#witchy pipe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thatsmzbitchtoyou · 6 months

Text

Sugar Mama Chapter 1

And another one! New story involving #sugarbabybucky Summary: Bucky is overworked and struggling to get by. The bills are piling up and he’s consistently in the red with no end in sight. Y/N is a billionaire’s daughter, entrepreneur and philanthropist having a hard time finding true friends or love. She has a proposition for him.

bucky barnes x curvy!reader Warnings: eventual smut, sexual assault (not from Bucky)

Next chapter

Bucky was exhausted. He had been working three jobs for four years now just trying to get by, and this was his sixth sixteen hour day in a row. Student loans and credit card debt was eating him out of house and home, in the most literal sense. Even living in a rent controlled building wasn’t helping with the bills piling up. He had gone to college for architecture and interior design, which he was doing now working as an assistant during normal working hours for one of the many local interior designers. Then he would go straight to his second job as a waiter in a high end restaurant in downtown Manhattan, then at the end of the night go home and do a few more hours of online tutoring. He had ended his 20s and entered his 30s feeling like an old man, with no end in sight of ever getting a break or being able to break even with his debt. Forget about dating or having a family someday. That all seemed like a ridiculous pipe dream now.

“Heeeeyyyy Buckaroo?” Steve sidled up to him as he was cleaning off wine glasses.

“No,” Bucky cut him off.

“But it’s just–”

“Steve, it’s Friday night, I’d really like to go home and get in bed at a normal time tonight,” Bucky interrupted him, the dark circles under his eyes that he tried to ignore looking more prominent by the day.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. But Peggy has been hounding me about going to that new burlesque club that just opened and I told her I was working but we haven’t had a date night in a long time–”

“Ugh, fine. But I’m not sharing tips,” Bucky sighed, rubbing his face as he pulled a 5 Hour Energy out of his apron pocket and quickly downed it like a shot.

“Those are bad for you, Buck,” Steve gave his friend a worried look.

“Well maybe a heart attack in my 30s will put me out of my misery,” Bucky half-joked. Steve was silent. Bucky turned to him and scoffed. “It’s a joke. Go, I’ll take the closing shift. Say hi to Peg for me.”

“I’ll take your next closing, I promise. Thanks punk,” Steve gave him a quick hug.

“Yeah whatever, jerk,” Bucky laughed. As Steve went to the back to change, Bucky went to the host stand and figured out who was his next table.

“Whatcha got for me, witchy woman?” he leaned against the stand. Wanda gave him a quick glance.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” she sighed, looking back down at the list.

“It’s not my fault you got witch eyes. And I never said that was a bad thing,” Bucky said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah whatever,” she rolled her amber eyes. “You’re gonna love this one. A Wall Street investment heiress, with some famous friends,” she gave him an unimpressed look.

“An heiress, huh? Well maybe she’ll be my next sugar mama,” he joked, giving her a wink as he adjusted his apron.

“You wouldn’t know how to be a sugar baby even if you tried,” she sassed back at him. “Table 42. She’s all yours.”

“Thanks babes,” he sing-songed at her before heading towards his section. As he approached table 42 he tried to see who the heiress was, but she was unfortunately facing away from him. Her friends, though, he easily recognized from some of the most recent films that had just hit theaters: Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov. Jackpot, he thought with a wry smile.

“Good evening, folks, welcome to Marea. My name is Bucky and I’ll be your server tonight. Could I get you started with some drinks? Or a review of our wine list?” He gave them all a friendly smile as he looked each of them in the eye at least once. The actors gave him quick smiles and glances before ordering generic wines and waters, then the heiress caught his eye. He almost did a double take once he realized who she was. Y/N Y/L/N, the daughter of Wall Street Tycoon Gerald Y/L/N. She was set for life and beyond. Her father was the investment king, knowing just when to buy in or sell out. She had taken on his legacy by doing the same but instead of investing in huge corporations she was investing in smaller businesses and projects, being the key investor until the business could truly thrive, giving her investment a return and getting a chance to grow in an area like New York City. She was the reason the new burlesque club opened that Steve was going to with Peggy. Not only was she wealthy, she was beautiful. Short in stature and plus size, she was an anomaly surrounded by her tall and slim friends, but she embraced her size and used it as a way to both literally and figuratively take up space in the industry and bring attention to the issues of body image, fatphobia, and investing in plus size companies and designers who she exclusively worked with for clothing her for events.

Bucky tried not to ogle and quickly gave her his best flirtatious smile. “And for you?” he asked her.

Y/N gave him an appreciative smile and her bright Y/C/E eyes seemed to really look at him rather than a passing glance like her friends. “I’d like to hear the wine menu, please.”

“Wonderful, we have a…” As he listed off the wines Y/N watched him intently, her eyes searching his face. He felt like he was the one being ogled and yet he persevered, trying not to sound nervous while serving some of the most influential and popular people in the world.

“It all sounds delicious, but I’m a creature of habit, so I think I’ll stick with my favorite Rose, the Billecart-Salmon. And I’ll also have water on the side.”

“Excellent choice, ma’am. Give me a moment and I’ll get those drinks out to you all,” he glanced at them all again before slipping away to the bar for the drinks.

Y/N watched him leave, a small smile on her face, before turning back to her friends. They eyed her ruefully with mischievous smiles. “What?” she asked.

“He’s cute,” Natasha commented, one eyebrow raised at her.

“Very cute. One could even say hot,” Clint added, watching Bucky walk back to the bar. “He’s got a great ass. Too bad he’s working here. He’d look divine in a Prada campaign.”

“You two stop it,” Y/N whispered, giving them a wide eyed glare. “Yes he’s cute.”

“You gonna go for it?” Natasha asked, her grin twisting into something conspiratorial.

“Oh do it! If you won’t, I’ll try my luck,” Clint shifted in his seat as he continued watching Bucky. “See if he goes both ways.”

Bucky was walking back with the drinks on a tray. Y/N narrowed her eyes and made the gesture for them to zip it.

“Alright, here are your drinks! Your waters, and the Sauvignon blanc for you,” he set it in front of Clint, “the Stella Artois for you,” he set it in front of Natasha, “and the Billecart-Salmon Rose for you.” He delicately set it in front of Y/N giving her another warm smile. She reciprocated it as she reached for her wine. She took a quick sip and her eyes fluttered shut.

“Perfect, thank you Bucky,” she said as she licked her lips.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly before he caught himself. “Well, would you like to start with any appetizers? Or jump right into the good stuff?” he huffed a laugh.

“I’d like the lobster with the salad,” Clint ordered. “And could you make sure that the lobster is really big and thick. I like them meaty.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at him and his not-so-subtle innuendo. Bucky knew what he was doing and just let it slide, nodding in agreement. “I’ll put in a good word with the chef.”

Natasha next to him giggled before ordering. “I’ll just take the scallops and shrimp.”

Bucky nodded before turning to Y/N. “I’ll have the crab cakes and risotto, please.” He nodded again and gave her a smirk.

