#box truss

[iamnathannah]

Video of the moment where she takes so much offense she just huffs offstage while almost giving the audience a bit of a personal look of her own lettuce in her panic to leave.

you would have thought that she’d been assaulted or something from this post, but do you know what she was referring to?

a picture of a lettuce

[danneelgrauls]

Family Room Cincinnati

Family room - mid-sized contemporary enclosed medium tone wood floor and brown floor family room idea with gray walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[mind4everinthegutter]

Roof Extensions - Patio Ideas for a mid-sized, classic backyard renovation project that includes an addition to the roof

[recycleanimals]

Enclosed in Cincinnati Family room - mid-sized contemporary enclosed medium tone wood floor and brown floor family room idea with gray walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[peachesofteal]

The House

The Crypt anthology Simon Riley / female reader

The House was a gamble.

Tucked away in a thicket of forest, boxed in on the side of a hill, it stands alone at the mouth of an uneven gravel road. The porch tips to one side, the front door to another, like the wood is weeping. White, stained paint contrasts with faded black trim, all of it peeling away.

“Not sure how old it is, to be honest. It’s been back there for years, owner let it fall into disrepair.” The realtor hesitantly dropped the keys in your hand with a grumble under his breath. “Good luck.”

The living room is habitable, barely, along with a single bedroom that has managed to fend off the rot and decay. After the floor is swept, cobwebs cleared, you rub your hands together trying to spark some heat between your palms. You didn’t think it’d get this cold, this fast, but the weather has turned in the last few days, and the furnace in the basement patiently waits for you.

Best to get it over with.

This isn’t the first house you’ve rehabbed. You’re familiar with weeping trusses, creaking stairs, raccoons curled up in kitchen cabinets, dirt floor basements and cellars. You’ve battled a furnace or two, cleaned a fireplace, nearly fallen through a rotten floorboard. It should all be old hat.

Should be.

Something about this house is different. Shadows dance in the corner of your eye, gone when you turn to look. Windows whistle without wind, and at night, you swear you can hear breathing.

It’s all in your head, of course. A house stuck out here in the woods is bound to have some quirks, some unexplainable moments, passing as quickly as they came. Pipes, foundations, doorframes, they’re all shifting things, never truly solid. There are always growing pains, even in something old.

Besides, old houses always have stories. They have bones.

So, it should be old hat, but a wisp of a feeling so unnatural gives you pause at the top of the stairs, and a shudder rockets down your spine.

Suck it up, you chastise. You’re an adult for fucks sake.

The furnace is a monster. It’s big, and ancient, and rusted, and to your delight, still operational. Old furnaces, old washers and dryers, all the things made in the seventies and before, last forever. No LED displays, no excessive electrical hookups, no songs to announce the end of a cycle. Lack of extensive wiring leads to a longer lifespan.

It kicks back on with a loud groan, hissing and rattling, and you roll back on your heels, satisfied. Easy enough, you think, tugging your tools up and turning to leave.

Something catches your eye. A black scrap of cloth, haphazardly ditched in a corner of the basement. The light casts it in shadow, and the room goes cold as your knuckles graze the fabric, turning it to reveal faded white teeth and bone.

It’s a skull mask.

You chalk it up to being something left over from the last owners, a Halloween costume, or prop as you carry it up the stairs. Just another thing left behind, like the house itself. You toss it on one of the tables, making a note to throw it away later, distracted by the thud of a fist.

Someone is knocking on the door.

“Can I help you?” He’s too big. Too tall. Shoulders too wide. Chest too broad. There’s a curve of fat around his belly under the unbuttoned jacket, and you try to look away at how hips give way to too thick thighs. You’re not a small girl, by any means but this man… this man is a monster.

“Just wanted to come by, meet my neighbor.” Your heart pounds, so loud it rattles your eardrums, and your mouth dries. “I’m Simon.” You manage to spit your name out in response.

“Your neighbor?” You squeak in disbelief, and he nods.

“I live on the next property over. Over the hill.” Over the hill? The realtor said no one lived around here, and he must read the confusion on your face, because he chuckles. “I don’t live too close, it’s still about ten miles. You’ve got a lot of land here.”

“Oh. Right.” He takes you in from head to toe. There's a tenebrific flicker in his eyes that you barely catch, gone when the front porch creaks under your feet, a sharp whine forcing you to step off the board, lest you fall right through.

“How’s it treatin’ you?” You think you’re supposed to step off the porch. Be friendly. Extend a hand, but you can’t. Something roots you to the spot you’ve chosen.

“Good. Fine. It’s uh… not my first rehab.” He nods thoughtfully.

“Well, just wanted to drop by.” He gives you a smile. It’s not warm, or welcoming, but grim. Haunted.

You watch him disappear down the road, still stuck to the porch. Wondering.

Your dreams are caked in mud.

Held down by the earth, dirt wet between your teeth, grit and gravel clogging your throat.

You scratch and claw and scream but it only grows heavier, quicksand turning to cement, burying you deeper and deeper until you’re six feet under. Listless. Resigned.

Dying.

Dreams are always the same. Just when you get to the point where you think you might die, when you’re past the point of no return, the last sliver of life slipping away-

is when you wake up.

This dream is no different. You come to screaming, gasping for air, tangled in your blankets, heart racing in a gallop. You need the sky. The sun. The moon. Anything to prove you’re not buried alive.

The window suffices.

It groans as you throw it open and shove your face outside, cool breeze soothing your stomach, the roar of panic pounding between your ears. You breathe deep again and again, the trembling in your hands tapering off, feeling of impending doom, of collapse, leeching away.

You get yourself settled when the stairs creak.

Growing pains. The house is old.

It’s a manageable explanation, until a boot steps on the landing outside your room, just beyond the door. You fumble with the flashlight on your phone. “Hello?”

Nothing.

And then-

The steps move away. Down the hall. It’s certainly a person now, walking, and you fly out of bed, fumbling with your slippers, your sweater, throwing the bedroom door open and squinting the down the hallway.

There’s nothing there.

No one.

You’re losing it.

Days pass, and the nights tick by the same.

Same dream. Same footsteps. Same nothingness at the end of the pitch-dark hallway.

You start to stay up, drinking coffee late at night, sitting up at the head of the bed. Waiting.

The steps never cease. But you never see where they come from.

The neighbor, Simon, comes around again. He takes stock of you and comments on how you look exhausted, sickly.

You snap back with some smart-ass comment and a suggestion, mind his own business. The sleep deprivation builds into agitation, and then into tears. It’s embarrassing.

“Is something wrong?” He asks gently, stepping close, close enough you can smell him. Cedar. Flame. Charred wood in the bottom of a firepit, the leftover remains of a once loved campfire.

“I’m sorry, I… I haven’t been sleeping.”

“Why’s that?”

“You wouldn’t believe me. It sounds pretty crazy.”

“Try me.” He’s at your shoulder now, tilted down, trying to meet your eyes. When you refuse, he tips your chin backwards, baring your face to him. It’s too intimate. You can’t pull yourself away. “Go on.” The birch trees sway in the wind.

“It’s the house. I keep… I keep hearing things.”

“Things?”

“Footsteps, but no one is there. And I’ve been having the same dream, every single night since I got here.”

“What do you dream about?”

“Being buried alive.” His brows crease, framing fleeting caliginous shadows in his irises, mouth turning downward.

“I’m sure it’s just an animal in the house,” he glances up at it with a scolding, resolute glare, before returning his attention back to you. “As far as the dream, it’s probably just your subconscious telling you this house was probably more than you bargained for.” His mouth quirks to the side and you’re struck by it, confused. You didn’t notice earlier how handsome he is in a scarred, rough edged sort of way.

“Sure, yeah. You’re probably right.” He fishes out his phone and passes it to you.

“Put your number in there, I’ll text you. That way if you ever need anything, you can give me call.”

“Okay.”

A hand holds yours in the night. It’s warm, and heavy, and you squeeze it, curling your chin over it, a soft blanket of solace in a turbulent dream.

Old houses have bones.

When the nightmare wakes you later and you rocket out of bed, sweating and startled, you don’t hear the footsteps.

Instead, you hear your name being called. You stumble from your bedroom, frantic. The floor tilts between your feet, hallways contracting, crowding around your shoulders, ceiling weeping from the pressure.

You’re still asleep. You must be.

They breathe around you, expanding, narrowing, a dry rasp echoing from the bowels of the house.

Someone-

Something-

Calls your name.

It groans from the basement, floorboards singing under your heels as you trip down the stairs, turning the corner to crash through the door.

The light is on.

Did you leave it on?

You can’t stop yourself. Fear wraps a rope around your neck, but there’s nothing to tether you to the world above, nothing to prevent you from going down there.

But nothing prepares you for what you find.

In the dirt floor of the basement, a rectangular hole is dug. Long enough, wide enough for a body.

A grave.

Beside it, sits the skull mask you found when you fixed the furnace. The one you left upstairs.

You retch, skin prickling from a howling cry, ice cracking up your back, and turn to run. To flee, to fly back up the stairs like you did when you were a child, running from invisible monsters, trying to make it to the top before something snatches you around the ankle and drags you down into the abyss.

Instead, you collide with a wall of muscle.

You scream, pull away, only to be tugged forward.

Simon.

When he looks at you, he almost seems sad. “I told him not to do this.” He sighs, and you blink. He grips your upper arms, strength unnatural, fingers burning against frozen skin. “Told him it was too fast, y’know? You just got here.”

“Wh-what?” He’s walking you backwards, step by step, and no matter how hard you struggle, you can’t break free. It’s hard to breathe. “Simon, stop. Let go of me.”

“When I let ‘im go, freed him, I never thought he’d turn into… this. But it all worked out for the best, I think.” His mouth is moving, and you hear him, but the words string together into mush, and you can’t hold on, trying and failing to make any of it make sense. The only thing that registers is the horror blooming in your heart, the sweat slicking down your spine.

“L-let me go.”

“Can’t.” You teeter on the edge, heels suspended over the dirt pit. Simon is still holding you by your arms, balancing you above, and you cling to him.

“Stop- stop-“ He ignores you, grabbing your wrists, widening the gap between his chest and yours. His thumb finds your cheek and strokes away the tears there, the touch gentle, sympathetic.

“It won’t be too bad. You’ll be with him, and I’ll have you both.” The house groans again, and the lights flicker. You’re still suspended over the hole in the ground, flying, stomach turning over and over again, motion sick.

“With who?”

“Ghost.” He looks around, gesturing to the basement like it’s obvious. “This is where I buried him. Scratched him out of my soul and gave him peace.” Your head spins, and he holds you close for a second, cheek on your head.

“Simon-“ The protest is cut off by his lips on yours, impassioned, aggressive. He draws back, cradles your face with his free hand and then-

let’s go.

You land on your back with a scream, trying to scramble to your feet only to find yourself weighed down by some invisible force, the same cold clinging to you again, holding you like a lover. “G-get me out, get me out this isn’t funny.” He ignores you, stepping out of sight. Your chest explodes with agony, terror spilling from your eyes in rivers of salt, vision going so blurry it’s impossible to see.

Someone-

Something-

Holds your hand.

A shovel clangs, damp dirt crumbling into a blade. Simon looms with a heaping pile of earth. When he throws it down into the grave, onto your legs, you thrash. Scream. Beg.

