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jmweaverauthor · 2 months ago

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Maggot Box

(The concept of this Horror story came to me one night while my partner and I were browsing the far reaches of Roku, laughing at all the weird stuff tucked away. Warning: May contain upsetting themes. Gore.)

Maggot Box

First Video

“There’s no way I’m watching that,” Trish scoffed as her friend, Darren, settled on a low-budget horror film apparently titled, Were-Shark vs. Polter-Gator. “Besides, it’s mad cringe when these douchebags make bad movies on purpose. Good-Bad-Movies happen by pure accident, like lightning in a stupid-ass bottle.”

“OK, OK. At this rate I won’t be stoned anymore by the time you stop bitching. You pick the movie, Ms. Ebert.” Darren tossed Trish the tiny remote and its, shall we say, minimalist selection of buttons.

Trish held the remote, pouting for a moment. The two of them sat in the apartment they shared, quite a messy den of horrors in its own right, both roommates ever ready to complain that the other ought to be cleaning up, while doing no cleaning themselves. This mutual unproductivity led the place to be caked in dust, ash from incense, pipes, and cigarettes scattered about. Clothes lie strewn on the floor for so long neither of them quite remembered what belonged to whom. A few beer cans littered the badly stained hardwood floors. Bags of trash hung out in the corner, as much residents of the apartment as Trish and Darren at this point. Don’t worry, the odor of weed and cigarettes drowned out the odor of trash.

“Oh, so now you’re still indecisive? Just give me the remote back, will ya?” Darren complained, eyes bloodshot, a stray piece of cinnamon toast crush clinging to his long, unkempt beard.

“Pffft, as if. Watch, I’ll find something good.”

“As long as it’s A.) super gory, and B.) has a bunch of cute broads with nice bazongas. I’m in.”

“First off: ew. Second: I’ll pick whatever I damn well please. So, you just sit back, take your eight millionth hit tonight from that nasty old bong, and let me work my magic.”

“If you say so. Better at least be gory or I’ll riot.”

“Sure as hell ain’t gonna be Blue’s Clues.”

“Shoot. Mikey and I used to watch that stoned back in Junior High. You wanna talk about horror.”

Trish audibly gasped. “How many damn streaming services are there?” She narrowed her eyes, reading aloud, “Spirit Hub, home of . . . holistic programing and . . . spiritual guidance?”

“Sounds like a cult thing.”

“Cults get their own streaming services?”

“If Apple gets one, why not?”

“Dang. Wait what’s this one?”

“Trish, it’s already past midnight. Pick a friggin’ movie.”

“Hey, hey, hey—I’m on a, uh, educational journey.”

“Oh, goodie. If you don’t pick something in ten minutes my boot is going on an educational journey up your ass.”

“OK, OK. Sheesh, can’t have any fun.” Trish quietly scrolled some more. “Night of the Hound Men 3: Back to the Pound.”

“That can’t possibly be real—right?”

“Oh wait, there’s a fourth one! Night of the Hound Men 4: Unleashed! ”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, it took them four movies to come up with that?”

“Wait, there’s a seven!? What happened to five and six?”

“Maybe no one’s got the rights. I dunno.”

“Night of the Hound Men 7: Space Hounds.”

“Wait, wait, wait, back up. Are they fighting hound-men from space, or do they go to space?”

“It says, ‘When an asteroid collides with Space Station Gamma 463, the . . . ” Trish sighed in preemptive defeat. “Crew of lonely, all female scientists must discover the secrets—’ ”

“Sold. Slap that shit on. Inject it right into my veins.”

“Yeah, but aren’t you afraid we’ll be lost? We missed like six movies. Not accounting for prequels.”

“How complicated could it be? You got dog people. You got space. You got hot science chicks. This is a Democracy, dammit!”

“There’s only two of us.”

“My vote counts for seventy percent of the electorate. Don’t hate the player, hate the game, Patti-cakes.”

“Drats. OK, but if it sucks mountains of ass, I’m gonna hide in the bathroom and doomscroll until my eyes fall out.”

“Fine.” He rubbed his hands together anticipatorily. Kind of like an enthusiastic fly cresting a mountain of dung. “Now come on, let’s see these lonely space science chicks kick some Hound-Man ass.”