“My favorite,” he gave her a wink, making her blush. “I’ll get those in and come back to check on you all in a little bit,” he swept the table with a smile before walking back to the kitchen.

“Stop it, don’t embarrass him,” Y/N chastised Clint. “I’m sure he and the other servers get enough grief from creepy patrons all the time.”

“Oh it was just a little fun. Besides, he’s all eyes for you, honey, he barely even looked at me,” he shot back at her as he sipped his wine.

“It’s true,” Natasha said, then gave her an exaggerated wink. Y/N rolled her eyes. “I think you should ask him out. Or maybe he can be your next sugar baby.”

“Oh don’t bring that up again,” Y/N groaned. “It was a one time thing and ended badly. I just wanted to try it.”

“It ended badly because he was an ass, not because of anything you did. You gave him charity and he gave you an attitude. This guy seems sweet, nothing can hurt from just asking,” Natasha chided her, reaching out and pinching Y/N’s arm lightly.

Y/N considered her words. She had wanted to try out the lifestyle of being a sugar mama to a sugar baby. She had a lot of events to go to throughout the year, and as much as she enjoyed spending time with her friends and networking with people, she was getting really tired of these high-class, ridiculous men who thought that just by being famous or wealthy that she would throw herself at them. They wanted to use her for her name and connections. They never really cared about her. So she had tried being a sugar mama to a man who wasn’t famous, down on his luck, and just trying to get a leg up in life to escort her to these functions and give her companionship. But once he’d gotten his debts paid off by her and a taste of luxury he quickly became influenced by the rich douchebags around him and started treating Y/N disrespectfully, so much so that he’d made front page news of some tabloids and embarrassed her. She kicked him out after that and blacklisted him from any upcoming events. If there was one thing that she would never condone it was when others tried, directly or indirectly, to humiliate or embarrass her.

Bucky did seem nice, and very tired. The dark circles under his eyes and his shirt not being as ironed as some of the other servers were small giveaways that he was struggling. She didn’t want to embarrass him either by asking to be her sugar baby and assuming that he was struggling financially.

“He is very handsome,” she conceded, a larger smile spreading across her face.

Natasha squealed, clapping her hands joyfully. “Do it!”

The night dragged on as they ate their delicious meals and ordered more glasses of wine. Other patrons were clearing out as it got later and closer to closing time. As tired as Bucky was, doing his nightly closing duties quietly and discreetly so his table couldn’t see, he was banking on their tips. High end restaurants meant high end clients meant high end tips, and he had rent coming due next week. He packed on the compliments to Y/N and her friends, gave them warm and flirty smiles, offered complimentary items, and gave all his attention to them exclusively. Y/N had asked to compliment the chef and when he came out and talked to her table she whispered something to him that he quickly agreed to and jogged back to the kitchen. Bucky gave him a questioning glance but the chef waved him off.

Bucky watched carefully until he saw Y/N’s hand raise and her eyes searched for him. His cue for the check, which he quickly grabbed and brought it over to her. As he glanced at the insane price he noticed an extra meal that wasn’t supposed to be on there as he got to the table.

“Oh, I’m sorry Miss Y/L/N, there seems to be a mistake on the bill, I apologize, let me go–”

“No mistake, Bucky,” Y/N reassured him just as the chef came back out with a doggy box. He handed it to her and thanked her for coming. Y/N shook his hand and slipped something into it before he disappeared back to the kitchen wearing a rare smile. “Thank you,” she reached for the bill and slid her black American Express into the folder.

“Oh, alright, I’ll be right back then,” Bucky composed himself after the mini heart attack he just had from thinking the bill was wrong as he walked back to the stand to take her payment. Once everything was paid he brought back the folder, this time seeing her friends standing and putting on their coats while she stayed seated.

“Thank you, Bucky,” Natasha said his name seductively as she passed him. Clint gave him a little wave and a smirk as he left with her.

“Have a good night!” He called after them. He approached the table as Y/N was opening her wallet. “Here’s the receipt Miss Y/L/N. Thank you for coming in tonight.”

“No thank you for such excellent service, Bucky,” she complimented him as she took the folder again. “Will you sit with me for a moment?”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised and he glanced back at the bar. The manager, Pietro, and Wanda motioned to him to do as she asked. “Yes, of course,” Bucky accepted and sat himself in the chair across from her where Clint sat previously.

Her gaze flicked over him as she opened the folder, took the pen provided and filled out the parts of the receipt meant for her. She closed it and slid it over to Bucky who thanked her and placed it in front of himself.

“I have a proposition for you, Bucky. And please understand when I ask this that you are under no obligation to accept it and I don’t mean to embarrass you,” she started, looking a little nervous.

“Okay,” Bucky stated lamely as he watched her.

Y/N cleared her throat and put her fidgeting hands down in her lap. “I would like to offer you a type of job. As an escort, a sugar baby, to me.” Bucky’s eyes widened comically as he processed what she said. “I know it’s a strange request. But it’s something that I enjoy trying and it helps others…sometimes. I don’t want to assume anything of you, but I can tell when someone is struggling, and you look like life has not always been the easiest or kindest to you. I mean no offense.”

“None taken,” he replied automatically. “I…yes,” he looked down as he confessed to her. “It’s been, uh, rough, to say the least.”

“Hm,” Y/N hummed. She reached a finger out and pointed to the closed folder. She gestured for him to open it. He did and took a look over the receipt, nearly choking when he saw the amount on the tip line.

“No, no Miss Y/L/N, this is too much,” Bucky protested as he stared at the number.

“That’s what your service was worth. You are worth every cent, and more,” Y/N praised him. “You don’t have to decide tonight, Bucky, but in the meantime, here’s my card,” she slipped a business card over to him. “Think about it,” she said as she stood up. Bucky quickly stood up with her. Y/N stepped closer to him and reached for his hand. They shook hands and she leaned in and whispered to him, “By the way, you’re very handsome.” Bucky’s eyes bulged and he swallowed hard as she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek then turned and left. Bucky realized as he watched her leave that she had slipped something into his hand. He opened his hand to find a small folded wad of one hundred dollar bills in his palm. “Oh and that’s for you!” She called out and motioned towards the doggy box still sitting on the table. “Your favorite. Dinner’s on me,” she said and gave him a wink then twirled back around and out the door.

After she was out of the restaurant and beyond hearing Wanda and Pietro ran up to him. “How much did she give you?” Wanda squealed as she looked at the bills in his hand. He quickly counted it.

“$1000,” he whispered as he gawked at the money.

“Give me that,” Pietro demanded as he took the folder from Bucky. He opened it and gasped. “She gave you a $2500 card tip?? What did you do, Barnes, give her and everybody at her table a blow job?”

“Wow…I don’t know if I want to be her or be on her,” Wanda said wistfully as she looked back out the glass door where Y/N had already gotten into her car and drove off.