No one can hear you.

No one can save you.

He goes about his work in silence, ignoring every plea, every bargain, every cry. The cold never leaves, only tightens its embrace. The weight of the dirt crushes you, compacts your diaphragms, your breaths growing more and more shallow with each passing second.

“Please,” you croak when it meets your chin. “Please.” The shovel pauses, shadowed over your face, small clumps and rocks falling over the edge onto your cheeks. It’s the next to be dumped, the next layer, the one that will finally hide you from view, from the world. Bury you. Alive.

Before it drops, you peer up through dusty cobwebbed lashes. There’s another man beside Simon. He wears the mask, the skull one, eyes glistening above the hem. They’re haunted, heavy with desiderium, but shining with something else, starvation, desperation. Lunacy.

Love.

He disappears in the next moment, and Simon looks down at you one last time. “This is the only way we can keep you, ‘m afraid. Have to make you a part of it, just like him.” You choke.

“A part of what?”

“The House.”

[lysenfeu]

141 + Buying/owning sex toys

MDNI 18+ Explicit Content

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Gaz: An absolute collector, Kyle loves experimenting and trying new things. Over time he’s built a veritable arsenal of options. He's a tad embarrassed to show you his collection when you bring up using toys, but watching your excited response when you dig through his toy box for the first time melts that away quickly. Different shapes and sizes, a dozen vibration settings, even a toy that’s WiFi enabled for long distance. You don't even know where to begin. “Which one should I pick?” Kyle just grins at you. “How about we start simple and work our way up, hm? It's going to be a long night for you sweetheart.”

Ghost: Simon went dead silent the first time you asked him about toys and you weren't sure if he was OK or not. You dropped it until he returned the next week with a formatted list like he was submitting a requisition to the quartermaster. You're stunned but secretly thrilled by his choices. Various restraints (rope, metal cuffs and padded leather), ball gag, riding crop, black studded collar. “For me or for you?” you ask him. He can't look you in the eye when he answers. “Both.”

Soap: He has some odds and ends laying around (cock rings, nipple clamps, a vibrating bullet) but never really thought about getting more until you bring it up. He gets SO excited when you ask to pick out something new together. Acting like a kid in a candy store, sending you links and pictures at random times during the day. Opening your messages becomes a ticking time bomb of getting caught by coworkers with a large neon pink vibrator on your screen, Johnny asking perfunct but filthy questions. “How much can ye handle, hen? Think that'll fit?”

Price: John sticks to the classics. Jute rope, a Hitachi wand, a basic silicone dildo. He'll happily go grab anything you request if needed, but he has his routine down pat and tends to keep it that way. He likes using what he's comfortable and familiar with and can use his toys with wicked precision as a result. He knows the exact angles and pressure needed, the perfect ties that keep you trussed up but comfortable, turning you into a complete mess with only one or two simple accessories needed. “What d'ya think, love? This enough for ya?”

[negronispagliato]

i'll be around (where we used to be) || eivor varinsdottir

summary: a year or so post nastiest break up of your life, you and eivor reunite at gunnar & brigid's wedding

pairing: modern!eivor x reader

themes/warnings: breakups, established relationships, mentions of eivor not having been the greatest partner (but never cheating), yearning, all that good stuff.

word count: idk but they're all full of queer yearning.

note: i'm not exactly back but kinda....? had to take some time away from the ac space lol but anywhoooooooo here's an old fic with very shitting writing. divider by @/cafekitsune

She looks good. You think to yourself while sipping on a lukewarm mulled wine. 

It’s been nearly a whole year since you’ve seen Eivor. It shouldn’t feel as strange as it does, but there’s been a whole year of the two of you acting like awkward strangers ever since the break up.

Ever since the explosive argument that pigeonholed the two of you into making a decision that ended up hurting the two of you, and dissolving everything you had into suitcases and storage boxes. 

There’s the weight of things unsaid and unresolved, and no matter how much you try to interact with everyone at the wedding party it doesn’t soothe the dull ache of being so close and so far from her at the same time. 

You were just a guest at Gunnar’s wedding, so your outfit of choice wasn’t all that in comparison to Eivor’s outfit. She was part of the wedding party, the officiator, all trussed up in a black suit that had been expertly fitted, a couple of buttons on the white dress shirt undone to reveal a bit of the tattoo that occupied most of her chest.

She was always effortlessly handsome, you would say to her a long time ago. She’d  only laugh and respond with a kiss.

A whole year apart, and the ghosts of their memory still lingered in your mind much like the memory of how it felt to be held and kissed and loved by Eivor once upon a time. 

Her golden hair, braids done up and sides shaved off to reveal the tattoos emblazoned on her scalp, itching to be played and caressed by your gentle touch that could put her to sleep as easily as it could cause her pleasure. 

----

Despite the awkwardness of passively and actively trying to avoid her, you have a fun enough time. 

You make the valiant effort to talk to old friends, catch up with their latest life accomplishments. Randvi had just completed an assignment overseas as a diplomat. Soma had made incredible strides in her consulting business. Valka, and gods you missed her so much too, had incredible success as a professor. 

And for a while, it works to distract you from the incredible pull you still feel towards Eivor while passively avoiding her. Really, you weren’t actively trying to, but it was hard to say no when someone else seemed to pull you away into another conversation at just the right time.  

The rowdiness of all the drunk guests works to drown out your melancholy a superficial amount, but it only works so much until you feel like you need to breathe. 

It’s hard to find the words and form an excuse to dismiss yourself from the conversation you were ensconced with Valka and Randvi, at least until you spot Eivor walking over. 

You could only keep yourself from looking at her so much, from your eyes searching her out for so long. She caught you looking, and now your heart threatened to beat out of your chest like a war drum. 

Even from afar, she could read you with just a look. 

As if by some sort of fucked up serendipity, your phone starts to vibrate in your pocket, and you take it as a way to give yourself an out. 

You make your way towards the street after Randvi advises that the signal inside is terrible. Eivor gets to where you had just been sat, glancing at Randvi all confused after she watches you practically run away. 

Breathing doesn’t become any easier once you step outside. The air has become a little too cold, and it makes you keenly aware that your choice for a coat was not all that suitable for the weather. You also miss the call, but make no effort to call back. 

You don’t feel any better avoiding her.  You feel dirty, scurrying and escaping like a cat avoiding water in order to get away from Eivor. 

But the feeling of dread that pits in the bottom of your stomach just gets worse, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep avoiding her. Keep missing her. 

You hate how much you miss her, how much her comfort is the only one that can soothe the ache she caused, but you can’t lie to yourself either. 

There’s been many times during your time apart that you’ve ached to call her, to hear her raspy, piquant voice soothe your worries. To call her and try to come to a truce, that you wanted to go back to her, that you would’ve left everything behind to be with her.

She probably would’ve done the same, no, you know she would’ve done the same for you. But neither one of you could deal with the weight of the guilt, the shame of having yelled at each other. The two of you never did that before. 

Besides, she probably had someone else now. Even during your years together, she always seemed to ignore how people fawned over her. 

Though, you hadn’t been able to see how she’’d only ever had eyes for you. 

The sigh you release doesn’t make you feel any lighter. 

“Leaving so soon?”

The sound of her voice after not having heard it for so long makes you jump, and you whip around to look at her. You were hiding your phone like you had been doing something worthy of punishing. 

The pulsing takes over your ears, triggering a numb feeling that leaves you feeling weightless all over. It’s the same feeling you got when the two of you first met all those years ago. She still had that effect on you, taking your breath away with that smirk that always had you feeling some type of way. 

“I um...uh..” You can’t even find the words to say to her. You didn’t expect to interact with her on any level. 

Could you be any more ridiculous in front of an ex? 

“Randvi told me you were taking a phone call outside.” She says, shoving her hands into her pockets and shifting her weight from one foot to another. 

“Yeah uh..it was..it was work?” You awkwardly wave your phone before shucking it in your pocket, shivering for reasons other than the cold. 

Fuck if you knew if that’s what it really was, but you were trying damn hard to make it seem like you weren’t preoccupied about her the whole time. 

Eivor’s eyebrows shoot up and her eyes glint in curiosity. 

“How’s that going? Did they treat you alright over there?” 

You smile a little at her ever present thoughtfulness, “yeah, it was great.” There’s an awkward pause that leaves the two of you wondering what could be recovered from the ashes of what once was. 

There was a time where the breakup had come as a shock to a lot of your mutual friends, and for a time it was the only thing people could talk about. 

It didn’t help Eivor any. The breakup was equally as difficult on her. She didn’t have the heart to get rid of things the two of you had amassed over the course of the relationship, especially not the polaroids that had been littered about the home you two once shared or the pictures in her phone.

She regretted letting you go the second you had been forced to walk out of her life, and seeing you at the wedding had resurfaced a lot of unresolved feelings. 

Even though she felt elated seeing you again, she didn’t dare hope. 

You chuckle awkwardly at the poignant silence, picking at the cuticles of your nails—a part of you Eivor had known well once upon a time, and just sigh. 

She used to take your hands, and kiss the parts that hurt. She used to know how to mend the parts of you that needed healing.

To her credit, the small conversation that comes up isn’t too awkward since it wasn’t all that personal. There’s a chuckle here and a joke there, lulling the both of you into a false sense of security. 

It’s when she gives you that look, one that’s so natural to her, that it has you feeling nervous all over again.

Whether she’d meant to or not, it was the look she’d give you when she couldn’t verbally express how much she truly loved you with every fiber of her being. It’s always been an automatic, second nature thing for her to look at you like you hung up the moon and the stars. 

There’s a sigh that escapes her. A whisper of truce. 

That look that left you tingling all over with desire for her, a warmth suffusing all throughout your body. The love she possessed for you is clear in her eyes now as it was back then, before the fight. 

It was clear that she wasn’t really ready to let you go just yet, not when she had you right in front of her again after such a long time. She offers you an arm, nodding behind her. 

“Did you..want to go for a walk?” 

“Oh, I don’t—“

“I won’t keep you long, I promise.”

How can you say no with the way she’s looking at you like that? You felt your heart squeeze at the soft pleading in her voice. 

It feels like you’re melting under Eivor’s gaze, and just like that, you give her an easy smile and take a hold of the arm she offers. She hums pleasantly, keeping an easy and relaxed pace with you as the two of you are walking away from the party with no particular direction in mind. 

--

The conversation and the silence in between you is easy, coming and going naturally as if no time had passed by at all. 

You caught each other up on what had been going on in your lives during the last year: Eivor finally settled back in London after travelling constantly for work, but still had a ways to go in unpacking all of her stuff from the suitcases. The only things she had bothered to set up again in the old apartment were the bare essentials, which didn’t surprise you in the slightest. That’s how it had been when you two had lived together. 

You’d brought color itself into her life. 

Neither of you really acknowledged how fucked up of a feeling it was for Eivor to have also left your once shared home, and have come back to it empty and alone with the bare bones of what you once had together. 

“Are you in town just for the wedding?” She asked after a while, adjusting her arm so you could loop your elbows together. She can’t help the smile that comes on when you naturally match your stride to hers and hold onto her just a little bit closer, fingers laced together. 