Exactly seventy minutes later . . .

“What the hell was that?” Trish asked, of the very credits themselves.

Darren stared dumbfounded at the screen. “That was the worst movie I’ve ever seen. How was there only one set of tits in the whole thing? I feel robbed.”

“Me, too. She wasn’t even that hot.”

“Right? Like at least if it was the brunette with the glasses.”

“Dude, I’d bang her.”

“And what was up with that flashback with the rocket hitting Earth and all that stuff about the planet behind the sun? The weird exposition dump about genetic testing on poor people in the seventies?”

“I wasn’t expecting so much lore in Hound Men in Space, it was . . . needlessly complicated. Like way, way, WAY too complicated.”

“Did the blonde girl live at the end?”

“No. I think she, like, became a hound man, too. That’s why she took the serum. To stop the infection after the hound blood got in her wound.”

“Oh right. Wait, so are the hound men actually women?”

“My mind is actually blown. God that was horrible. Don’t ever pick a movie ever again. What did we even watch this garbage on?”

Darren backed out and scrolled up. “Uhhh, apparently a streaming service called Scream Corner.”

“That sounds made up.”

Darren scrolled back out. “OK, you know what? Screw it. I’m curious.”

“Curious about what? It’s almost two in the morning. I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Yeah, at what? Noon?”

“I still need my beauty rest.”

“If that’s what we’re calling it.”

“Ouch.” She lit another cigarette, rubbing one eye with the back of her wrist. “So, what’re you looking up now? We doing Blue’s Clues after all?”

“No, no. I just wanna see how far this goes.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I keep going in the recommended section of Scream Corner. Yo, look at this Z-tier garbage!”

Trish recited a few titles, “Mississippi Mall Massacre, Biscuit the Clown Kills Again, Rodeo Rampage, Massage Parlor of Horrors, The Bridesmaid Butcher!? We have reached the bedrock of trash. I think we can go no further.”

Darren cracked up laughing.

“What? What did you find?”

Darren pointed, wheezing from his laughing fit, unable to speak.

Trish started laughing, too. “Shut the front door—does that say Maggot Box? A streaming service called Maggot Box? I need this in my life. Download it. We’ll probably be, like, the fourth people in history to even find this, let alone download it.”

“What if it’s Malware or something? What if they hack our TV and play nothing but Hound Men marathons forever?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. What’s the description?”

The icon for the app was black, with a white-outlined box brimming over with maggots, two big eyes staring down at it. Darren’s joviality withstood for a moment, and then his mood slanted awfully. Disbelief, as tremors across his world. The description, quite humorlessly, read: ‘Watch Funny Videos about Useless People Dying.’ He reread it to himself a few times, certain he had to be wrong or maybe he overlooked something that might restore the air of a fun night getting high with his best friend. He turned to Trish, who was reading the same thing as him.

“The fuck?” Trish said. “Are we—do you think we’ll get in trouble if we download this?”

“Like, legal trouble?”

“Yeah, numb-nuts. Should we call the cops?”

Darren imitated a phonecall, his hand to his ear and mouth. “Uh, yes, officer, my friend and I are high as Space Station Gamma 463, and we discovered a TV app that does not pass the vibe check. Send your best FBI, stat.”

“Yeah, yeah—no, I feel you. I just think this sounds off.”

“Well, we wanted trash, right?”

“Darren . . . is this OK? I mean, like, we can watch something else.”

“But we’re gonna be curious about it forever now. I know I am.”

“Goddammit. Download it.”

Darren did, and it seemed like a very small app. 20mb, downloaded in a snap. The two of them made eye contact, nervously hovering over the icon before agreeing to press it. The screen went black for about five seconds. The ‘Maggot Box’ logo then appeared, but the eyes searched all about as the app loaded. It definitely felt off, not at all a professional piece of software. It had to load for around twenty seconds, which is an hour in modern app-time. A damning one-star review brewed in the minds of both roommates as they watched the eyes dart about.

The app at last blustered to life with a too-loud stock scream sound effect. A black background greeted them, displaying a single genre, one video in the category. “Family Fun,” Darren summarized the genre. “This thing broken? It won’t scroll down—wait, are you for real?”