Bucky felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he stared at the bills, the $2500 floating around in his mind. He was not comprehending just how much she had given him. He looked at her business card again and knew he had to at least meet with her and find out what she was offering. But to become an actual sugar baby? To have a sugar mama? To have his debt disappear? To be taken care of? He smiled as his fingers touched where her lips had been.

**this picture has me SALIVATING. This is what I imagine sugar baby!Bucky to look like in this. Hope y'all like it!**

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #smut #sugarbaby!bucky barnes #sugarbaby #sugar mama #sugarmama!reader #chapter 1 #curvy reader #bucky barnes x curvy!reader

104 notes · View notes

korva-the-raven · 7 months

Text

I'm a Raven. I won't do minimalism.

I like collecting small shinee things and making weird little junk trinkets.

I collect curios and nature things.

I also collect trash and junk. And sometimes I find lucky treasure.

I collect Halloween loot and gumball machine loot. I have a pencil collection too. My inner child is alive and thriving.

I collect color too. I build a tiny color museum based on found objects. I also collect lots of nerd stuff. That's my model of a neuron (brain cell) I made out of pipe cleaners at the Science fair last weekend.

I collect ephemera too. My desk is always cluttered because it's where I empty my pockets, and I'm always busy with my adventures, so my goodies and swag always pile up.

I cover my walls with my favorite things and pay no mind to giving them an aesthetic treatment or design. They are there because I want them there.

I just like spooky, nerdy, witchy, colorful plastic Shiney shit. And I love cluttering my personal space with it. It only has to make sense to me.

Also, I have a pet rock now.

#my 5x7 feel of maximialism glory that is my little corner of the world #raven's lair

#ravencore #corvidcore #corvid culture #cluttercore #maximalism #crowcore #gremlincore #dragoncore #witchcore #nerd #hoard

74 notes · View notes

jazzy-art-time · 7 hours

Text

Alli - JarbleAU

Alli belongs to @curce [ I had permission to Jarble-ize her. Curce willingly sacrificed her to me ]

Diagnosis information below the cut

DIAGNOSIS:

Alli

Job: Stage performer / Stage magician

Despite her flamboyant and spectacular performances on stage at the Shining Ring's biggest Casino, Alli is all but a fraud.

Most wouldn't be able to tell that her acts are all fake. Just tricks of the light or very strategic stage tricks. She works hard to make sure everything looks spectacular and entertaining from down below in the seats… or well.. at least makes sure her stage hands work hard.

Whether or not magic does exist doesn't matter, in the end its just about money. Real or fake it doesn't matter, what sells, sells. Wasn't entirely the route she was expecting to take in her life but it's where she's at now and she is good at it.

She is extremely cocky and arrogant and demanding of those around her to make sure her performances go well. At this point, is she even doing much work out there?

However, stage tricks aren't enough to keep a crowd interested, so she sometimes has to resort to… interesting outfit changes to gather attention. She isn't the best at flirting face to face, but that doesn't really matter when you are on stage with a short skirt.

She gets easily worked up over any critic reviews of her show. What would they know anyhow. Better hope you aren't a stagehand who happens to be nearby when a bad review drops.

But despite her cockiness on stage, there is some level of discomfort with it. Sometimes she wonders if it's really worth it to be this way. Maybe she shouldn't rely on such cheap tricks to gain a audience. A deep ache resides in her chest whenever a child happens to pass by mentioning that they love magic and hope to see a show of hers once they grow up. She remembers when she believed in that stuff too. It hurts a little.

But she doesn't know why. DEFAULT WEAPON:

Expandable Cane/Wand

Is conjured by "pulling" out of her head gem.

Usually summoning it causes a mild headache. She cannot conjure it if her gem is somehow damaged or covered, even by her own hair.

The wand/cane can expand for as long as she needs to for the situation. She can also determine how flimsy or stiff the cane is. So it can either be being hit with a flimsy switch or getting nailed with a lead pipe.

Normally a clear glass like appearance during the day. But within starlight or specific brands of stagelight, it glows. EXTRA DESIGN NOTES:

-> Has a more witchy type outfit but had to go more magician for the gimmick. BUT kept the hat overly large with the crinkled tip just as a bit of a nod to the original.

-> Sparkle markings appear on her face, her hair shimmer and lightly faded on her tail tips. The ones on her face are supposed to mildly resemble that of clowns.

-> Has several gems that mimic her forehead gem on her body. When she performs, she somewhat hides that she is pulling her staff from her head gem. That way it leaves to some illusion on just WHICH gem she is pulling it from. Most assume she can pull it from any of them.

-> The inside of her cape has that like… "space" texture that changes and warps as she moves around. Is it just some kind of mythical fabric or does she own like 50 fucking capes with different sequin space patterns? WHO KNOWS

-> I'M NOT... ENTIRELY HAPPY WITH THE OUTFIT but like. Magician outfits can be kinda basic and so trying to do something more flashy but also like?? I don't know! I don't know how fashion or clothing work I'm still learning and practicing give a man a break

#channeling the GREAT AND POWERFUL TRIXIE-wait wrong show #JarbleAU #anthro #anthro pokemon #curce #doodle #concept art #sfw #my art #digital art #for others #stuff for others

24 notes · View notes

brightlybound · 14 hours

Text

A big thank you to everyone who voted, and a giant thank you and hug to @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey for helping me pick the pup below as Harry's beloved little mutt! This dog (a she for plot purposes) will be making several appearances in my untitled Hating Game AU. 🐶

Now I need help with her name! Please choose what Harry (with no influence from Ginny) would call his dog from the poll below. I've included some names from a top dog names list from England, as well as a few out-of-pocket (witchy/mystical) choices.

*The meanings and information beside each name have been gathered from Google and babynames.com.

#polls #harry potter #hp #dogs #names

12 notes · View notes

thislittlestoner · 1 year

Text

My new bong. 🔮😭

13 notes · View notes

blicketdabest33 · 1 month

Text

THE MAGNUS PROTOCOL IS INSANE I'M GOING INSANE WHY IS MARTIN OPENING THE EPISODES

Episode 2 did someone's pet die? I didn't mention this in my last one, but holy shit i love the new intro music, it's so CREEEPY Are Sam and Gwen playing a game around their work? I wanna play this. I like Sam's logic- oh shit the eye. WHAASFHE BUT I WANNA DECODE THE SYSTEM I DON'T CARE IF I END UP LIKE COLIN AUNTY GWEN-- "Time. Isn't. Real" Alice, marry me, platonically wait what am i listening to? ohhhhhh therapy. This poor woman, her last therapist must've been awful. This therapist is so nice, she reminds me of mine!!! she's so sweet- aw poor thing, i don't like my body sometimes either. Yes instagram sucks, i only use the dm's to chat with a close friend. OH NO POOR THING BABY ARE YOU OKAY? BABE YOU LOOK WONDERFUL DON'T SAY THAT- wait are those insects? Oh, her name is Daria, that's pretty name! Tattoos are scary in my opinion. I just don't like needles. I LOVE WITCHY ALCHEMIST CHARACTERS!!!! ... heard? oooooo the Stranger, oh flowers? oh baby... ouch.. ................ oh god, it's only the second episode... ... this is why i hate needles OH SHIT NO GIRL DGHRIGHEKDFNKJDNGKJENKJNFKJN NONONONO *screams* *SCREAMS IN ARTIST* *SCREAMS IN AGHKEJHG* this is the weirdest body horror ever. the magnus archives took a while to give me an episode where i got the nail on my head... uh... THIS IS EPISODE 2 so dejected oh my god *chanting* kill Lena, kill Lena, kill Lena- WITH A METAL PIPE Alice... i'm starting to think you're a bit too cheery.. Alice, who you callin? a band? AWWW SHE HAS A BROTHER!!! Aww his name is Luke? Sam is so nice, i wanna hold him. NNO NO NO NO NO NO SAM DON'T DO RESEARCH ON THE CASES DON'T DO RESEARCH ON THE CASES DON'T DO RESEARCH ON THE CASES Alice is traumatized oh no