“Sort of.” You squeeze her arm slightly when the two of you momentarily acknowledge a dog being walked by their owner, “My work contract is actually done, and it coincided with Gunnar’s wedding so...yeah, might finally settle down here again.” Eivor feels her heart accelerate as fast as it drops when she hears your words. She stops walking entirely, oceanic eyes riddled with a slight panic.

Were you telling the truth? Were you officially back home now? Back to…her? Would you even want to be? What if you had moved on? 

Looking at her, you practically knew what Eivor was wanting to ask so badly. It was as obvious in her eyes and in her touch—the way she held your hand so carefully. The way she rubbed your skin with her calloused thumb had soothed the bubbling unease in your belly. 

“Would yo-” 

“Maybe we–” 

The both of you laugh awkwardly, and she motions for you to speak first. 

“I..would like to get to know you again, Eivor.” 

Eivor breathes softly. She can’t say that the words don’t hurt a little, but she forces her impatient nature to not rear its ugly head. 

She hadn’t even realized the both of you stopped walking, or how she’d let go of your hand. But you reached for her again, bringing her back from the insecurity that threatened to drag her under. 

“I think we owe each other that much, right? A clean slate.” You whisper to her, feeling your own heart tug a little when you notice her stormy eyes water up with tears. 

“You’ve always had more sense than me, anyway.” 

That makes you laugh a little, but still, you can see how she deflated she was from the hurt she undoubtedly felt. The dejection was written all over her face, shoulders sagging as she stood in front of you, loosely holding your hands. 

Eivor’s shoulders shake as she lets out a watery laugh. You don’t blame her for feeling the way she does. She’s used to fixing everything right away, and even now it’s hard for her to know that while you hadn’t rejected her outright, you didn’t take her back immediately. 

“Eivor…I-I need to settle, and I can’t lie – the wedding is bringing up a lot of things we shouldn’t talk about right now.” 

“I’d give anything in the world to have you come back to me.” She’s a little more hopeful this time, voice a little high from nerves, but receptive to your touch as she rests her forehead on yours, “Without you, I’ve lost my way a thousand times.” 

“We’ll come back to each other, Eivor. I promise.” Your own voice wavered a little as you grabbed her hands, “I just need time, please?” 

“Anything.” 

[a-babe-without-a-name]

Sister Lovers, Water Brothers

Chapter 1: The Champion

Masterlist

Steve wasn't happy with the way Munson was treating one of his kids. So unhappy in fact, that he forces himself into their club leader's van to see what he's getting up to with Chrissy Cunningham, and maybe it's a good thing he's so paranoid because it might just save her life.

Or, the one where Chrissy doesn't die in the Munson trailer, and, despite the world-ending, the king(former) and queen(current) of Hawkins High cannot take their eyes off Eddie Munson

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

A.N. I co-wrote this with my roommate! We are going insane, it's gonna be along one so if you want to read on AO3 the link is below, just like and then head over :)

Read on A03

Greta, or Ms. G for those faint of heart, was running behind as expected.

Eddie was waiting for her outside the cafeteria, but the drama teacher was notorious for running late at almost any given moment. He didn’t mind waiting for Greta to finish up her last class to let him on stage, mostly for the fact she let them use the stage for Hellfire, but also hers one was one the few classes he’s managed to pass with an A.

“Don’t,” she emphasized her warning with a wrinkled finger, “touch the curtains. Any of the ropes for that matter. The trusses and the legs are all weighted and if you mess with them they could fall.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the boys keep their hands to themselves.”

“I know, I trust you all, I just don’t want anyone getting hurt,” She waved him off and led him on stage, where she’d already cleared any of the theater’s work off to the sides. Pointing out a few for things not to touch and unlocking the lighting box.

He was not expecting, once she left him alone, for the cafeteria doors to bang back open only minutes later and for Steve fucking Harrington to clumsily push through the center of the curtains. As they fell back in place, he saw a glimpse of a girl lingering outside. What would the king be without a fan club?

“Don’t-” Eddie frantically reached up to stop him from fumbling with the fabric, trying to pull it closed behind him, but it was already too late. They both looked at each other waiting for the other to speak.

“Uhm, it's Eddie, right? Munson?”

Panicking at the sudden intrusion into his Hellfire set up he dipped into a half hearted bow, hands flourishing as they tended to when he was worked up, “‘Tis I.”

“I’m Steve.”

“Yeah I’ve got that much,” Eddie droned, when he didn’t say anything beyond introducing himself. “What are you doing here, man?”

“I wanted to talk to you…” Harrington ran a hand through his hair. His eyes bounced around the room, looking anywhere but Eddie, almost like he was nervous. “About Sinclair.”

“Lucas?”

“Yeah, look man, Dustin told me about the whole trying to find a sub for tonight but you gotta cancel, or at least let the rest of them make it too his game.”

“You want me to cancel?” Eddie laughed cruelly, arms crossing over his chest and pulling into himself only to push up into Harrington's personal space.

“For Lucas’s game, yes.”

“I’ve been working on this campaign for months! I’m not letting it go unfinished over spring break because Sinclair is a traitor!”

“So you know how it feels then?” Steve demanded, stepping back out of Eddie’s face to give the stance full effect as he leaned forward, hand on his hip, and glared with a force that could knock a weaker man down.

“What?” Eddie breathed, refusing to be that weaker man.

“He’s been practicing all year for this!” He shouted, bull dozing over Eddie's confusion, before cutting himself off. Taking a step back, he looked down at his shoes and mumbled “I wasn’t supposed to yell.” He let out a controlled breath then restarted, calmer. “ He’s been practicing all year. I helped him all summer get ready for tryouts. This is something he cares about and you are all mad at him because a schedule he did not make conflicts with your game,” Steve hissed out, one of his hands off his hip so he can wave a pointed finger in Eddie’s face.

“Well… he was supposed to be one of us, and now he spends half his time with douchebags that push his friends into lockers, and call us freaks!” Eddie pushed back, moving in tighter as he got louder.

“One of you, one of them, what does it matter?” Steve asked almost sadly, “He’s supposed to be your friend. He’s a kid, who doesn’t want to be treated like one of the freaks and wants to enjoy the game he plays with his friends, and you’re the only thing stopping him from having both. You, Eddie Munson,” Steve declares, the finger now solidly on Eddie’s chest a burning point of contact, “hater of conformity are forcing one of yours to… conform.” he finished lamely.

Eddie opened his mouth to argue that if Lucas just dropped the whole sports thing, they wouldn’t be having this problem, but Steve cut him off. “You think he’s going to want to keep playing with you if you keep treating him like this? It’s the big game, and you all are shitty friends for not showing up, I hope you know that.”

“It’s my last campaign,” Eddie said softly, feeling the fight go out of him.

“I hope no one shows up for you then, I’ll be cheering on Lucas.” Harrington shook his head and shot one last disapproving glance back at Eddie before turning on his heel and disappearing back around the curtain.

Through it Eddie could still hear Steve arguing with the girl that had been trailing after him.

“That was a little mean wasn’t it.” That must be the girl.

“He’s bullying Lucas!”

“You were a bully t-”

“Yeah thanks, Robin, I know but I’m not going to let him-”

“Yeah, yeah you gotta defend your kids.”

“They aren’t my kids I just-”

“They are too.”

“Are not.” “Are too.” They traded back and forth as they must have made their way up the aisle, and out of ear shot. Stumbling back and leaning on the set pushed to the edges of the stage, Eddie stood, still in shock with hands clasped over his mouth as he tried to process what had just happened.

The stage lights they used to during Hellfire meetings were off, leaving the fluorescent work lights glaring down on him. Under the acrid yellow, Eddie felt overexposed, even as he tucked himself smaller into the throne he commandeered from Mrs. Pearson’s last production– some Shakespeare thing he hadn’t bothered to go see. 

The problem was, Eddie knew Harrington was kinda right. He was forcing Sinclair to choose between basketball and Hellfire, and there wasn’t really opting out of games for organized sports. He also felt stupid for not even thinking about seeing Lucas’s game, he’d just let the other boys bitch about him, probably not making it off the bench. When the hell had he become such a champion for cliques?

He sat there for god knows how long debating whether or not he could handle admitting Steve Harrington might have known better than him. He’d come to accept at some point in the last year that Steve might be an alright babysitter, but this… he didn’t know how to reconcile the image of Harrington from his glory days and this strange, caring, and awkward figure before him.

By the time the rest of Hellfire arrived, his legs were cramping from being curled in a ball, his ass was numb, nothing was set up, and the work lights were still on. He had made his decision.

“What the hell, Eddie?” Gareth asked, as their fearless DM sprung out of his throne, tripping and catching himself in a dance against gravity, before finishing with a sigh and a flourish.

“Gentleman, there will be no hellfire today,” Eddie announced solemnly, and already anticipating the club members' cries of despair kept talking over them. “Another great adventure awaits… in the gymnasium.”

“We’re going to the game?” Dustin asked as he arrived with Mike and another child wearing an American flag as a cape.

“Yes,” Eddie declared, a smug smile spreading across his face. “We’re going to support Sinclair.”

“My loser brother?” the child sneered. 

“Who is she?” Gareth asked.

“Erica,” She answered for herself at the same time Mike and Eddie said “Lucas’s sister.”

“And yes,” Eddie continued, “Hellfire, and Lady Sinclair apparently, will be attending the game in support of our fellow adventurer.”

“But he never even makes it off the bench,” Mike whined, “and we brought a replacement, let's just finish the campaign.” Eddie, sick of all the talking, stepped up onto the table smoothly and stalked across to the gathering of nerds.

“Good luck playing without  a dungeon master,” he shrugged, hopping off the other end, and pushing past the bickering crowd back into the hallway and out towards the gym. 

He didn't make it very far before the rest of them were trailing after him, some content to go along with his scheming, others, namely Wheeler, still complaining about wanting to play all the way there.

Once they made it inside the crowded gym, Eddie could barely spot Steve in the sea of green and yellow, but Steve saw him right away. 

The whole club came in together after the clock had been started and grabbed the closest seat they could find. Over the rising din of the crowd and the game picking up, Steve raised a hand to wave in recognition. Eddie ducked his head and nodded back subtly, hoping none of the guys noticed.

*

The final buzzer went off and the crowd erupted as the team picked up Lucas, lifting him above their heads to accept the cheers for his score. The band picked up the fight song, loud and fast, and eventually everyone was clapping along. 

When the celebration died down the energy carried on as everyone picked up their own conversations, recounting the game and the winning basket as they rushed for the exits.

On his way to the locker rooms, Dustin managed to snag Lucas by the arm and pulled him into a hug even as he jumped around, babbling about how well he did. Eddie slapped him on the back, and told him it was a good game that it was nice to see him play.

“I didn’t think you guys would be here,” he said with a bit of awe, the adrenaline still running through him making everything more fantastical, “What about Hellfire?”

“We decided to wait for you,” Eddie shrugged, before moving out of the way to let the other members greet their star player; even Mike offered him a slap on the shoulder, mimicking their DM, and managed to not complain about postponing the game.

Eventually, the gathered crowd filtered outside, and began to dissipate as they piled into cars and made their way home. Groups of players and their friends lingered in the pools of light along the sides of the gym, waiting for the remainder of the team to make it outside.

The players and cheerleaders seemed to be debating who would be meeting up later, and who would be driving, while Steve tried to convince the gaggle of children that had ambushed him to find their own rides home.