“What?” Trish asked. “Is it stuck?”

“No. There’s only one video on the whole app.”

“Oh, so we’ve really found the crown jewel of streaming trash. Dude, let’s livestream it, we might go viral and make a fuck-ton of dough.”

“Nah, what if this is something messed up? It says ‘Family Fun’, what if it’s some Chris Hansen shit? I’m not going to jail over Maggot Box.”

“True. OK, what are we looking at?”

“The Miller Family Go Camping, is the name of the video.” He pointed to the screen, the preview picture for the video was a distorted family photo in very low, pixelated quality. “The description just says, ‘Watch the playful antics unfold’. Runtime is only thirty-six minutes.”

Trish rubbed her elbows through her battle jacket and its eclectic array of patches. “I don’t like this, Darren. What if this—you know? What if you’re right?”

“Should we watch it?”

“Well yeah. Duh. We’ve got to know. But if it gets messed up, we turn it off, call the cops.”

“OK.” Darren took a deep breath. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Three, two—” He pressed ‘OK’ on the remote.

The video started somewhat innocuously, a family setting up a series of tents out in the woods, laughing. They were talking about someone going off to college in the fall, complaining about mosquitoes, and the kids seemed altogether not fine with the bathroom situation. Darren and Trish hunkered together, a bit confused. The camera switched perspectives from across the table and chairs, to up in the trees from three separate angles. Nothing struck them as odd or necessitating concern, that was, until Trish had an intrusive thought:

“Wait, did they—hold up.”

“What’s wrong? Just looks like some family footage.”

“Yeah, OK, but do they know the cameras are there?”

Darren squinted, furrowing his brow. “Uhhh, I would think so . . . ? They set them up and filmed their vacation? Seems like a normal vlogging family.”

“Yeah, but are they talking to the cameras, looking at them at all?”

Darren tilted his head. “No way. I mean—maybe this is a student film? It’s probably just a movie, not actual footage.”

“They’ve been talking about smelly outhouses and how much they hate boloney sandwiches for like five minutes, I don’t think this is scripted.”

“You’re not wrong. It doesn’t sound like they’re acting.”

“Like either these four need to win some awards or they’re just living their lives.”

“Wait, something’s going on.” A fifth camera panned to a figure out in the woods, dressed in black pants and a dirty hoodie. His face was obscured by an oversized, realistic fly mask. The man stood there, not moving. Direction panned back to the family, unaware that this man loomed out in the woods, watching them.

“Dude, what the hell was that?” Trish said. “This isn’t—it can’t be. This isn’t actually real, right?”

Darren said nothing as he continued watching the family go about their vacation. A time lapse occurred, where the sun dimmed around them, they lit a big fire, and all ate around it, smiling and telling stories about family mishaps, and notable anecdotes during vacations with friends. Things were so normal, teetering on banal, yet the feeling worsened, hanging in the air, that this had to be real. That man in the fly-headed mask must still be there. And worst of all: none of the family members acknowledged the cameras whatsoever, not hinting for a second that they knew they were being recorded.

By about the twenty-five minute mark, the kids were tucked into their own tent, before the parents finished their wine, dousing the fire, retiring to their own tent. Another time lapse, and the night vision on the cameras switched on. Strangely, the audio cut out for the rest of the video, to Darren’ and Trish’s immediate and ongoing confusion. The fly-masked man stepped into frame, waving at the main camera, then each of the other three cameras in the trees, stepping into view of each, almost confident things would not be going wrong for him. This was no first attempt. This man had practice, Trish and Darren thought to themselves, quiet as can be, eyes locked to the TV. They expected the worst, the man to brandish a knife, or axe, or even a gun. Instead, both roommates tilted their heads in confusion as the fly-headed man lifted a duffel bag into place, taking out two leather gloves, like something you’d use to clean an industrial oven. After slipping them on, he lifted an object out of the bag. Neither Darren nor Trish could identify what it was, especially on the blurry cameras. Some sort of metal coil the size of a basketball.

“The hell is that?” Darren mumbled.

“A . . . musical instrument?” Trish guessed.

