sooner, but the point is that they’re going to date and weird everyone out so much. Feat. a Cunningham family dinner where Jonathan heroically does a terrible job eating corn on the cob to get Laura off of Chrissy’s back.

Silver Threads and Golden Needles: moderately dysfunctional Stoncy, between S1 and S2, feat. a passive-aggressive cornfield handjob.

Ugly as Sin (finished): my Hellcheer one shot.

Long Multichapter

Chiaroscuro: film noir homage. Jancy Hellcheer.

Dark

Oneshot

Catch Me When You Can: Eddie/Jonathan in an unhappier timeline. More sad dark than mean dark.

I Need Noise: Billy/Jonathan, early S2, mostly in Weird territory but it’s Billy.

Long Multichapter

Tonight, Tonight, the Highway's Bright: in progress.

Super Dark

Oneshot

In the Night, but There's No One: this idea happened because I was reading a darkfic (horny) and I was like. Huh. I kind of want to see the sad and unsexy version of this. But only kind of. It might be too sad.

Short Multichapter

Tell the Radio Goodnight: evil Stoncy, between S1 and S2. Steve doesn’t reform but instead becomes Worse. I don’t mean this as Steve-bashing; Evil Steve is just fun to me.

[she-who-the-river-could-not-hold]

WIP Thoughts + Updates

I did some serious cocooning, mental health care work in January (obviously still going on but that was my main focus last month) so I've been finally emerging out of all of that. I've also been writing more (!!) but I also feel like I've made zero progress on things? Which isn't actually true. So this post is a catch-up post in general, plus just a personal reminder to myself to relax and step back to look at what I've been working on!

Bellarke, Rock & Religion + Florida Gothic AU (New WIP, multi-chapter)

The first chapter might almost be done?? Which feels wild to type out but it really might be. I do think this is a story that would benefit from me writing ahead at least a little bit as I go though. The moodboard I shared earlier for the planning remains the same! I will make sure to go back and inject some more moodiness into it, right now the characters are running amok on their own to get their personalities fleshed out and I don't want to interrupt that. So we'll see how far I can get with it but I'm digging it so far!

Hellcheer, Kas!Eddie + Haunting AU (New WIP, ideally a oneshot)

This little thing started out as a song-inspired AU and is quickly spiraling out of control lol. But I'm determined to ride it out, let it be completely indulgent. It's going to have alive!Chrissy and demon/Kas!Eddie, which is a trope I've never really looked at before but it feels right for this. It's going to have some body horror and like, fucked up guardian angel vibes. I'm really loving it, but it's turning out definitely weird and experimental so we'll see how it goes. The important thing is I'm obsessed with it!

Drabble/Collection Updates (Six of Crows Whump Collection + t100 Crackling Fires Collection)

SoC Whump AUs: I've started writing four more of them, with five concepts being prepped. I really enjoy whump but it's definitely had to get into the mood for it at times. Slowly but surely! Crackling Fires: I have four prompts started, at least in outline form! But I'm definitely having to practice reining myself in and not making them too elaborate. I think I need to go back and tweak some of them to be more "scene" focused, rather than "story focused" (can you tell I only ever write long things?)

I've also recently posted a new WIP to my 🌶️ account, so obviously not really getting into that here. But that second chapter is in the works! And I honestly need to just acknowledge it here because it does count as writing, even if it's not something I talk about over here. My time loop AU is paused though, I'm not sure if I like it anymore so it needs to ruminate some I think.

Excited to keep chipping away at these, plus I think I'll be ready soon to get back to some old WIPs as well! I think probably starting with either the dystopian mythology AU or the medieval fantasy one.

[deliriumsdelight7]

Glad to hear you’re feeling better, and stoked that you’re able to write as well! I miss your Hellcheer work very much, but I’ll happily wait as long as necessary. Better to wait and know the author enjoyed the writing process! <3

Thank you so much! It feels much better to be working with an only slightly higher than normal amount of brain fog. Having the energy to stay awake instead of sleeping every free moment I get is also a plus! I really appreciate your well-wishes and your patience. I’m the first person to say “fanfic is a hobby, nobody is entitled to your time and energy, so don’t burn yourself out” to friends in fandom, and also the first to say “you’re a failure as a writer, a friend, and a person for not being on top of shit” to myself, so… yeah.

Anyway! I have posted nothing in months, BUT I am in the middle of writing chapters for two Hellcheer fics, two Barbgrove fics, and a Rumbelle fic. I basically open up whichever of the fics is calling out to me, write for as long as it comes easily, and stop. Once I’m fully recovered, I’ll worry about daily word quotas. Til then… progress is being made!