“Get Nancy to take you home,” Steve waved toward Mike, already heading to join his sister.

“He had to be home five minutes ago,” Dustin rolled his eyes, like Steve should have all of their bedtimes memorized. “They don’t have time to drop me off, besides, looks like you’ve lost your date already.” The kid sounded almost scolding as he pointed out Steve’s failure to bring a girl home.

“She had her own ride, plus, I’m waiting for Robin,” He told Dustin for the third time, “Wasn’t your mom going to pick you up from dungeons and dipshits anyway?”

“Yeah, but you can just-”

“No! I told you, Robin has to change and deal with band stuff, so just go meet your… mom.” Steve’s voice trailed off as he watched Eddie wander away from the rest of his club, and gesture at someone coming out of the locker rooms, before turning back into the school. 

A minute later, Chrissy Cunningham carefully made her way toward the far corner of the parking lot. Whenever the basketball team let out another loud whoop, she looked back nervously and pushed further from the few lights in the parking lot. Steve watched her path, trying to convince himself that she wasn’t headed for the black van parked by itself. Today might have been the first time he’d actually spoken to Eddie, but everyone knew that van. Sure there were the typical rumors about who to talk to for weed, where to find him, but recently Steve had gotten used to Eddie tearing out of the parking lot as Steve arrived to pick the kids up from Hellfire. Every time it made him wonder how Eddie wasn’t already deaf, from how loud his music was blasting even in the parking lot.

“Steve! Steve!” Dustin was screeching at him trying to get his attention, but he shoved past the kid, close on Chrissy’s trail. 

The next time she looked back, checking to make sure no one near the gym had noticed her slip away, she did a double take as Steve came up next to her, just as she rounded the passenger side of the van.

“Hey Chrissy,” he greeted with faux casualty. “Crazy game right?” he laughed, letting her put space between them as she pulled her sweater closer around her, clearly off put. “You did a great job out there, you know, cheering everyone on.”

“Oh, uh, thanks Steve,” Chrissy shifted awkwardly, he hadn’t ever really spoken to her maybe in passing once or twice, but he had never approached her like this, “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, of course, Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Steve nodded, trailing off, “Huge night for the Tigers…uh Chrissy, by the way, where are you going?”

The question took Chrissy off guard, Steve seemed like a guy to mind his own business, this felt weird.

“Yeah, huge night…” She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to avoid the question. 

“Yep…” He looked down at her awkwardly, “So, where ya going?”

“Why do you care?” Chrissy snapped, curling a lip at him.

“I don’t know, I mean,” Steve shrugged, heaving a sarcastic sigh, “Your boyfriend just won what was probably the best game of his career, and you're here, waiting like a puppy outside Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson’s van.”

“What’s your damage, man?” Chrissy flinched, becoming overly defensive “I barely fucking know you, didn’t you graduate, like, last year? Leave me alone?”

“Chrissy listen, I really don’t think-”

“And I really don’t care what you think!” Chrissy half yelled, she ducked her head, glancing past Steve towards the crowds by the school, anxious about drawing attention.

“Please Chrissy I-” Steve tried to plead, 

“Hey!” Chrissy’s view of Steve was obscured when Eddie reached the van, stepping between them, “She said fuck off,”

“Well,” Steve shrugged, taking a step back, “That’s not exactly what she said,”

“Jesus H. Christ Harrington, what is this fucking boner you have over me all of the sudden,” Eddie shook his head in disbelief, “Can you go back to ignoring my existence for like two seconds?”

Eddie turned, making a point to slam his shoulder into Steve as he did so, and opened the car door for Chrissy. She thanked him with a small nod and climbed into the passenger seat, fumbling awkwardly with the usually unused seatbelt.

Eddie left Steve fuming at the side of the van as he made his way to the driver’s side. He hopped into the seat, jamming the keys into the ignition and trying to stifle his irritation in front of Chrissy, worried about scaring her off. 

Before he could put the van into reverse, the side door slid open with a bang.

“Nope!” Steve announced, climbing into the back and sliding the door closed behind him, “I’m coming with.”

“Like hell,” Eddie whipped around, genuinely too stunned at Steve’s brashness to react physically, “Get the fuck out.”

“No, no way, I don’t trust you!” Steve jabbed a finger at Eddie, crouching between the two front seats, “If you can’t do whatever it is you plan to with me around, probably shouldn't be doing it.”

“This is trespassing,” Eddie offered, still caught off guard, “I could have you arrested.”

“Yeah, okay” Steve reached under Eddie’s seat, snatching up a ziplock bag of weed, “I’m sure the cops would love digging through your van.”

Eddie huffed, quirking his jaw to the side in irritation as he gave in.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie turned to Chrissy, soothing out the crease in his forehead, “If you want to do this another night…”

“No!” Chrissy interjected too enthusiastically, but she really felt like if she spent tonight sober she’d die, “I mean, it’s fine…. I really need this..” 

Steve raised an eyebrow, at Chrissy, suddenly unsure of what he stepped into. 

Eddie chewed his lip, he could see the desperation on Chrissy’s face. Fuck Harrington, Chrissy trusted him, he said he’d help her with this.

“Fuck it,” Eddie turned around and threw the van into reverse, “Buckle up Harrington.”

Chrissy sat back in the front seat, trying to stay out of view of the crowds in the parking lot. Eddie's reckless driving didn’t help keep eyes away from her as the Van sped through the parking lot, narrowly missing groups of highschoolers. When they were finally out of the post game traffic and away from the school, Chrissy let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She allowed herself to relax for a moment, forgetting about the uninvited guest in the back seat as she looked around Eddie's van. It  was…dirty, but not gross, and she could tell that he had swept up the loose items he usually kept in the passenger seat into a lidless shoe box on the floor by her feet. A pair of old concert ticket stubs were pinned in the visor above her head. A chain hung from the rear view mirror, a heavy oval locket hung at the bottom, and a few hair ties were wrapped around the mirror as well.

Chrissy glanced over at Eddie, one wrist draped over the steering wheel the other arm leaning against the open window. The parts of his hair closest to the side of his face whipped around in the wind, glancing off his cheek as he nodded his head along to the music, Chrissy wondered what he’d look like with his hair pulled back.

Catching herself staring at him, she jerked her head away choosing to instead look at herself in the side mirror. She looked tired, not from cheering at the game or classes all day, but in a way that made her look close to death. Movement on her left pulled her attention away from her own grim reflection. Eddie leaned over, ejecting the tape in his radio. He opened up the glove box in front of Chrissy, tossing the tape in with the others. 

“I’m sick of that album,” Eddie leaned back to his side of the car, he nodded towards the tapes in his glove box, “See if there’s anything you might like in there.”

Chriss hesitated for a moment before Eddie nodded at her again, encouraging her to look through them. She leaned forward, carefully sorting through the tapes, flipping them over and reading the names. Most of them were unrecognizable to her, the type of stuff Jason would call devil music. One stuck out to her though, the cover was unfamiliar, but she recognized the name. 

She put the tape in and turned the volume down, unsure of what this would actually sound like. The radio whirred for a moment before the sound of guitar on the first song began to play. 

“This is a good one,” Eddie laughed lightly, taking the case from her and looking at it, “This is Queen’s first album actually, their sound has changed alot since then. You listen to them alot?”

“I wouldn’t say… a lot,” Chrissy admitted, fidgeting with her necklace, “I used to listen to them more in middle school, but I haven't heard this one before. I think I like it though.”

“Yeah, it’s a good one.” Eddie agreed, “It’s been a while since I had it in, I’ll probably keep it on for a while…”

His words trailed off as he listened to the music. He nodded along to the beat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Oh, you did really well at the game, by the way.” Eddie piped up, glancing over at her. 

“You were at the game?” Chrissy was surprised he came and more surprised she hadn’t noticed him there.

“Yeah, of course,” Eddie threw a pointed glance over his shoulder at Steve, turning sarcastic, “Tiger’s big game, wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

“I’m glad I went. Really!” Eddie offered up, worried the bite meant for Steve was coming off like he meant it for Chrissy, “You do that cheer thing, like, really well.”

“Thank you,” She liked that he seemed to appreciate her cheering, even if the rest of the school didn’t sometimes, “I’m glad you were able to make it to the game.”

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek, “You’ll have to let me know what other things you cheer at, it was super cool, you looked great…”

“Oh, so you came to the game just to watch the cheerleaders?” Steve scoffed, “and now what you’re stealing Jason’s girl-”

Chrissy jumped, surprised at Steve’s sudden interjection. When she turned around to look at him, he was leaning forward in the tiny fold-down seat in the back of the van.

“Woah, woah!” Eddie laughed in disbelief, “First of all, you’re the one that coerced me into going to the game-”

“Cause you were being an ass to Lucas,” Steve sneered, but Eddie argued over him. 

“And you might think that women are property, Harrington, but not all of us only talk to girls who’s pants-”

“Hey!”

“Thought, it’s not like you’ve been getting any recently anyway, if Henderson knows his shit,�� Eddie half regretted saying it, only for the fact he was betraying Dustin's trust, but the way it made Steve turn a deep shade of red, proving the statement true, was worth it. 

Chrissy watched the two bicker for a moment, confused as to whatever relationship they had. She assumed they had never had an interaction in their lives, but it seemed like they knew more about each other than just distant school peers. She turned away, deciding to be more interested in whatever was outside 

The town of Hawkins whipped by the open window, suburban houses giving way to dense forests as they got closer and closer to Forest Hills. The town she spent most of her life in felt unfamiliar tonight, darker and colder than it should on a night in March. Then the scenery began to slow down, unblurring until everything was still as the van rolled to a stop.

Chrissy waited a beat and then, realizing the boy's argument had petered out, looked forward. Confused to see the straight road stretched out in front of them, no stop sign like she expected.

“What are we-” Chrissy began, stopping when she realized Eddie was no longer on the driver’s seat, “Eddie?” 

She turned around in her seat, Steve also missing from where he just was.  She unbuckled her seat belt, kneeling in the seat to look further into the back of the van.

“Eddie?” She waited a moment, “Steve?”

Nothing, just the gentle rumble of the idling van. 

Chrissy opened the door, climbed out onto the street, and looking around. The road was empty, no sign of the boys she had just been in the car with less than a minute ago. She called for them again, feeling panic rise in her chest as she took a few hesitant steps in one direction and then the other. She could see the sign for the trailer park where Eddie lived up ahead, not far from where they stopped. She tugged the sleeves of her jacket into her palms, fidgeting with the fabric, unsure of what was happening but figured heading towards where people might be was a good idea. She was halfway towards the sign when an odd whirring started to ring out around her. Chrissy stopped standing still and tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. She turned to see that the van was gone and in the place where it had been she could make out the silhouette of someone sitting at a table. Chrissy took a few steps towards the figure.

“Hello?” Chrissy called out.

Something was wrong. This was wrong.

She walked closer, unsure of what else to do. The whirring got louder as she approached, she began to recognize the figure sitting at the table facing away from her. 

“Mom?” Chrissy asked, confused as to why her mom was set up and sewing in the middle of Kerley at 10:30 at night. 

“Just loosening this up for you sweetheart,”  It was her mothers voice, but something was wrong. It didn't sound like her at all, “You’re going to look…absolutely beautiful.”