“How do ya figure?”

“Look. It’s a bunch of metal pipes like a—whatchamacallit? A French horn or a cornet. But in a big ball gone . . . wrong.”

“Wrong? I—let’s turn this off. I don’t like looking at it. Why though? It’s a ball of pipes.”

“I don’t like it either. I feel like, more than anything in this footage so far, we shouldn’t be seeing it. The ball-thing, I mean.”

“No, I get it. I don’t think I’m supposed to know about it. Does that make any sense?”

Trish nodded. “I agree. It’s all weird like looking at it is giving me cramps. Like I got punched in the throat and can’t talk. I don’t know. It’s giving me anxiety.”

Darren got in closer sitting right next to Trish. “I know what you mean. This’s gotta be fake, though. Right? Like, we aren’t about to see some messed up shit, are we?”

Trish shook her head. “I dunno—oh, and ew. You really stink.”

Darren lifted his arm and sniffed. “Sorry. Can’t smell squat since I got Covid.”

“Ughhh, that is not an excuse to stop showering.”

“Hey, I showered on Tuesday.”

“ . . . It’s Friday now.”

“Whoa, hey, something’s happening!” Darren (very helpfully) pointed to the screen they both watched as the fly-masked man cranked a tiny valve on the device, almost like the valve on a helium tank or an outdoor hose. The fly-masked man made a shushing gesture at the camera and snuck away. A minute passed and simultaneously, all four members of the family exited their tents, holding their ears. Evidently, they all heard some unspeakably loud din emanating from the coiled ball of pipes. An instrument indeed.

“What’s wrong with them? Look at their eyes, they look like they’re in pain,” Trish observed. “Wish the audio didn’t crap out.”

All four of them were wincing hard, and struggled more with each step toward the device, forcing every next step with such effort you’d expect them to be facing the winds of a hurricane. They all held their heads, and soon began screaming as they neared the device, mouths wide open.

“Are they shouting?” Darren asked.

“This is horrible. What are—OH GOD!”

Trish dropped the remote as the mother grabbed a rock and pulverized her son’s face with it. The father grabbed a large stick, and broke it across his wife’s back, who then spun around and pounded the rock straight into her husband’s jaw. The daughter lunged greedily at the device, trying to reach for the handle, only for both the mother and father, previously consumed by attacking one another, to turn in unison, tripping over themselves to stop their daughter, by beating her to a pulp. The parents seemingly interrupted their feud to ensure both children were dead, then the husband grabbed a broken half of the stick he had used and, before his wife could strike him again using the rock, plunged the stick into her abdomen. He threw her to the ground, stabbing her repeatedly with the broken stick, before grabbing the rock she still held loosely and smashing her face with it. Coated in blood, the husband ran up to the device and finally cranked it to the ‘off’ position. This caused him to snap out of some sort of trance and realize his misdeeds, falling to the ground, sobbing, reaching out for his deceased wife. Shortly thereafter, the video simply ended.

“What in God’s name did we just witness?” Trish asked, turning to Darren, who was shaking, silent, tears filling his eyes.

Second Video

A few days passed, all the while Trish and Darren barely exchanged so much as a text. Collectively, wordlessly, they wished to unsee what they witnessed that night. They couldn’t hope to articulate to the authorities or family or a therapist what they saw. A desperate part of their very animal minds fought to minimize it, say it had to be fake, only a stupid movie. Nothing more. And yet, unlike every one of the hundreds upon hundreds of trashy, gory horror films they’ve seen before, this stuck with them, bored its way into their skulls.

It had traumatized them.

Darren tightened the lug nuts on a red Ford Escape. He got up the rather filthy garage floor, wiping himself off, before grimacing at his blackened hands, realizing he had only made himself filthier. “Great,” he muttered to himself.

“Hey,” Trish said, ducking under the half-lowered garage door.

“Hey yourself, Patti-cakes,” Darren said, wiping his hands on a yellow rag that’s seen better days. “It’s kind of busy today, what’s up?”

“Could we talk?”

“What about? The Weather? Dispensaries charging too much? The Syrian Civil War?”

Trish wore a very somber expression. “You know.”