#tmagp #blicket talks to the hatchlings #tma #daria? and her... therapist i guess #flesh and the stranger #perfect #samama khalid #gwen bouchard #alice dyer #ima fucking implode

14 notes · View notes

docbe · 2 years

Text

Posted an update on Kickstarter and thought I’d share here bc we got an early polished draft of a portion of one of our themed character sheets, mostly to give a more solid idea of what we’re going for

The sheets are reorganized to group things more logically to us: character stats at the top, combat and health stats are together in the middle, and other character details are at the bottom of the page. Here’s the top of our “witchy” design, minus some details and adjustments:

We gonna have some candles and smoke effects and fun lil details in the rest of the page, so it’s gonna be fun

This is the first of four themes—we got Celtic, nautical, and minimalist flora in the pipes too for this first batch. And we’re hoping to continue expanding them out, if ppl are interested!

So if that sounds interesting or like something a friend might be interested in, check out the Kickstarter and consider throwin $2 our way! If you’re on the fence, we’re doing a Q&A tonight at twitch.tv/ghoti_tank from 6-8pm EST, and likely gonna have at least one more before the end of the month. Drop on in and get the details you’d like!

kickstarter

Thank yooou and pls consider sharing+boosting if you got any ttrpg folks in your circles!

#ghotitank #5e #ttrpg #got so many ideas for the future so we’re hoping this works out

278 notes · View notes

averseunhinged · 5 months

Text

hello it's still wip wednesday. thank god.

this week's offering to the gods is more of last week's pornless porn with feelings. still no porn, but even more feelings. chronologically, this snippet is before last week's, if you want to read them in order.

“I assume we can lift the ban on Tyler as a topic of conversation.” He coughed again and snorted, wet-gross and deep in his sinuses.

He'd been like that for months now. Comfortable enough with her to be considerate of her feelings. It wasn't entirely true to say he'd been the only one around, but it wasn't entirely untrue either. Elena could only be forced up for air occasionally. She was shacked up with Damon, grieving Jeremy, and obsessed with getting revenge on Katherine, who was shacked up with Elijah, much to Klaus’s displeasure and Rebekah’s aggravation, and therefore unrevengable. So, Elena wasn’t exactly a party to be around. Caroline dragged her out to a town event in June and for shakes at the Sonic in Waynesboro a few times. Other than that, Elena kept to herself and Caroline let her.

Expression, as Lucy explained when she finally returned, was a little bit like meth for witches. Bonnie spent the first few weeks of summer detoxing alone with her before she gave Caroline and Elena exhausted hugs and let Lucy haul her off to try to repair her relationship with her mother. Something about confronting past family trauma to help clear out her witchy pipes.

Stefan left town indefinitely. Caroline understood why he had to go. Of course she did. It still sucked. They talked on the phone once a week, and he texted road trip pictures as proof of life in between, but she'd underestimated how much of her time and worrying had been spent on Stefan and his needs. The distance between them left her with a wistful aimlessness, like empty nest syndrome, except her child was a centenarian mass murderer with an unbearably shitty love life.

Matt drank his way through Europe for the entire month of June, having wild sex with strangers, if Rebekah was to be believed. He'd started working again the day after he returned, jetlagged and irritable, and hadn't had a day off since. As much as Caroline wished she could command more of his attention, she couldn't steal his time when he was working towards his future, the kind only humans had, limited and precious. She was proud of him for passing his classes and graduating and getting his life together. She was even proud of him for running off with Rebekah and having the experience of a lifetime with her. It was all she'd ever wanted for Matt, even back when she'd thought she'd wanted him herself. For him to enjoy himself and be appreciated and not have to be so very responsible all the time.

And then there was Tyler.

“You know, I'm starting to think maybe you don't want to get laid.” Caroline crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her hip, knowing it did miraculous things to her cleavage and the line of her leg in the short, flippy skirt.

“That,” he pointed at his face, still wincing from the burn of bourbon in his sinuses, “was entirely your fault. What sort of heathen springs that on a man out of nowhere?”

“Well, I couldn't not ask! What was I supposed to do? Just walk in and throw myself at you?"

"Seduction truly is a lost art," Klaus mused, relaxing further back into the corner and crossing his legs at the ankle. The birds on his shoulder rippled as he made a brief, languid gesture. "Perhaps I wish to be wooed."

"Like you're the master of seduction," she scoffed.

"Oh, come now. I saved your life and gave you a diamond bracelet on our first date."

"Okay." Caroline held up one index and tapped it against her forehead, squinching her eyes. "Let's put a pin in giving girls jewelry on a first date. We'll circle back around to that huge red flag."

"A recent development. It wasn't always inappropriate."

"But more importantly, that wasn't ever a first date. That was an attempted murder."

He let his head fall back on the sofa and looked at her, heavy lidded and slow blinking, and with a distant, barely curving smile said, "I liked you. We had a pleasant conversation. I met your mother and one of your friends. You even gave me a kiss at the end. Is that not a date?"

Caroline tried not to squirm at the flush burning across her cheeks. It hung over them with a strange weight she'd never understood, those times when he'd let her dig her teeth in and have him. His one stolen taste of her.

"That was not a—” she stuttered and wanted to cringe at the childishness of it, “a—"

"No?" His smile broadened and he traced his gaze down her bare throat. "There's more than one way to kiss, sweetheart.”

#HAH #I DID IT #EAT SHIT CURSE #YOU CANNOT HAVE ME #klaroline wip wed

26 notes · View notes

hyrulehobbit · 1 year

Text

RECOGNISING AI GENERATED IMAGES

(Disclaimer: This is not a foolproof guide as these softwares are constantly changing, but it is intended to help you learn things to possibly look out for.)

We've all heard "count the fingers, count the teeth" for AI generated images of people, but more and more frequently I see people sharing images of objects and scenery that are AI generated without realising it. These people are often vocally anti-AI but still get caught out. This post is not intended to shame or make anyone feel bad for not recognising AI imagery. Usually, AI images posted on platforms like tumblr are not tagged as AI; the OP is often fully intending to trick you just to gain some quick numbers, so it's not your fault that their tactics work. They're designed to be pretty at a glance and betting on you not looking any closer.