Chrissy took a step closer, reaching out to put a hand on her moms shoulder when her mom turned around in her chair. Except it wasn’t her mom at all, it was a horrible and distorted version of her mom. Chrissy screamed at the sight of her mothers glazed over eyes and rotting smile. 

She turned to run down the street, towards the trailer park and away from whatever this was. When she turned, though, she was no longer on Kerley in the middle of the night, instead she was in her own home. She was on the 2nd floor landing, right outside her own open bedroom door. She began to pant, her heart beating faster than it ever had as she felt the presence of something bad behind her. Coming for her. Calling for her.

Chrissy took off, sprinting down her stairs, taking them two at a time as she ran from whatever it was that was after her. She nearly tripped as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She looked around, hoping to see anything that felt right. Down the hall Chrissy could see her father sitting in his usual chair in the family room, the glow of the tv lighting up the room around him.

“Dad!” She shouted out, running to him like she was a little girl again., “Dad?”

When she reached him though, like her mom it wasn’t him. He turned in his chair to look up at his daughter, but his eyes and mouth were sewn tightly shut. Chrissy screamed jumping back as he struggled to speak, thrashing in his seat. Chrissy didn’t know what else to do but to run, she headed towards the front door. She couldn't help but to stop and gag when she reached the large dining room of her house. The long table that was rarely used was covered in plates and platters full of  slimy rotting food covered in thousands of spiders. Chrissy choked back the bile in her throat and sprinted past. She could still feel the presence of whatever was hunting her not far behind. 

She reached the front doors with a bang as she fell into them. Chrissy wasted no time in throwing open  both doors. Her heart sank at the sight of heavy boards crossing in front of the exit. Blocking her only way out 

“No… no!” She screamed, slamming her shoulder into the wood, she screamed as loud as she possibly could, “Help! Please somebody help!

She could hear the pounding of  footfalls approaching her. She continued to slam into the door, watching behind her as a tall figure stepped into the archway of the main hall. Slowly her struggle came to an end as a rough voice called out to her.

The almost human figure in front of her was grotesque. Tall and distorted with glazed over eyes and thick tendrils running all over its body like roots. With the light reflecting off its wet skin Chrissy could see the roots move over his body, like a separate alive entity. Its feet squelched into the hardwood with each heavy step.  It approached her slowly as she whimpered against the wood, pressing herself as far back into it as she could praying to a god she had never believed in to save her.

“Don’t cry, Chrissy.” It spoke, coming closer and closer. She couldn’t respond with anything aside from more fearful cries.

“It’s time for your suffering…” It was right in front of her now, close enough she could smell the earthy wet mildew scent radiating from its body. Slowly it raised a hand, its horrifyingly long fingers stretching out to hover over Chrissy’s face, “to end.”

 Chrissy whimpered, doing her best to prepare herself for whatever hell she was about to enter. She did what she had done years ago when she pictured her own death, she dragged the good stuff to the front of her brain. She had always known that whenever she died, however she died, whether she wished it upon herself or not, she’d want the good things to be the last things she thought of. 

She thought of her dad, of him helping her practice cheers and taking her out for ice cream afterwards. She thought of her brother, who had made it a point one summer to have breakfast ready every morning for Chrissy when she came down from her bedroom before going to her summer job and driving him to baseball camp. She thought of her friends on the cheer team, how much she loved being an athlete with them. She thought of Jason, how nervous he was to ask her to homecoming freshman year with a bouquet of flowers that made him sneeze in the middle of asking her. She even thought of Eddie today, the way he was the first person her age that actually noticed her in months. How he did his best to make her laugh earlier that very day. Her last day.

Chrissy could swear she could even hear him saying her name… calling her name. And she could hear a song she would never be able to name, but was sure she listened to as a kid with her father.

“Once I believed in everyone.” She could hear it faintly, far away accompanied by the muted strum of a guitar and then the beat of a drum as the voice sang on, “Everyone and anyone can see.”

She recognizes the voice, understanding now that it was the Queen tape Eddie had let her put in his radio.

“Oh, oooh, the night comes down,” Chrissy felt the world fall away, thinking about the unknown feeling of dying as she tipped back and fell into the music… 

*

In the rearview mirror, Eddie looked back to see Steve pouting down at his clenched hands. He was embarrassed, but took the time to calm himself and spoke softer, but still aggravated,

“Look man, I don’t trust you. Dustin might think you’re hot shit, but I’m not about to trust a drug dealer that hangs out with a bunch of kids, and makes off with the queen bee in dark parking lots.” Steve gestured at Chrissy, where she was keeping out of their admittedly petty argument. “What are you two up to anyway? You still haven’t answered me.”

“None of your business,” Eddie half-heartedly threw back, pulling his gaze in front of the road to look over at Chrissy. She’d been scared enough earlier in the woods alone, so he was sure that she was uncomfortable with Harrington sticking his big head where it didn’t belong. In trying to stay out of the argument she’d crammed herself as close to the window as she physically could. 

“I really want to like you, Munson. I do!” Steve continued, frustrated and gesturing in a way that if they weren’t stuck in the van Eddie was sure it would have been accompanied by pacing. “The kids seem to trust you, even if it is just because you lead their little game club, but I don’t know, man, it’s like you want to look like a bad guy- with the leather and the chains, and the loud music. And what am I supposed to think?”

Eddie was only half listening to Steve’s rant, instead focused on Chrissy, who had gone eerily still.

“Harrington, shut up a second would you?” He said and reached for Chrissy’s shoulder. He was sure to telegraph the movement, but she didn’t jump like she had been all day. In fact, she didn’t react at all, even as he shook her gently.

“Don’t tell me to shut up, I’m trying to”

“Harrington!” He insisted, using his momentary shock to address Chrissy without Steve babbling, “Hey, Chrissy? You okay?”

“What? What’s wrong?” he questioned, trying to lean up between their seats, but Eddie's arm was still in the way.

“I don’t know man, maybe she’s passed out?”

“Chrissy? Chrissy you awake?” Steve tried, shaking the passenger's seat. “Did you give her something?” He accused when she again did not react.

“You got to her first? When would I have given her something?” Eddie asked, offended at the notion.

“I don’t know! Look, just-” Steve caught a glimpse of Chrissy’s eyes in the side mirror, they were rolled back in her head and almost looked like they were flickering. “Shit, pull over. Pull over!”

“What? What’s going on?” Eddie tried to get a better look but was forced to return both hands to the wheel as he stepped on the gas, getting them the final half block to his trailer and skidding into their gravel driveway. Not bothering to shut off the van, he unbuckled himself and leaned in front of Chrissy, pulling her away from where she was slumped in the door. “Chrissy! Chrissy wake up!” He tried shaking her more, but nothing was working.

“Shit, is she having a seizure?” Steve asked before deciding it didn’t matter what was happening but he had to do something. “Unbuckle her.” 

Eddie frantically jabbed the button until it released and she finally began to move. For a moment a brief wave of relief passed between them, but she still wasn’t awake. Her eyes continued to blink and twitch rapidly as her head tilted back and she began to hover over the seat.

“What the fuck?!What the fuck?!” Eddie shouted, hands outstretched wanting to help, but clueless and scared. 

As if suspended by invisible strings she lifted toward the cabin roof, the seat belt still tangled around her provided some resistance, but the thing lifting her was stronger. The light flickered wildly. Rather than shutting off the intensity and frequency seemed to build indefinitely heightening the chaos of the situation. Continuing to rise, Chrissy slid free of the seat belt, her head threatening to reach the ceiling as both boys frantically racked their brains for something helpful. Eddie was mostly trying to form words, make sense of the scene before him, and keep from screaming, but Steve knew better. He was used to seeing weird shit like this, and he thought he'd gotten pretty good at dealing with upside-down crap at this point. 

The problem was nothing was attacking Chrissy, she was just slowly hovering in the car and it would be peaceful if it weren’t for the aching feeling of dread filling the air. Steve collected himself enough to move his hand between the crown of her head and where she was now pressing into the car. Eddie moved to stop him, still unsure of what his intentions had been all night long, but when Chrissy pressed harder and harder into the van ceiling he relented. He just hoped Harrington didn’t get his hand crushed.

“The heat!” Steve shouted suddenly, waving wildly with his free hand for Eddie to move. "They don’t like the heat, turn it up!”

“What!? They!?” Eddie struggled to look past Chrissy floating between them, her shoulders now hunching to bring her closer against the roof.

“Don’t ask, just do it!” Steve pushed, unable to reach up and do it himself. From the driver seat, it was muscle memory to flip the heat and fans all the way up, as he did so often during the winter, but the motion suddenly felt foreign to Eddie. Hot air blasted him in the face even as it was contracted by the cool night air coming in through the open windows.

“What the hell is that going to do?” Eddie asked, figuring he wasn’t wasting time anymore as the both desperately grabbed Chrissy and tried to drag her back down. 

The voice on the radio continued to sing on, accompanied by drums and guitars, though it was undercut by the lights still buzzing and flashing rapidly and the now loud fans whirring over the van's engine. Chrissy pressed harder against Steve’s hand and bent so that her shoulders and back were pushing against the thin ceiling threatening to dent it outward. Both boys were yelling desperately, begging Chrissy to wake up, to give any sort of indication that she was still there. Everything is built higher and higher. It felt like any moment the van would give out with the pressure of it all. Steve winced as his fingers bent uncomfortably, and then it all came crashing down.

It was only a short fall, but Chrissy’s legs caught on the seat and slid awkwardly back to the floor as Steve and Eddie’s desperate pulling finally gave way, forcing her down into the seat.

Chrissy gasped as her back hit the seat, nearly knocking the wind out of her as she frantically looked around. She was back in Eddie’s van, parked in front of what she assumed was his home. Hot air blew on her face as she began to hyperventilate and cry. She realized that Eddie and Steve were also back with her. Eddie had a hand twisted in the front of her sweater, the other wrapped around her forearm and Steve had a heavy hand pushing down on her shoulder.

They sat like that for a beat, all of them shaking as Chrissy sobbed. Steve took his hand away, sitting back on his heels as his mind raced. Eddie removed the hand still clenched around the font of her clothes and dropped his grip on Chrissy’s arm. Without thinking, Chrissy snatched his hand back, still shaking as she held onto him.

Eddie remained a cord of tension. Though he returned the grip Chrissy had on his hand, the other went back on the steering wheel as if the car might take itself out of the park and try to crash them into his house. Steve honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it did. 

From behind his curtain of tangled hair Eddie started up a steady chant of “fuck fuck fuck, what the fuck man,” until he was turning around to scream at Steve, “What the fuck!”

“Shut up!” Chrissy cut them off, trying to take a deep breath, wiping away the tears with her free hand. The sensory overload that was his car finally got to Eddie. He shut off the engine, cutting off Freddie Mercury mid-lyric, killing the hot air still blasting from the vents and regretfully taking his hand away from Chrissy’s. The silence settled over them, as they tried to separately piece together what had just happened.

“That was normal right?” Eddie asked, unable to move, even to look away from the wheel. “That was a normal seizure, and nothing weird happened. You weren’t floating, and my wiring is just shit-”

“No man, I don’t think so,” Steve shook his head, trying to shake a cohesive thought together. He let out one “Shit!” punctuated by his hands punching into Eddie's chair, before searching for his bag in the dark, only to realize he’d left it in his own car.