One of Darren’s coworkers nudged his arm, nodding over at Trish. “Yo, go hang out with your old lady. Jake and I’ve got this.”

“You sure?” Darren asked. “And we’re just friends.”

The mechanic shrugged, eyebrows jumping. “Whatever you say, bro.”

Darren left the shop in his jumpsuit, with an unzipped Friday the 13th hoodie. “Trish, look, I really don’t want—”

“There’s another video.”

“What—no. No-no-no, I thought we agreed not to look at that app anymore.”

“I deleted it, yeah. But this morning I, well, I redownloaded it.”

Darren’s eyes bulged out of his head, sighing with great heft. “Come on, dude. You can’t be serious. Why would you redownload it?”

“I don’t know! It’s all I’ve been thinking about since that night.”

“Me, too! All the more reason to stay the hell away!” he practically shouted.

The two of them headed down the street, away from the autobody shop, from the fringes of their small Connecticut town. It was late March, signs of life returned throughout their town, the weather warmed, the trees began to bloom, and yet the stillness of Winter had not truly gone away quite yet.

“Yeah, well, maybe we process shit a little differently. OK? I need to make sense of this or I’ll go out of my mind.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get angry. But you know this is an effed-up thing to spring on me, right?”

“I know. I . . . I’m sorry, too.” They both hugged. “I don’t want shit to be weird between us. I love watching crappy movies with you. But this stupid Maggot Box thing is, whatever the hell that movie was. I feel like I don’t even want to be anywhere near our place anymore.”

“Same. Is it OK to break a lease over a TV app?”

“I think my insurance says it’s a qualifying life event, so probably.”

They both chuckled. Trish let out a quiet sigh. “Can you please sit down with me and watch it? The second video, I mean.”

“Sure. Wouldn’t, uh . . . wouldn’t miss it for the world, Patti-cakes.”

* * *

“So, what’re we doing?” Darren rhetorically asked as they set down their things, entering the apartment.

“Hold on, I’ll show ya.” Trish sat on their worn-out, ash-caked sofa. She selected the Maggot Box app; they both silently watched the screen go black and the logo’s eyes dance from side to side as everything loaded.

“There’s another category.” Darren leaned in, intently studying what came up. “ ‘Pranksters Getting Pranked!’ it says. The old video is still there.”

Trish highlighted the first video on her way down to the second. Instead of ‘Watch Again’, the prompt read, ‘Relive the Fun! :)’. “Sicko,” Trish mumbled to herself.

“You think it’s real, don’t you?”

“You don’t? ”

Darren shook hid head. “I do, but . . . it’s more like I’m praying that it’s not real. Ya know?”

“Yeah.” Trish scrolled down to the second video, entitled, The Gift of Giving. The cover image showed the interior of an old house, where three very pixelated people were crowded around a big present on a table, complete with ribbon and bow. “The description says, ‘The Fun Never Ends When Pranksters Get a Taste of their Own Medicine!’ ”

“I really don’t like this, Trish.”

“Me neither. But it’s eating me up inside.”

“Just hit play.”

“This one’s an hour long.”

“Oh. Goodie.”

The video started with three college-age individuals, two men and one woman, they were all huddled together with a bunch of equipment in some kind of van. The woman was filming, occasionally spinning the camera to show her face.

“We are here in scenic—wherever we are, to investigate our craziest story yet!” the woman explained.

“We’re in Dallas,” a muscular guy wearing glasses answered, driving the van.

“ . . . Pennsylvania, not Texas. A little clarification might be appreciated,” the woman said, turning the camera to the third individual, a lanky guy with a Hawaiian shirt over a Modest Mouse T-shirt. “Any thoughts from our fearless leader?”

He barely reacted. “Don’t know how you guys can stay so chipper.”

“What’s not to love?” the guy driving said. “This could be huge! And, like, not to be a downer but this is just like all the other haunted houses we’ve snooped around. Edit this out, Tori, but like . . . you know. It’s all BS.”

Tori rolled her eyes safely behind the camera. “Ugh, come on. At least try to take this seriously. If you guys keep calling everything fake and not taking stuff seriously, I’m gonna have to lock all of our comment sections. Then everyone goes apeshit on Discord.”