So, that out of the way: How can I spot and avoid AI Generated images?

Here's some things I've learned to pick up on, and now I can spot them pretty much on sight.

Full guide under the cut. Contains AI images as examples.

1. Source

Your first easy step is to check if there's a source. Remember when everything on tumblr was just credited to weheartit?? This is the new worse version of that. If the image has no source in the description describing an artist, photographer, brand, location etc... check the original post.

If there's nothing in the tags to indicate that it is art or a piece of photography or an advertisement, it could be AI. Sometimes the caption is just something generic or aesthetic like ~witchy cottage life~ etc. The tags above for the image below of the room with the tree are largely nonsense.

Important note: A watermark does not always indicate a photographer or artist: if you think it might be AI but it has a watermark, that will most likely lead you to the socials for the person who created the image using AI.

2. Visual Soup

Zoom. In. It sucks to feel like you have to get into the habit of pausing and closely checking the details of images on platforms designed for infinite scroll and quick engagement, but if you get into the habit of this, soon you'll be learning to spot AI at a quick scroll glance.

Generally, when you zoom in on a photograph, the details and divisions of where one object ends and another begins still stays the same, just out of focus. Zooming in on an AI image, the details become... soup. Why is that plant morphing into the countertops? Why is the tap floating? Why are there five thousand burner dials???

The same applies to art. Zooming in on art reveals things like brush strokes, pencil lines, pixels, imperfections and intentional small details. If zooming in reveals soupy details that don't look like intentional stylistic choices it could be AI.

3. Interior Design Disasters

One thing AI doesn't seem to be good at is separating the depth and layers of rooms full of furniture, and making things sit properly in their 3D space. Window frames are wonky. Chairs and tables are fused to each other, or to walls. Bookcases get narrower at one end when they really shouldn't. A little wonkiness is fine and expected in artwork, but when the whole thing isn't sitting right, it could be AI.

(Compare the white image on the right to these real photographs of a similar house, and notice how messy and nonsensical the AI image seems).

(Edit 03/06/2023: See also this abstract furniture that still has a proper sense of depth and doesn't merge into the background)

4. Toothpaste

I don't know what else to call this but midjourney effing loves it. I most commonly see this on things like AI generated objects, outfits and garments rather than scenery. It looks like the software has applied all the details with a piping bag. Weird, greebly swirls like it's hoping you won't notice if it adds enough visual noise. Notice it. It's AI. And it looks super fucking weird.

Midjourney also loves adding weird concentric circles to everything, which can be seen in the image example for Lighting below.

5. Giblets

What is that bowl of stuff?? What is on that shelf?? What's that pile of...things?? They're giblets. This is another prominent midjourney feature and another example of visual noise. Stuff it with details, and maybe the viewer won't notice that what they're actually looking at is a lumpy pile of nonsense that definitely shouldn't exist. Spot the giblets!

6. Lighting

This one is hardest to describe and to spot, but I often find that the lighting in AI images of scenery and objects has a flat, dream-like quality. Once you study it, it begins to feel distinctly unreal.

7. Names

Lastly, some people do state that an image is AI in their descriptions or tags, but might not do so in those exact words. If you aren't already familiar, here's the names of the most prominant AI generators as of May 2023:

Midjourney

Dall-E or Dall-E 2

Stable Diffusion

Deep Dream

Artbreeder

WOMBO

NightCafe

Lensa

Stablecog

BigSleep

Brands such as Bing, Google, Shutterstock and Canva are also bringing out generators

8. Multiple Angles (added 03/06/2023)

I forgot to add this earlier, but it's another very simple tell! If the images are objects, garments or rooms... are there multiple images in the post of the same object or location from different angles? No? Then it could be AI. The shoes used as Toothpaste examples above were part of a set of lots of different shoes, but of each design there was only one image. AI is Not Good at creating the same thing twice consistently.

(See these photographs of hair pins. The post contains a source link to the photographer's flikr account, where there are multiple images of each pin in different angles and lighting, confirming that they're real.)

If I think of anything else or some new tell starts to appear, I will come back and update this post, but for now, thank you for reading. My hope for this is that people will either share AI generated images less, or if they do, at least learn to spot and tag them so that those who don't want to see them (aka me!) can filter and avoid.

#AI #AI image #AI generated #AI art #anti AI #AI generatred images #how to avoid AI #how to recognise AI #i had to look at so many ai images to make this post and i hated every second i am so brave #I hope this is educational and helpful I really do!!

89 notes · View notes

fernthewhimsical · 9 months

Text

15 days of Deity: Cernunnos

[Disclaimer: Most, if not all of this is UPG]

Putting multiple days together because it fits better. Day 11-15

Pieces of Art in which you see this deity.

So, so many. Let me get some of my favourites.

Music:

Antlered Crown and Standing Stone by Damh the Bard Noon of the Solstice by Damh the Bard Hymn to Herne by S.J. Tucker Pipes of Pan by Faun

Art:

Lord of the Wildwood by Wendy Andrew Tender of the Wilds by Autumn Skye Cernunnos, Salem Beiruti 2021 Eva Wilderman, Lord of the Hunt Greenman by Brigid Ashwood

Aesthetics you associate with this deity:

dark forests

wolves and deer

hunting

dark nature

chthonic

My own art of this deity

I have made a small clay figurine and a pegdoll, as well as a string of prayer beads. Some art in my art journal and prayers.

Your Relationship to this Deity/How do they Influence your Life?

Cernunnos has been one of the first deities I connected with. He is my rock when it comes to my spiritual and witchy path. Though the intensity of our connection and relationship waxes and wanes, he is and always has been a constant. They taught me to embrace liminality and helped figure out I was non binary. They guide me in my witchcraft and paganism. I think of them whenever I enter a wild place, or dance around a bonfire (or candle). I am devoted to him in many many different ways.

What do you wish to learn/Where do you want this relationship to go ?

I wish to connect in a deeper way again. I wish to learn from him directly and visit him through hedge-riding more often. I wish for him to be guide through the Otherworld and through magic.

#deity #cernunnos #15 days of deity #pagan #paganblr #hooded hunter #upg #gleaming grove

24 notes · View notes

waywardrose · 1 year

Text

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 17

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

4.4k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs

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

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

note: We've hit S4! Yay?

The school’s basketball team had been gunning for a state championship, and no one would shut up about it. Banners exclaiming Go Hawkins! hung in the hallways. Go Tigers Go had been written on the main office’s windows in orange and green chalk markers.

During lunch, jocks whooped like howler monkeys. Their chirping sneakers and laughter pierced the hush of the library. Despite teachers issuing lukewarm warnings, a few even dared to dribble a basketball in the hallway.