“What is going on dude?” Eddie asked with a warning tone, looking to Chrissy for answers but she shook her head.

“I don’t know what that was. I- it’s happened before, hearing things, but that- Was I floating?” They both turn to Steve waiting for an explanation he didn’t feel like he had.

“Look,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I know some things, but I don’t know what that was. The floating is new, it always has to be something new.” He started to trail off, mostly talking to himself under his breath, “Give me the dogs again, I can hit the dogs or burn shit, or punch a Russian.”

“Harrington, It’s starting to sound like both of you are losing it,” Eddie observed, panic rising in his voice again.

“I’m not crazy! There’s just like…magic… in Hawkins,” He attempted to explain, ignoring Eddie’s bafflement. “Well it’s not magic, there’s this girl with superpowers but she lost them, and I just need my walkie, we’ve got to tell Henderson.”

“Henderson! The child?” Eddie screeched, making Chrissy flinch again, leaning closer against the door. “Sorry, sorry” he breathed, raising his hands and shrinking into himself, making himself smaller and giving her room. “I just- what’s Henderson got to do with Chrissy having a seizure?”

“I would also like to know,” Chrissy interjected.

“He’s the one that got me dragged into all of this. It started when Will Byers went missing. Remember with the fake body and stuff?” They both nodded, how could anyone forget? “But you said this happened before Chrissy?” He continued,” Seeing things?

She nodded shakily, “just the past few days, but it's…been getting worse. That’s why I was- Eddie was going to…” she trailed off, unable to meet their eyes.

“You were seeing things, and decided drugs would help?” Steve condescended.

“Fuck off, man,” Eddie bit, and pushed Steve over where he was squatting between their chairs, leaving him sprawled in the back of the van and offering Chrissy some space. “Who the hell are you to judge?” Properly scolded, Steve ducked his head and mumbled an apology, but Eddie had already refocused on Chrissy. “What have you been seeing?”

“I was hearing my mom mostly,” she admitted, “But there was this clock? In the woods behind the school, I saw a clock in a tree and spiders came out of it. But this time was different. I wasn’t just seeing, or hearing something that wasn’t there, I thought- it felt like I was in my own house, and I could see it all so clearly.”

“What about vines?” Steve rejoined the conversation, having righted himself, “Any sort of creatures, or particles? Like in the air?”

“No, nothing like that,” Chrissy shook her head, brow furrowing as she tried to recall details. In the moment she had been too terrified to notice anything that detailed, but she tried to explain anyway, “I was on the road, but it turned into… my house? It was like a nightmare, but it was so real.”

She paused for a moment trying to organize her thoughts before speaking, “And my parents were there, but it was wrong. Like, my mom wasn’t my mom and my dad’s face was…”

She choked back a sob thinking about the grotesque version of her parents, “And I was being followed by… Something else? It was shaped like a human, but it was more like an alien or something. It was so tall and it had these roots,” She turned to look at Steve, “I guess they could have been vines, they were all over its body and they were moving like they were alive. I couldn’t get out of my house, I was trapped there, even when I got to the front door it was, like, boarded up. And this thing it was… calling to me?”

She looked up at Eddie, both boys waited for her to continue, “It said that my suffering,” another sob caught in her throat, cutting her off, “my suffering would end… It was so awful. I… I can’t… I don’t…”

Eddie squeezed her hand as she tilted forward and tried to stop herself from crying, her other hand covering her mouth. Steve put a hand on her shoulder, trying to do anything to calm her down.

“That… I’m sorry, that could be something, but I have no idea what it could mean,” He took his hand away and rubbed his forehead as if he could get rid of the stress lines growing there. Then something must have come to him because he looked up at both of them with horror. “I forgot Robin.”

*

Steve’s car was the only one left in the lot. The lights on the outside of the school were still on, thankfully, but even the janitor had locked up and gone home.

Robin sat on the hood of the Beemer, playing a game of tic tac toe with herself in the dust, not caring what Steve would say, because he had left her at school! It was almost ten, and she didn’t have any quarters left for the pay phone, so she was stuck waiting, hoping that whoever stole her ride home would return him. 

Sooner or later she would probably have started the long walk home, trumpet case as her only self-defense, and brave the lecture from her mom for being out so late. Fortunately, a black van came careening into the parking lot, not one minute after she finished filling another grid with no winner in sight. When it came to a stop next to her, She caught sight of Eddie Munson in the driver's seat, before her traitorous best friend came tumbling out of the side door.

“Where the hell-” She started to yell, sliding down the hood and dropping to her feet.

“We’ve got a code red,” He interrupted, grabbing her by the shoulder as if trying to physically hold her gaze and force her to take him seriously. “At least I think we do?”

“And you left me alone?! In the parking lot! To what? Fight another hell beast with Munson?”

“Hey, Robin,” the aforementioned Munson waved unsurely, before skirting around the van to open the passenger side door and help Chrissy Cunningham down.

“Look, I didn’t mean to leave you I just- Eddie- Fuck.”

“Steve-o here ditched you because I looked ‘kinda creepy’ and couldn’t be trusted with Chrissy,” Eddie informed her, crossing his arms and looking between the two of them for their reaction.

“And it’s a good thing I did!” Steve threw his hands up, exasperated.

“What is happening?” Robin whispered to herself as the strange trio came together before her. Eddie and Steve were still unsure of each other, carefully watching each other, while Chrissy kept Eddie between her and Steve.

Robin let out a panicked sigh, “Okay, what are we dealing with? Cause I need to be home,” she pretended to think and glanced down at her wrist, “twenty minutes ago, so if we need to save the world again we better do it quickly.”

“Save the world?” Chrissy piped up, moving out of Eddie's shadow.

“Mostly our own asses,” Steve corrected, earning himself a slap on the arm. Robin rolled her eyes as Steve rubbed at his arm.

“That’s for abandoning me!” She reprimanded, then turned to Eddie and Chrissy. “This one’s useless, so tell me what happened, and quickly! I want to get out of this stupid parking lot, it’s giving me the creeps.” She gave a full body shiver to sell it.

The two of them did their best to summarize the strangest car ride of their lives, with only minor interjections from Steve, and Chrissy tried to explain the recent episodes she’d been having. Eddie’s half-panic dramatic reenactment of Chrissy floating inside the van was more amusing than helpful, but it got them all to smile, and it gave him a break from anxiously twisting his rings and pulling at his hair while Chrissy described the horror show that had taken place in her head.

The whole time, Chrissy remained pretty much glued to Eddie’s side, though it seemed like she was warming up to Robin. She pointedly ignored Steve.

“The man, monster, thing, he had his claws around my face, grabbing me, and then it was like he pushed me backward, and I fell back into my body after I heard the music- Eddie's tape was still playing and I could hear it right before I woke up.”

“So what, the monster is some guy this time?” Robin asked.

“I mean we fought literal caves once so a guy would-”

“He wasn’t just a guy,” Chrissy interjected before their bickering could escalate, “You mentioned vines earlier? He looked like he was covered in vines, or made of… veins, and really gross. Just, wet and almost decaying.” She curled in on herself at the recollection, and Eddie wiped at his arms as if shaking off bugs, and hopped closer to her. 

They stood there for a moment, unsure about what to do next. Robin broke the silence.

“So… Now what?” She asked, looking around at the odd little group, uncomfortable with the silence.

“What do you mean?” Chrissy asked, looking over at Robin.

“Chrissy, you were just, like, possessed, or something,” Robing waved her hands around to make a point, “And we’re just gonna go home? Kick back and have a post-possession beer?!”

“No, no you’re right.” Steve groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “Chrissy shouldn’t be alone. What if it happens again.”

Chrissy frowned, looking down at the ground and trying to stifle her panic. Blinking back tears at the idea of going through that again. 

“No, no that’s not happening again,” Eddie cut in, noticing Chrissy’s anxiety.

“You can’t guarantee that man,” Steve shook his head at Eddie, looking sorry.

“Then,” Eddie floundered for a second, trying to think of something, “Then, I’ll stay with her! I’ll stop it if it happens again.”

“You have no idea how-” Steve started.

“The heat, right?” Eddie cut him off, almost pleading, “The heat makes it stop?”

“You barely held it together the first time!” Steve argued, a hand on his hip, “Do you really think you’d be able to help her?”

“Hey, man, that was-” Eddie jabbed a finger at Steve, getting irritated.

“Hey!” Robin shouted, cutting Eddie off and making both boys look her way, “How about we all stick together? Me and Steve have handled stuff like this before, and Chrissy clearly trusts Eddie to some degree, so… let’s stay together?”

“Do you want to do that?” Eddie asked, looking down at Chrissy by his side.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Chrissy said. She opened her mouth to say more but stopped.

“It’s settled then!” Robin clapped, “Let’s head to Steve's house!”

“My house? Why my house?” Steve turned to Robin.

“Because you have the biggest house and no parents to freak out about whatever exorcism shit we might have to do.” Robin was already headed around the side of Steve’s car to the passenger seat. 

“That’s fucked up and you know it,” Steve pointed a finger at Robin, who just shrugged and pulled on the door handle in response.

“Just follow us!” Robin shouted towards Eddie and Chrissy over the top of the car before getting in.

Eddie and Chrissy stood there for a moment, taken off guard by Robin's quick decisions. He looked down at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” He asked, looking down at her and raising an eyebrow.

Chrissy shrugged, “Do we have a better option?”

[steddieunderdogfics]

start by pulling him out of the fire by pricklywhicket

@messessentialist

Rating: Explicit

85,554 words, 10/10 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, Friends to Lovers, Eddie Munson Lives, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Coming Out, Injury Recovery, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Supportive Wayne Munson, Protective Wayne Munson, Good Parent Wayne Munson, Seriously if you don't love Wayne Munson by the end of this fic then go back and read it again, Eddie Munson has a Bad Father, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse, But we don't spend a lot of time on it don't worry, Implied/Referenced Neglect, That one is for both of them, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Protective Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington's Gay Thoughts, Period-Typical Homophobia, steddiebang23, Post-Season/Series 04, Hair Washing, Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Shower Sex, Frottage

Summary:

Eddie Munson died on March 27th, 1986. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move. No, wait. That’s not right. That’s Hitchhiker's Guide. Or was it Restaurant at the End of the Universe? Whatever, not important. Eddie Munson died on March 27th, 1986. Except…he didn’t. He couldn’t have. Because Eddie Munson is currently arguing with himself in his fucking head about sci-fi quotes, which doesn’t feel especially like something that a dead person would have the capacity to do. The bats had killed him. There had been pain, and the sick sensation of tearing flesh. He’d had to swallow past a mouthful of his own blood to tell Henderson he loved him. Surely those were symptoms of imminent death. And yet. On April 1st, 1986, Eddie Munson opens his eyes in a dim hospital room. There’s a gasp from his left, and he tries to turn his head towards the source. “Easy there, kid. They’ve got you trussed up pretty good.” Eddie doesn’t need to see him. He’d know that voice anywhere, in any universe, hell dimension or otherwise. “Uncle Wayne?” A story about the families we find and the love that finds us.

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @messessentialist . Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

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[charlotte-of-wales]

"Royal Family persuaded Queen to end her days at Balmoral"

Princess Royal discloses Elizabeth II feared making life difficult if she died in Scotland

by Hannah Furness, Royal Editor

The late Queen was persuaded to spend her final days at Balmoral as she and the Royal family made preparations for her death, it has emerged.