“And that’s why you’re our social media manager.”

“And camerawoman. What do you do again?”

“Drive. Look handsome. Hold a mean boom mic.”

“Ugh.”

The lanky guy snickered.

“Hey, Mr. Dour finally cracked a smile. Feeling less crabby now, Koji?”

He let out a mildly irritated grunt. “No. There’s something off about this story. I don’t like it.”

The driver chuckled. “Dude’s all freaking out over a spooky email.”

“It wasn’t just an email, Rob. You know that.”

With her editorial mind aflutter, Tori leaned in, filming Koji up close from a low angle to make him look ‘all dignified and shit’ as she left in her own notes once. “So, why not fill our fans and fannettes in on the whole story.”

“The deep lore!” Rob chimed in, waving his hands.

“Watch the damn road, numb-nuts.”

“Aye-aye, cap’n.”

Koji faced the camera, swallowing anxiously before saying, “It started about a month ago. I got this weird email from a fan.”

“So, normal fan mail,” Tori jeered.

“Ha-ha,” Koji dryly stated. “Unfortunately, not the case. This individual bombarded our inbox with poorly written, seemingly desperate messages. He sounded schizophrenic or on drugs, to be honest. I tried to be polite, but he insisted how real this haunting was and how this house would singlehandedly reinvent our careers.”

“Uhhh, are we getting scammed?”

“No. I don’t think we are. He never asked for money or credit information, he said he would show us around and if we don’t trust him call the cops in advance or bring weapons. If he was planning to mug us, I don’t think he’d say we should bring the cops along. That being said, I opted not to alert the authorities.”

Rob laughed. “You’re more trusting than I am. I would’ve brought a gun.”

Koji scratched the side of his neck. “I brought pepper spray, brass knuckles, and a switch blade. Edit this out, though.”

“Say no more,” Tori answered.

“At any rate, we’re almost there. Should be a backwoods road on the outskirts of town, the mailbox ought to look like a barn.”

“I think I see it,” Rob said, slowing down, putting on his turn signal. “So, this guy said this place is the real deal, huh? Did he specify what the haunting was like? Who died there or what?”

“No. He said there’s a restless spirit who constantly harasses anybody who enters the property. He claims it’s an actual example of a poltergeist, not merely a haunting.”

“Bold claim from an overzealous fan. Think we should’ve vetted this a bit better?”

“No. I got a very strange sense of desperation from the emails. You might mistake it as insanity, but I took it more as genuine belief in the unexplainable.”

“Ooo,” Tori set the mood, “a chilling summary indeed! Will we finally come face to face with a real haunting? Or is this just another . . . Tale Beyond Belief! We’ll be back after this brief message from our sponsor—” The footage cut to all three of them fully equipped, outside a frankly dilapidated old house. The thing was covered in vines, its gutters were falling off one side of the property, the grass and bushes were unkempt, the paint peeled off and cracked all across the outer façade. Several windows were missing panes or had partially shattered ones. The front door hung on only one hinge. The place seemed abandoned for years.

“Not exactly a great place for a first date,” Rob quipped, though sadly no studio audience was around to laugh.

“Do you think this guy lives here?” Tori asked.

Koji placed his hands on his hips near the front door. “The guy never said he lived here, just that there’s a real poltergeist in this joint.”

“We ready?”

“I guess.”

“We’re rolling, in three, two, one, and—”

“I’m standing in front of the now infamous Bennett Residence of Dallas, Pennsylvania. Many stories online from curious explorers and thrill seekers alike paint a vivid, yet cohesive picture of the terror looming behind these very walls. In 1996, the father, a well-paid steel worker, was laid off after a deal fell through and allegedly took the lives of his wife and three kids, before taking his own.”

Darren glanced over at Trish. “I think I heard about this, dude claimed to be possessed.”

“You learn a lot watching true crime docs stoned as a henge until 3am, huh?”

��Damn right.” He smiled, though with obvious nerves. Trish’s eyes never even left the screen. They both expected bad news any second now.