On Wednesday, Eddie shared an exasperated look with you while O’Donnell assured two jocks the next test wouldn’t be until after spring break. The jocks high-fived each other.

At that point, you’d wanted them to lose just so they would pipe down.

However, they didn’t.

The radio DJ announced the Tigers had won against Christian Academy last night. You groaned as you turned the car onto the ramp leading to the school’s parking lot. Students swarmed from buses and cars. Teachers directed them to the gym.

That meant another pep rally — which no. Hell no. You’d been dragged to one last week during Western Lit — and that had been enough pep for the school year.

You claimed a parking spot at the side of the building. That afforded you options, whether that was smoking a couple of Djarums at Eddie’s picnic table or hiding in the bathroom. You checked your purse to find you’d forgotten the cigarettes, your lighter, and your watch.

“Fuck.”

Hiding in the bathroom, it was.

Grabbing your purse and backpack, you locked your car before heading inside. Fortunately, the halls on this side of the building were deserted — and your locker wasn’t far. The marching band’s bright music echoed through the building as you unloaded the backpack’s contents in your locker.

Male voices laughed from a nearby junction. You glanced their way, seeing first the Hellfire t-shirt, then Jeff’s familiar face. You turned to your locker with the hope its door would hide enough of you. With another peek around the door, your gaze snagged on Eddie. He hung back from the group, watching you. Swaying above him was a banner that said ALL THE WAY — TIGERS 86.

Yeah, all the way. You’d gone all the way, alright.

Your hands trembled as you grabbed what you’d need for your first two classes and closed the locker. Dammit, you shouldn’t be so shaken. It was only Eddie, who distracted you and made you laugh and nearly broke your heart. Your stomach swooped when you noticed the way the t-shirt clung to his torso. You’d held onto those shoulders, clawed at that back, and kissed down that chest. His jeans hugged his thighs, too. You’d been between those thighs—

You wanted him too much. You needed to retreat.

Fuckity fuck—

No, you couldn’t think about that: the act or his cock.

He said your name as you scurried in the opposite direction. Your long skirt flapped around your ankles. You almost hiked it to get away faster. His rapid footsteps gained on you by the second.

A short connector-hallway was on your left. You darted into it, heart in your throat. There was a ladies’ bathroom on the right. If you moved quick enough, you’d disappear, and he’d never be the wiser.

You rushed to the bathroom door, swung inside, and shoved the heavy door to the jamb.

You could lock it, just in case, but the noise. He’d hear the click and know you were inside. You backed from the door and around the tiled barrier.

You rested against the other side of the barrier, clutching your books to your chest and straining to hear his footsteps pass. Your pulse thudded high in your neck.

A moment ticked by with nothing. Maybe he hadn’t seen you turn into the hallway. No, that was impossible. He’d been close behind when you had. Maybe you’d been successful in evading him…

A tinge of disappointment surfaced at the thought.

The bathroom door creaked open.

You held your breath as your gaze shot to the dull floor.

“You know, I can see your reflection,” said Eddie.

You looked at the mirror above the nearest sink, seeing him in it. You sighed; your shoulders slumped. At the same time, a trickle of silvery, twisting warmth grew in your gut.

You hadn’t evaded him after all.

“Why aren’t you at the pep rally?” you asked, and headed for the row of sinks to balance your books on a sink ledge.

“Why aren’t you?”

The door clanked shut behind him, then its lock schnicked into place. You met the eyes of Eddie’s reflection. You recognized his dark-eyed, steady expression, had seen it after Halloween. He wanted you. He thought of sliding deep inside you. Your cunt gave a single throb as you remembered him bending you over and eating you out. He could do that here: direct you over the sink, flick your skirt over your hips, pull your underwear to mid-thigh, and bury his gorgeous face between your legs.

He approached you, somehow predatory yet cautious. It made you want to give in. You couldn’t give in, though. There was still a month until the Battle of the Bands. He’d said he wanted space until then. However, he’d already brushed aside that space at New Year’s. It’d been a weakness on your part to have given in.

You said, “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Because you were weak for him. You were crumbling. You’d missed him so much.

“Maybe not,” he said, while drawing closer. “But I am. So, what’re you going to do about it?”

“I should turn you in.” You pivoted to face him, hands braced on the sink edge. “Tell the principal.”

“He hates me.”

“I know. He’ll ruin this senior year, too.”

Eddie looked coy as he asked, “You wouldn’t do that to me, though, would you?”

You wet your bottom lip and glanced at his mouth.

“No.”

Instead of replying, he captured your lips in a greedy kiss. Though inappropriate, you welcomed it. Kissing was better than distance and certainly better than a stupid pep rally. He kissed your mouth open with a soft groan. His tongue, faintly tasting of toothpaste, met yours.

Then your hands were in his hair; his were on your hips. He sucked at your bottom lip, making you whimper and your knees go weak. Heat poured down your body to concentrate below your navel. It intensified when he pressed closer.

He smelled of leather and cigarettes and soap. You wanted to eat him alive.

You nibbled on his lip and soothed it with kisses. His face was a mask of pure hedonistic delight with his full lips parted and eyes closed. You could see that expression every day and never tire of it. He deserved to feel good — and you wanted to make him feel good.

He hitched one of your thighs over his hip. His touch went from muffled by your skirt to downright electric with skin on skin. You gasped, meeting his intense gaze, yet didn’t fight. He straddled your other thigh and ground against your belly. His callused hand slid to your ass, fingertips sneaking under the leg of your underwear.

Despite the thickness of denim, little was left to the imagination. His hot erection pulsed as you hooked your leg around him. You angled your pelvis onto his leg. Your pussy dragged against his firm thigh. The friction of your underwear on your clit was almost too much to bear.

Then he pulled you tight until the pressure ground your clit on your pubic bone.

You arched with a groan when he rocked.

“God, you have no idea how bad I wanna pull your panties to the side and fuck you.”

You dug your nails into the shoulders of his vest.

Breath caught in your throat, you said, “Don’t say things like that.”

However, it was tempting. Damn the consequences. You wanted him raw. You wanted to feel every silky, veined inch of him stretching you open.

“If we weren’t in school, would you let me?”

He trailed delicate kisses up your neck. You tilted your head.

He whispered in your ear, “Would you?”

You couldn’t answer. If you did, you wouldn’t stop imagining it: the salt of his sweat, the slap of his skin against yours, the feel of his strong hands digging into your flesh as he pounded inside you. You’d give in, tear open his jeans, and fuck yourself on his cock.

You grabbed his hair and maneuvered him for a hot, open-mouthed kiss. He moaned into it as he thrust his hips. His velvety tongue slipped over yours, encouraging you to move with him. You held his shoulder and his smooth jaw. It seemed impossible to put into words how much you’d missed him, so you said it with your body.

You held him close, pulled him in with your thigh, and kissed him harder.

He responded in kind, making you feel like you were the only person in the world for him. The antiseptic smell of the bathroom, and the reason you were locked in there with him, dissolved to nothing. It was only you and him, sharing breath and warmth and pleasure.