Queen Elizabeth II had initially feared "it would make things more difficult" if she died at her beloved Scottish home, the Princess Royal has disclosed. Her family eventually convinced her to put her own comfort before her concern for others after a lifetime of duty.

Speaking of her mother's last days in a BBC documentary about the coronation of King Charles III, the Princess described how the family had tried to persuade her that practical issues "shouldn't be part of the decision-making process".

It is the first time the Royal family has spoken of arrangements for the late Queen's death.

Queen Elizabeth II died peacefully at Balmoral in Scotland on Sept 8 last year, aged 96, after reigning 70 years.

She had extended her annual summer stay at the Aberdeenshire estate, where the Prime Minister asked to travel to Scotland to spare her the journey back to Buckingham Palace for what turned out to be her final engagement.

Her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren had visited Balmoral over the summer, as concern for her health grew. The Duke of Sussex and his family did not make the trip, having fears over their security.

At the time, the palace described the Queen as having "episodic mobility problems", with a series pf cancelled engagements in early 2022 giving way to a peaceful summer without expectation she would appear in public.

In September, she invited Liz Truss, her 15th prime minister, to form a government from Balmoral, breaking with a lifetime of holding the audience in London or Windsor. Then, it was said the Queen had been advised not to travel, with plans for Boris Johnson and Ms Truss to make the 1,000-mile round trip to Scotland instead.

Now, speaking in the documentary, the Princess Royal has paid loving and characteristically practical tribute to her mother.

"We always enjoyed being at Balmoral", she says in a programme to be broadcast on Boxing Day. "We spent a lot of time there in our youth and a lot of it was probably a more independent life than anywhere else. I think there was a moment where she felt it would be more difficult if she died at Balmoral. I think we did try to persuade her that that shouldn't be part of the decision-making process. So I hope she felt that was right in the end, because we did".

The Princess was the only member of the Royal family to be at Balmoral when it became clear the Queen was entering her final hours.

The then Prince of Wales and Duchess of Cornwall made an emergency journey from Dumfries House in Ayrshire, with other senior members of the family arriving after she had died.

Speaking of the moment at St. George's Chapel when the Crown Jeweller removed the crown, orb and scepter from her coffin, the Princess told BBC One programme Charles III: The Coronation Year: "When he takes the crown off the coffin, I rather weirdly felt a sense of relief. Somehow that's it, finished. That responsibility being moved on".

Speaking of her brother, who became King instantly, she added: "To be honest, I'm not sure that anybody can really prepare themselves for that kind of change. At least no easily. And then the change happens and you go OK, I know need to get on with it".

The documentary will share behind-the-scenes footage of the King's preparation for his Coronation in May.

The Princess Royal is the only member of the Royal family to be interviewed on camera. The Prince of Wales and the Duke of Edinburgh appear in footage, with no sign of the Duke of Sussex or Duke of York.

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Die Roggenmuhme

The Rye Aunt

The Rye Aunt is a female cereal demon and children's fright of German folk tales, who lives in grain fields.

The Rye Aunt wanders up and down in the fields, feeds on the grain and tears out the immature ears. If she is angry with the farmer, she punishes him by drying out his fields. In general, however, the appearance of the Rye Aunt in the fields is a sign of a good harvest. During the harvest, she flees into the last truss. The Rye Aunt receives a share of the harvest, which is either left behind or thrown into the field. This custom is to propitiate the Rye Aunt and bring about a fertile next year.

The Rye Aunt is generally thought to live underground, in the empire of the roots or in a cave.

The Rye Aunt punishes lazy maids, who have not spun off their spinning rocks in the Boxing Week. The breath of the Rye Aunt brings illness and death.

Appearance

The Rye Aunt is often described as completely black or snow-white, and of superhuman size. Her arms are long or made of iron. Her fingers are fiery or iron. It is also said that the Rye Aunt has claws on her hands, which may also be made of iron.

The Rye Aunt has unusually large breasts that are so long that she can fold them over her shoulders. She also has more than two breasts. These can be black, iron, wooden or silver. They are pointed and hard, have glowing iron tips or are fiery. The breasts are filled with tar, poisonous milk or blood.

The Rye Aunt is described as an old womanwith a wrinkled face featuring stinging awns, a crooked nose, and wears glasses. She is sometimes even described as headless or said to have an iron heart.

In addition, she can change her shape, for example into a turtle, a snake, a frog, a wolf, a black cat, a horned animal or a dog with a blanket.

The Rye aunt is often dressed in black, but has also been seen dressed entirely in gray. Her clothes are ragged. Sometimes the Rye Aunt also wears a red skirt, or she wears a red dress and a red cap. Sometimes, she wears blue coat and wide flowing skirts. Often the Rye Aunt wears a white headscarf like a reaper. Sometimes she walks on crutches.

The Rye Aunt is associated with several weather phenomena. When the wind blows through the cornfield, people say that the Rye Aunt moves over the grain. She is also traveling with the whirlwind.

The Rye Aunt appears in particular at midday between 12:00 and 13:00. If she encounters someone in the fields at midday, she kills them or frightens them, casting spells. If she finds women who have recently given birth in bed between 12:00 and 13:00 and between 18:00 and 20:00, she does the field work for them. If she does not find women in childbed at the specified time, a misfortune will happen to the mother and the child.

The Rye Aunt is often seen as a child scare. Her activities as a child-scaring figure are extremely varied.

In their tale no. 90 The Rye Aunt, the Brothers Grimm tell that the Rye Aunt swaps human children with changelings, but brings back the right child if the changeling is not suckled. Elsewhere it is said that she steals illegitimate children at midnight.

The Rye Aunt lies in wait in the field for all those children who want to pick cornflowers in order to scare and punish them. She also lures children into the field by waving her arms. She abducts children by putting them in her big bag or basket, of by taking the children under her wide flowing skirts to bring them to the empire of the roots. She may also pull children to her with an iron fireplace poker and has them guarded by a toad. She leads children astray in the field and lets them starve to death, or she comes with her flock of elves and lays the children on cushions of flowers, whereupon they fall asleep and never wake up again. The Rye Aunt appears as a witch when she casts spells or the Evil Eye on children, She may also appear as a nightmare when she sends evil spirits to disobedient children at night.

Children often have to suck on the breasts of the Rye Aunt. Sometimes, disobedient children get the big breasts beaten around their ears. The Rye Aunt is said to, hug children so tight that they are pressed against her breasts die as a result from suffocation or getting crushed in her embrace. The Rye Aunt also crouches in wolf form, hiding in the grain, and is accompanied by small dogs that lure children into her iron embrace. She is also regarded as the mother of the rye wolves, who eat the children.

The Rye Aunt chases children on horseback or runs as fast as a horse herself. In the latter case, she chases children to death in races. She can also fly and takes children to the sea to drown them there. If she accosts children, they must die.

The Rye Aunt demands that children eat a slice of bread spread with tar. If they do not comply, she cuts off their heads. She also smears children with tar from a bottle or covers their eyes with tar. She also scratches out children's eyes or blows out their eyesight. The Rye Aunt strangles children, twists their necks or cuts off their heads, and also cuts off their necks, noses, ears, or fingers. She also beheads children with a sickle, a knife or a saw. She cuts off the children's legs with a scythe. The Rye Aunt also tears off children's legs.

The Rye Aunt binds children into a bundle with a thread or ties the children to a thread and then beats them up. She pinches children with iron pincers or uses a pinch. She stabs children with pikes, of which she has three, one by the head and one in each hand. The Rye Aunt also stabs children with stalks or drives nails into their heels.

In her hand, the rye maid carries a rod or whip, which is to be regarded as a lightning rod. She also has a sceptre or an iron scourge, which she uses to beat children. She puts children in a nail barrel and rolls them around in it or drags them into a cave and crushes them there with a giant meat grinder. Otherwise, she also crushes children in an iron butter churn.

The Rye Aunt also bites and eats children. To get hold of children, she sets out traps. She slaughters and eats the children or kills and roasts them using her burning breasts and fingers. The Rye Aunt also throws children into a cauldron of hot water or sucks their blood.

All these stories were told children to deter them from wandering through the fields, which posed several dangers, including getting lost and freezing to death at night, encounters with dangerous animals, suffering injuries from farm equipment used on the fields, or merely the destruction of crops and yield loss by walking over the fields.

[leather-ropebunny]

Time Out

Reposting this from my old deleted blog.

Notes: contains rape, gang rape, free use, mentor/mentee, bondage, objectification, degradation, humiliation, dirty talk, slapping, general sexual violence, FTM POV, MxFTM

Minors DNI

♡♡♡♡♡

The first time it happens, I'm thankfully alone.

I usually work with a team of my fellow superheroes, but this had been a simple burglary, so I'd insisted I could handle it alone.

Slipping into the house, I manage to locate a shadowy figure plucking something shiny out of a jewelry box in the bedroom, and then…

And then…

And then I blink, and I'm naked, face down ass up on a stranger's bed, shoulders pressed into the pillows, and my body is convulsing in a mind-blowing orgasm. I can feel a thick river of hot cum sliding down one thigh, pushed out of me as my boycunt clenches with every powerful spasm.

My body is sore, like I'd been in a fight, and I can feel bruises forming on my throat, my hips, my cheekbone. My mind can't latch onto what's happened, and it's all I can do to tug my uniform back on and flee the scene, leaving the mess of cum and my own slick behind in a complete stranger's sheets.

The second time it happens, I'm not so lucky to be alone. The robbery in progress seems a bit more intense, and my mentor and I head to the cafe to put a stop to it. After we arrive, though…

I come to, bent over the counter, my uniform pulled just far enough out of the way to display my cunt and tdick to the staff, the customers, the cops, and my mentor. As soon as I register reality, there's a second of shocked silence, and then I'm cumming again, dripping semen onto the cafe floor, my eyes trained on the reflection of my mentor's gaze in the espresso machine. He's staring at my pulsing cunt, and he looks horrified, yes, but also darkly hungry.

I think it's that thought that makes another, weaker orgasm ripple through me.

We try to figure out what's happening, but to no avail. I know, of course, that somehow I'm having sex. Being raped, most likely. The mystery is how, why neither I nor the people around me seem to remember it. We're all stumped.

It happens again

(on a crowded subway car, pressed up against the doors, coming back to reality as I'm falling onto the platform when they open, twitching and moaning as commuters gather around to watch)

and again

(seated on a park bench, legs in the air until I'm almost folded in half, each ankle tied to the trees on either side of me so I'm helpless and exposed to the cell phones recording me once passers-by realize what's happening)

and again

(trussed up and dangling from a streetlamp, my own panties muffling my whimpering as crowds of drunk men leaving the bars after last call realize my wet, naked boycunt has been conveniently left at cock-height, perfectly set up for it to be gang raped)

until it feels like it's happening every time I go out to fight crime.

Finally, I decide that if my team can't figure out what's happening (won't figure it out? I hate to think it, but they seem like they're starting to…enjoy it…), I'll get to the bottom of it myself.

I rig up nanocams to follow me everywhere as I go about my days, and every night I review the footage, but nothing odd sticks out, no sign of anything unusual for a week.