“Realtors were unsuccessful in finding stable new buyers, especially after tragedy befell yet another young couple just two months after moving in. One, Alexandria Preston, suffered severe injuries during an altercation with her then fiancé, Samuel Gardner. Mr. Gardner was discovered with both eyes gouged out, his lower lip, nose, and right ear bitten off. He had several stab wounds to his chest, arms, and abdomen evidently inflicted by a broken shard of a plate Ms. Preston was using to eat lunch shortly before reporting a loss of consciousness, which she awoke from only after murdering her fiancé.”

“So . . . possessed,” Trish said. “Like the family in the woods. But if this actually happened, then isn’t all of this real?”

Darren had no quick explanation in his back pocket. He watched the episode, paused by Trish, eyes locked on the frozen image of Koji recounting the murder. “I don’t know,” was all he said.

“And do you think the Bennett family still lurks here?” Tori asked, as Trish hit ‘play’.

“Well, we’ll have to be the judge of that, now won’t we?” Koji led Tori in as she filmed, Robert holding up the rear with his boom mic hanging over Tori’s shoulder. As soon as the trio entered the old house, pushing aside its front door hanging off a single hinge, the direction switched from their camera, to several cameras hidden inside the house itself, with no audio.

“What the?” Darren remarked, watching as Koji stood in the dark foyer, clearly talking to his crew, but with zero sound.

“I don’t like this,” Trish said, continuing to watch against every crumb of good judgment still within her.

As the trio ventured into the house, direction switched jarringly to new cameras, tucked away in some corner of every room, switching as soon as the three people filming their documentary left the frame, reminding Darren and Trish of old Survival Horror games like Fatal Frame and Resident Evil. Audio completely ceased as they entered the residence. The crew seemed unaware of the new cameras watching them as they held up EMF devices and set up various traps that would go off if temperatures abruptly shifted five degrees one way or another, they stopped dead in their tracks. The kitchen, gloomy and disheveled, cabinets all torn up, roaches skittering about, had a round bar table situated at the center of it, with a large gift, adorned by a ribbon and bow.

The trio seemed sincerely offput, holding up their devices to it, calling out in mute voices to anyone who might’ve put it there, since it quite obviously appeared newer than anything else in the house. Direction abruptly switched to the fly-masked man coming out from behind a false wall in the living room. In his gloved right hand, he held the very same coiled instrument from the first video. He looked up at his own camera and made a ‘shushing’ gesture, before setting the instrument on the coffee table.

Direction switched back to Koji and his crew. They unwrapped the ‘gift’, revealing a box with writing on it missing out of the frame, though it seemed to puzzle Koji and his crew. Back in the other room, the fly-masked man twisted the small valve handle on the jumbled, bizarre instrument. It did not show how the crew reacted in the other room, instead the camera remained on the living room, where Koji and his crew soon emerged, holding their ears, having dropped their equipment. All three of them fought with great intensity to reach the instrument, mouths wide open as they got close, apparently screaming.

Just as before, when the three of them got near enough to touch the instrument, they turned on one another. Tori grabbed a bronze statue situated on an end table by the sofa, using it to bash Rob in the back of the head as Koji hugged the device, not twisting its crank, only darting his head back and forth, paranoid. He locked eyes on Tori, after she finished bludgeoning Rob over a dozen times, completely caving in the man’s head. Covered in blood, Tori’s mouth opened wide, suggesting she screamed at Koji, who took a switch blade out of his back pocket, holding it out, plunging it into Tori’s abdomen as she charged him. She socked Koji in the face with the bronze sculpture, getting stabbed twice more on the ground as she served Koji the exact same grizzly fate she sundered upon Rob. Tori got up, bleeding profusely, staggering to the instrument, at last able to crank its valve. Darren and Trish observed correctly that nobody was capable of actually shutting it off until perceived ‘threats’, or anybody else affected by the instrument, were dealt with.

Tori sobbed uncontrollably as the trance lifted. She held out her hand, covered in blood, glancing all about, muttering to herself about what to do. The video cut as the fly-masked man walked into the frame. Nothing. Just a white message on a black screen, asking Darren and Trish, ‘Relive the Fun! :)’. Both sat still for a solid minute, contemplating how to process what they saw. Even such a thing was even possible.

“It’s real, isn’t it?” Trish concluded.