The bathroom door rattled. You both started and broke the kiss to look at the door, his cheek on yours.

Softly, he said, “It’s okay. It’s locked.”

“I know, but we have to get to class.”

“Or we could skip.” He leaned away to study your face. “Your parents home?”

They weren’t, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t come home for lunch.

“No, but…” You lowered your leg from around his hip, skirt going with it. “We can’t.”

He smirked with a shrug of his shoulder.

“Worth a shot.”

You grinned and shook your head.

“Incorrigible.”

“That’s my middle name.”

“Edward Incorrigible Munson, huh?”

“Yep.”

“I like it,” you said before moving in to kiss him a last time.

He hummed against your lips in approval. His arms wrapped around your back, holding you securely. He straightened and took you with him. You clutched at his shoulders as he slanted his head to deepen the kiss.

The bell rang, making you jolt. You didn’t know if that was for the beginning of first period or the five-minute break before.

“Crap, we’re going to be late.”

He hid his face under your jaw.

“Don’t care.”

“I can’t be late to Trig.” You prodded his shoulders. “Eddie, I mean it.”

He grumbled, placing a kiss on your neck. It melted your resolve a little. A few minutes either way wouldn’t matter. Everyone would be too excited by the pep rally to care.

He released you with a playful sigh. You turned to the mirror and attempted to make yourself presentable. Your lips were swollen, lip balm gone, and clothes askew. Over your shoulder, Eddie fluffed his hair and righted his jacket and vest. His lips were swollen as well, high color painted his cheeks.

“I got Hellfire tonight. Last session for the campaign,” he said, adjusting the crotch of his jeans. “But I could stop by your place after…”

“I don’t think I can sneak you in.”

Before the attack, you would’ve been able to with no problem. Now, not so much. Studying your magic books was on your to-do list for break — along with a few minor household improvements Mom wanted to tackle.

“Okay, well…” He worried at his bottom lip. “How about lunch or something tomorrow?”

“I’d like lunch or something tomorrow.”

A smile lit his face, making his make-out glow even more radiant.

“I’ll call you,” said Eddie as he bounced backwards to the door.

You gathered your books and followed him.

“Wait,” you said, remembering: “I’m running errands with my mom after breakfast, so how about I call you when I’m done?”

“Sounds good. You ever been to Mac’s Drive-in?”

With a shake of your head, you replied, “No.” You’d never heard of it and assumed it was outside of town.

“They have the best chili cheese fries.”

“Sounds good.”

He took hold of the door handle and flipped the lock.

“Be careful.” You inched behind him. “We don’t want anyone seeing us.”

He stepped aside and cracked the door, saying you should check.

You peeked in either direction. A few people hustled through the main hallways. The coast was clear, so you stepped out of the bathroom. You lingered across the hall by the drama club’s eye-searing bulletin board, which advertised Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat coming in April.

Eddie sauntered beside you to study the board.

“Would it be ironic to attend?” he asked with a nod.

“It would’ve been more ironic to be cast.”

“Well, there’s still time.”

You snorted and nudged him with an elbow. His eyes sparkled with something. He put a hand to his chest as he backed away.

Then he sang in a terrible French accent, “Those Canaan days! We used to know! Where have they gone?”

You moved closer, eyes wide, while trying to keep the smile from your face.

“This is how we get caught.”

He spun to the side, throwing out his arms.

“Where did they go?”

You laughed, “Eddie, shut up!”

“Eh bien, raise your berets!”

He shooed you towards the opposite end of the hallway. You walked backwards as you mouthed ‘tomorrow.’

He nodded and continued, “To those Canaan days!”

You reached the corner as he sang, “Do you remember those wonderful parties?”

From Eddie’s side of the building, someone called, “Oh la la!”

Your head hurt beyond a normal headache. Your temples and face throbbed. The muscles at the back of your skull wouldn’t loosen. Nothing from the medicine cabinet had dulled the pain, nor had turning off the lights and music.

You’d tried an ice pack on your nape and stuck your head in the freezer. When that had no effect, you wet a washcloth with warm water for your forehead. That hadn’t helped, either.

Something about the headache made you want to flee into the woods. Like an injured animal looking for shelter. You wanted to hide, but you knew whatever this was would pursue. There was no escape. You were locked in here with it.

You lay on the cool floor of your bedroom. Pressing your fingers over your eyes, you commanded the headache to go away.

Go away.

It didn’t. It persisted until it overtook everything. It buzzed in your ears like insects. You couldn’t feel the floor, couldn’t feel your limbs. It nipped at your mental heels, hounding you to some unforeseen destination.

You didn’t want to go. You didn’t want to die — because surely that was where it steered you.

With a snarl, you pushed back. You shook off the maggots and flies that wished to bury themselves in your flesh. You wouldn’t die like this. You weren’t fodder for whatever this headache was.

It fought you, clawing at your brain. Talons hooked in the seams of your skull. It wrenched your head to expose your vulnerable neck.

You turned onto your side, but that made everything worse. The meat of your body twisted while your bones remained still. You heaved and twitched as it forced you supine.

A scream not your own pierced the night.

Your mouth opened as caustic ruptures eclipsed the pain: one, two, three, four, five.

They bled and bled and bruised and drained. Bitter energy coursed through your veins. It burned like road flares, burned like death itself.

You choked as you went beyond the pain. Your eyes opened to darkness. It knit around you like a tenacious spider’s web. You scratched at it, nails snapping, until the darkness tore apart.

You hit the floor, head bouncing on the hardwood. Your lungs pumped as though you’d been running a marathon. As you caught your breath, you patted yourself down. Everything was normal. Your bones and nails remained intact and whole.

And the pain was gone.

You’d awoken this morning and reached for the telephone. You’d wanted to call Eddie last night, too, but then you’d remembered Hellfire. He probably wouldn’t have been home. If Wayne had picked up, you wouldn't have known how to explain to him why you sounded upset.

Something involving magic had happened last night, no doubt. Eddie knew magic was real, but that didn’t mean he’d told Wayne. Actually, you were sure Eddie had told no one.

You now sat diagonally from Mom at the kitchen table as you ate breakfast. Your father cycled between eating his buttered bagel, browsing the Saturday paper, and watching the Bloomberg channel on TV. On a garden-center flier, Mom circled shrubs and flowers she might want to plant around the property. You’d suggested rosemary by the deck stairs, miniature roses on either side of the garage door, and planters of lavender by the front door.

Mom wasn’t convinced on the planters by the front door, but you thought she’d change her mind if she saw ones she liked.

You took another bite of your bagel. The crust was all wrong, too smooth and not crackly enough. You missed New York bagels and the golden-toasty-yeasty scent of a decent bakery. The bakeries in Hawkins were okay, but they catered to… well, people who didn’t know good bagels.

Once you and Mom finished breakfast, you went to the garage to fold the tarps into the trunk of her car. She kissed your father goodbye. He looked content for once and wished you happy shopping.