Then I get called out again, and this time I come to on my back on a detective's desk in the middle of the police station bullpen. They laugh as my eyes roll back in my head, legs shaking, and one of them sticks three fingers into my fucked-out, dripping cunt and finger-rapes me roughly until I cum again. I'm too confused, too humiliated to think of telling him to stop, and while I'm cumming a second time, another cop takes that as an invitation to ram his cock into me and pound it painfully into my cervix again and again until he floods my womb with cum.

They laugh again once he's done raping me, and I totter away on shaky legs to our headquarters, slipping into my room to pull up the footage and get to the bottom of this.

It had been a prisoner escape - no one was sure how he'd managed to get away, but as I fast-forward to the moment I had arrived at the station to assist, I can see exactly what's happening. The perp is periodically freezing time.

It all starts to fall into place.

I watch, horrified, as I run into the police station, and the masked figure on the screen gestures, time stopping in an instant.

I watch as he approaches me, reaching out to caress my cheek, then pulling his arm back and slapping me. My head jerks to the side, but I don't react.

As I watch in the present, I lift a hand to feel the heat of a newly forming bruise on my face.

The perp grabs me around the waist with the ease of practice and drops me none-too-gently on the desk. He runs his hands over my body briefly, and I can feel a tingling sensation now, like I can still feel the phantom touch.

He doesn't seem inclined to linger, though, and after a second he starts to move the officers and detectives so that they form a loose crowd around us, positioned as though they're watching. Then, without preamble, he pulls my bottoms off, grabs my ankles to spread my legs, and starts to rape me.

It's violent, his thrusts pushing me across the desk until my head is hanging off the other end, and he keeps having to haul me back towards him. He drops one of my legs to press his hand to my throat, then to slap me across the face, then to my throat again.

There's no sound, but the footage is clear enough that I can read his lips a little as he violates my unwilling body.

'Fucking cockslut…wet already…like it…slap you around…nasty rapedoll…always cum…rape you…your cunt's…only worthwhile part…take it, take it, fucking take it…'

He slams his cock into me brutally, plunging deep, and I watch as he cums inside me, lifting his hand off my throat to backhand me powerfully.

Tucking himself back into his pants, he backs towards the door, and time starts up again. As the cops around me crack up at my shuddering orgasm, the perp escapes, and I watch now from the outside as two cops assault me, as well.

"So that's it," my mentor's voice comes from behind me. "He manipulates time."

I look up at him as he lingers in the doorway, but he isn't looking at the screen or at my face, but at my crotch. That's when I realize that I'm rubbing my aching boypussy through my ruined uniform bottoms, my rapists' cum squelching under my frantic fingers.

When had I started masturbatung to my own rape? When he'd cum inside me? When he'd choked me? Maybe from that very first slap.

My mentor steps closer, and my gaze is drawn to where his cock bulges in his pants, straining against the fabric. My breath catches, and I shake my head, tears beginning to well up.

"Please…please don't."

"No?" He lunges for me, dragging me off my chair and turning me to face my computer, crowding me up against the desk with his bulk. His cock is a hot, throbbing pressure against my ass. "Are you sure? Because it looks to me like you enjoy this."

With one hand, he yanks my saturated bottoms back down, and with the other, he rewinds the video and hits play.

"Always knew you were a dirty fucking whore," he growls, pulling his own pants down just far enough for his cock to spring out, slapping wetly against my asscheek. "And it's about time I do what I've always wanted to do."

He grabs my hip, jamming his cock into my abused cunt, the mess my previous two rapists had left squishing out of my hole, and he begins to fuck me.

I sob, and he fists his free hand in my hair and pushes me down until my vision is filled with the video of the perp using my motionless body in the middle of the police station.

"Look. Look at how easily his cock slips into your pussy. You were already wet. Bet you started soaking your uniform before you'd even gotten there."

"N-no…stop…"

"Oh, yeah," he grunts, his cockhead pressing hard against my bruised cervix as he thrusts deep and holds it there. "You knew what was gonna happen. You've known every time you were gonna get raped."

"No. No. No."

"Oh, fuck. You're clenching down on my cock right now you fucking rapeslut." He starts pounding into me again, pushing my face closer as the cop on screen starts to ram his fingers into my cunt. "You let them rape you even after time had started again. You that desperate for cock?"

"No! I'm not…I don't…please stop!"

"Yeah? You're stronger than they are. Better trained - I should know." His hand leaves my hair to wrap around my throat and squeeze lightly. "But look at you. Just lying back and taking it."

I whimper, and to my horror, begin to rut back onto my mentor's cock. I'm so, so wet. My cunt is so sore, but I can tell it's also puffy and flushed with need. Even as his fingers tighten, choking me, I can feel another orgasm building.

I don't want this. I don't.

But he rewinds the footage again, forcing me to watch as the perp cums inside my unprotected pussy, and groans.

"Yeah, take that load you fucking cumdump," he grunts. "Fucking nympho, that's what you are."

We watch as time starts again and the me in the video begins to cum violently.

With a growl, my mentor shoves his cock into me as far as he can, and hisses, "take it, you stupid fucking rapeslut."

He pumps his load inside me, and yet again, I cum from being raped.

Once he's satisfied he's filled my unwilling womb, my mentor pulls out and watches as I slump to the floor.

"There's another call," he says, tucking himself away. "No time to clean up your uniform or your whore cunt - get out there."

I do, and this time, when I come to, I know I've just been violated in the middle of a busy street. People are staring, laughing, filming while I lie on the pavement, naked, blocking traffic.

As my orgasm rolls through me, I stuff my fingers into my cunt and mercilessly fuck myself until I cum again, thinking of all the footage I'll have to watch with my mentor later.

[regicidal-defenestration]

I'm crowdsourcing a puzzle. Anybody here know their books because I'm getting more as I think about them but there's still a fair few

There are 20 clues in this picture with each corresponding to a fairly famous book. Going roughly clockwise from top left corner we have

[Found] A Study in Scarlet, by Arthur Conan Doyle

A series of travel books

An old man in an army uniform, holding a pan and a magnifying glass. Red thread is in his pocket. He wears a bowler hat with a smiley fave on it

A man with a guitar dressed like a bee, with bees flying around him. He hold a police book

[Found] A Good Girl's Guide to Murder, by Holly Jackson

[Found] Strong Female Character, by Fern Brady

[Found] The Neapolitan Quartet, by Elena Ferrante

A gold clock at nearly 3pm

[Found] The Giraffe, the Pelly, and Me, by Roald Dahl

A table of joke books

A cardboard box labelled with different types of lights

Two women dressed like cowboys, looking at a shelf of Blues music

A table of cocktail books

[Found] Jazz, by Toni Morrison

[Found] Butter, by Asako Yuzuki

[Found] Dracula, by Bram Stoker

A child dressed as a ghost peering round a door

[Found] Eats Shoots and Leaves, by Lynne Truss

[Found] You Are Here, by David Nicholls

[Found] 1984, by George Orwell

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Brian Melley and Jill Lawless at Associated Press, via ABC News:

LONDON -- Britain’s Labour Party swept to power Friday after more than a decade in opposition, as a jaded electorate handed the party a landslide victory — but also a mammoth task of reinvigorating a stagnant economy and dispirited nation.

Labour leader Keir Starmer will officially become prime minister later in the day, leading his party back to government less than five years after it suffered its worst defeat in almost a century. In the merciless choreography of British politics, he will take charge in 10 Downing St. hours after Thursday's votes are counted — as Conservative leader Rishi Sunak is hustled out. “A mandate like this comes with a great responsibility,” Starmer acknowledged in a speech to supporters, saying that the fight to regain people’s trust after years of disillusionment “is the battle that defines our age." Speaking as drawn broke in London, he said Labour would offer “the sunlight of hope, pale at first but getting stronger through the day.” Sunak conceded defeat, saying the voters had delivered a “sobering verdict.” For Starmer, it's a massive triumph that will bring huge challenges, as he faces a weary electorate impatient for change against a gloomy backdrop of economic malaise, mounting distrust in institutions and a fraying social fabric. [...]

Britain has experienced a run of turbulent years — some of it of the Conservatives’ own making and some of it not — that has left many voters pessimistic about their country’s future. The U.K.’s exit from the European Union followed by the COVID-19 pandemic and Russia’s invasion of Ukraine battered the economy, while lockdown-breaching parties held by then-Prime Minister Boris Johnson and his staff caused widespread anger. Johnson’s successor, Liz Truss, rocked the economy further with a package of drastic tax cuts and lasted just 49 days in office. Rising poverty, crumbling infrastructure and overstretched National Health Service have led to gripes about “Broken Britain.” While the result appears to buck recent rightward electoral shifts in Europe, including in France and Italy, many of those same populist undercurrents flow in Britain. Reform UK leader Nigel Farage has roiled the race with his party’s anti-immigrant “take our country back” sentiment and undercut support for the Conservatives and even grabbed some voters from Labour. The exit poll suggested Labour was on course to win about 410 seats in the 650-seat House of Commons and the Conservatives 131. With a majority of results in, the broad picture of a Labour landslide was borne out, though estimates of the final tally varied.

[...] The Liberal Democrats won more than 60 seats, on a slightly lower share of the vote than Reform because its votes were more efficiently distributed. In Britain's first-past-the-post system, the candidate with the most votes in each constituency wins. The Green Party have won four seats, up from just one before the election. One of the biggest losers was the Scottish National Party, which held most of Scotland's 57 seats before the election but looked set to lose all but handful, mostly to Labour.

In the United Kingdom, the Rishi Sunak-led disaster class Tories have been sent packing at the ballot box and fall down to Official Opposition Status at around 120 seats, as Keir Starmer’s Labour is set to make mammoth gains. The Lib Dems have recovered to become the 3rd largest party in Westminster.

[wallisninety-six]

For better *and* worse- 2022 was the year of “I didn’t think it would actually happen” like I didn’t think...

That Russia would actually full-on invade Ukraine

That SCOTUS would be stupid enough to actually fully strike down Roe v. Wade

That after so many false hopes that a Climate Change bill would actually pass in hellhole America

That nuclear fusion would finally be achieved

That Alex Jones would be forced to pay a billion dollars and now potentially go bankrupt after his lawyer accidentally texted out incriminating information to his opposing attorney

That Shinzo Abe would be legit assassinated in broad daylight with a homemade camera gun

That Liz Truss would fucking *tank* the British economy after *days* on the job and then leave as quickly as she destroyed everything

That Russia would be crazy enough to annex territories of Ukraine that they barely control

That Elon Musk, richest person in the world an actual real-life evil cartoon villain, would buy Twitter and absolutely destroy it and his reputation

That FTX would completely collapse in the most stupid fashion worse than Enron

That Artemis 1 actually launched and interplanetary space travel is happening

That Republicans would actually fuck up so badly and lose a midterm election they would have easily won

That Andrew Tate got ratio’d hard by Greta Thunberg an his cringey reply vid may have tipped him off to authorities because of a Romanian pizza box, confirming his location and getting him arrested

[kcrossvine-art]

ok hi question; for anyone else who works professionally as a stagehand, do you actually call these

by their name? truss clamps?

everyplace ive ever worked at has called them baby arms "pass me the baby arms" "we need more baby arms on this pole" "can you get the baby arm box" etc etc