Mom cracked the car windows and turned up Fleetwood Mac for the drive. The fresh air ruffled your hair and had you remembering sharing Djarums with Eddie. You wished you could smoke one now, but Mom wouldn’t approve of your dirty little habit. Though she might not have such a problem with Eddie. He was cute and charming and talented.

Perhaps you could introduce him to her before going to lunch. It could be quick. Just a ‘this is the guy who saved me when I sleepwalked’ kind of introduction. You’d run the idea by Eddie when you called today.

At the garden center, the atmosphere was weirdly tense. You picked out two hardy rose bushes and placed them on the platform cart. Mom was examining a baby rosemary. A few older ladies talked amongst themselves on the other side of the display table. Nevertheless, it was impossible not to overhear their conversation.

“—such a trashy place. It’s not surprising.”

“No, it isn’t! They should’ve bulldozed that trailer park years ago,” said another one before leaning in. “I can only imagine what led to this latest episode.”

You met Mom’s gaze as you attempted to keep a neutral expression. There was only one trailer park in Hawkins. Eddie must be freaking out if something happened in his neighborhood.

“Oh, probably some drug deal gone awry. Young people these days are always stoned,” the first one said with a flap of her hand.

To hide your agitation, you crouched to inspect the roses. There could be more than one drug dealer in Forest Hills, you assured yourself as you rubbed a glossy leaf between your fingers. This gossip might not be true and didn’t have to involve Eddie. He’d been at school last night playing D&D, anyway.

A third said, “I wonder who the victim is.”

“I think by Sunday night we’ll all know — and who the guilty party is.”

Victim? Guilty party? Had someone been attacked?

You straightened, stepped closer to Mom, and asked, “Did you see anything about this in the paper?”

“I didn’t bother with it today.”

You nodded and plucked a random rosemary from the array. It looked healthy enough.

“You okay?” Mom asked.

You nodded again. Jumping to conclusions wouldn’t solve anything or make you feel better. You’d call Eddie when you returned home. He’d tell you what he knew.

As you both headed up the aisle, Mom asked, “Do you think there’s been a shooting?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“That seems so unthinkable in a town like this.”

You hummed in agreement, though you didn’t share her opinion. Hawkins was fucked up. That fucked-up-ness was sure to manifest in mundane ways.

At home, you helped unload the car, shake the soil from the tarps and store them. Your father had disappeared into his office, yet had left the newspaper folded on the kitchen table. Mom said she’d peruse the front page to see if anything unusual had been reported. You went to call Eddie in the privacy of your room.

Without bothering to remove your jacket or shoes, you went straight to your phone and dialed his number. The line rang and rang until you gave up.

He should be expecting your call. He never missed your calls.

Of course, if something had happened near his place, he might be giving a statement to the police. That took a long time — especially if the police wanted to speak with most of Forest Hills. Besides, it was only half past noon.

You got comfortable and sat at your desk to take notes from a book on magic. Your eyes kept darting to the phone. Something wasn’t right. Eddie wouldn’t want to give a statement. Wayne probably would, just to get the cops to leave. At least, that was the impression you’d gotten from your brief interaction with him.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, you were ready to vibrate out of your chair. Your notes were disjointed and would have to be redone. You went downstairs for something else to do and turned on the living room TV. It was tuned to Channel 9. The top news story was the discovery of a dead Hawkins High student in Forest Hills, where a correspondent was reporting.

You recognized the white trailer behind the correspondent. It was the Munson’s. Policemen went in and out of the open main door. The broadcast cut to the studio, where the newscaster clarified the report had been recorded earlier in the day.

You couldn’t think of one person Eddie, or Wayne, would kill. Eddie could be a dickhead sometimes, but he wasn’t a murderer. He could’ve been defending himself. Maybe a deal had gone wrong. Or maybe he’d had nothing to do with it and someone had killed a person in front of him.

In that case, he would’ve been kidnapped and murdered in the woods somewhere. You couldn’t recall if his van had been parked by the trailer…

No, you would’ve felt his death. You weren’t that mundane to not feel something like that.

As commercials played, you wondered if you were strong enough to cast a tracking spell. That typically took a personal item from the person being tracked. You still had his ring on a necklace, of course, but you’d been wearing it since Christmas. It might not have a trace of his energy anymore.

Mom interrupted your train of thought by announcing dinner was almost ready. You turned off the TV and went to the powder-room to wash your hands. When you came out, your parents were talking about the dead student. Your father wasn’t concerned, because people die every day. Mom agreed to a point, but everyone was talking like this was a homicide.

“Know any rotten apples at school?” your father asked you when you sat at the kitchen table.

By your father’s definition, Eddie would be a rotten apple. There were plenty at Hawkins High, but Eddie wasn’t one of them.

“Not personally.”

He harrumphed before leveling Mom a look.

You remained quiet as spaghetti with a hearty meat sauce was served. It smelled of oregano and pepper, but you weren’t interested and took half of what you normally would. Your parents continued talking about the myriad of circumstances around the death: lovers’ quarrel, argument taken too far, overdose, drug deal gone wrong, ritual sacrifice.

“Ah, yes,” your father said in jest. “Satan in the suburbs.”

Mom tittered at such a ridiculous idea.

You grinned to disguise the thread of panic at the idea. Witches had been associated with Satan for centuries, but you’d never evoked him. You wouldn’t rely on any entity for your power. Because they all had agendas, and you didn’t want to be a pawn. However, no one — not even your parents — would appreciate your stance if they found out what you were.

You opened your mouth to say you thought the situation must be a misunderstanding, but stopped short. Your father would make you defend your idea, like this was a case in court. He’d appoint himself lawyer for the other side, jury, and judge.

Instead, you twirled spaghetti on your fork and let your parents talk.

After the sun set and you’d retreated to your room, pain sliced into your head. Your heavy stomach churned so abruptly, you wondered if you should make a dash from your desk to the bathroom. Covering your mouth with a hand, you breathed deep through your nose.

It was similar to last night. Death had you by the throat. You smelled the cloying, steaming rot of it. Your fingers went numb as if you’d been pummeling at something for hours. The desk light dimmed until you could no longer read the book before you.

Everything became heavy. You couldn’t lift your head. Your muscles weren’t strong enough to lift you from the chair. You ordered your body to move, yet it wouldn’t. Even the hand at your mouth wouldn’t obey.

Icy pressure squeezed at your chest. Instinct compelled you to drive it back. You wouldn’t be suffocated in your own bedroom by nothing.

For the first time, you prayed. You didn’t know to whom. All you asked for was strength. You needed strength to conquer this thing. Because if it was going to happen every night, it would kill you. And you couldn’t die yet. Your attacker was still out there. Eddie was missing. You were so close to graduation.

The book you’d been reading clattered across your desk. Its pages stirred, then rippled. You silently requested a solution. Light returned to the desk lamp. The book came to rest, a short spell on the right page: The Veil of Undeath

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #stranger things #em tagd #waywardrose writes

40 notes · View notes