Darren nodded. “No doubt. I can feel it, like, I dunno . . . first time I saw a beheading on some shady website in my teens. Like my brain knows the difference.”

“But what is that thing he has? The fly-headed guy?”

“I . . . some kind of, sonic weapon? Maybe he bought it on the black market—is that a thing?”

“I think?”

“It definitely emits some kind of noise that drives people crazy until it’s shut off. That much is obvious.”

“What if it’s magic? Like a cursed object or something.”

“You believe in stuff like that?”

“No. But I think I’m about to.”

“Whether it’s cursed or just some weird experimental technology, we can’t just sit back and let this guy keep doing this.”

“You think we should call the cops?”

Darren folded his arms in discomfort. “Nah. I don’t see that call going very far.”

“What if we just tell them we saw a video about people attacking each other in Dallas Pennsylvania. Anonymously.”

“Or we take matters into our own hands.”

“I don’t think I like where this is headed.”

“Why not? We know where this guy is, or at least was.”

“Yeah, but that ghost hunting show posted where they were headed, right? Won’t a search party be looking for them?”

“And do you want the search party to find that instrument before us? Crank it on in some forensics department of a police station with dozens of people with guns inside?”

“Oh my God. What if that’s what the next video is supposed to be! Holy shit, we might’ve figured it out. We might actually be ahead of this guy.”

“We need to find the house, grab that instrument or weapon or cursed whatever, and run.”

“We also know something the cops don’t.”

Darren snapped his fingers, pointing at Trish. “You’re right! . . . What?”

“Idiot. The sound. We need to buy some, like, noise canceling headphones. Like the ones they use in helicopters or something. It’s gotta be military grade.”

“Will that be enough to protect us?”

“On such short notice we have no choice. We’ve got to be there to intercept this thing before anybody else finds it.”

“Well, I’ve got a few pairs I use at the shooting range. Can’t believe I’m actually going along with this. What if . . . what if we don’t make it?”

Trish stood up, scratching the side of one elbow through her battle jacket. “I think we’ve got to try. Imagine if we’re right, and we don’t do anything, and loads of people wind up hurt. No. We don’t have a choice. We’ve got to find this guy, take whatever that thing is, and kick the living shit out of him.”

“Count me in.”

Final Video

“Look, right there, a mailbox that’s a little barn, it’s got to be it!” Trish said, pointing somewhat obnoxiously in front of Darren’s face as he drove.

Darren slowed, putting on his blinker, exceedingly nervous. “My heart’s jumping up my throat.”

“Mine, too. But, like, if we don’t try . . . ?”

“I know. I’m terrified. I haven’t felt like this since I was a kid.”

Trish handed Darren his noise-cancelling headphones. “We straight up have no idea what range that thing has. He sets it pretty close, though. Right? Like, a room away, at most. Same with the first video. He put it right in the middle of the camp.”

“Maybe without walls it doesn’t travel far? No echo?”

“Yeah, I don’t think it goes very far, but why be wrong?” Trish put on her headphones. “Say something,” she told him, a bit loudly.

“Something.”

“I still understood that.”

“Your mom is way hotter than you.”

“What?”

“Perfect, looks like it works.” Darren put his on.

“You sure you’re OK driving the rest of the way like this?”

Darren pointed to the headphones, shrugging. He only heard low muffled noise. Nothing distinct. “Nada.”

Trish put up an OK sign, as Darren continued driving, turning onto the very road the crew in the second video went down. Their fears materialized rather quickly, as they soon encountered Koji’s van, still sitting behind the house. Nothing was out of place. The front door hung off one hinge; it felt like stepping directly into a frame of the video.

Once they parked, Trish and Darren grabbed weapons from the backseat: an aluminum baseball bat for Darren, and a container of pepper spray with a chef’s knife in the other hand for Trish. Darren inched toward the residence, gesturing that he didn’t hear anything. However, as soon as the two of them entered, Trish recoiled. Darren stopped as well, gesturing what was the matter.

Trish held her nose shut, waving in front of her face.

Darren furrowed his eyebrows, then remembered the issue. ‘Covid’, he mouthed, gesturing that he can’t smell.

Trish’s eyes seemed to indicate that he was lucky, as the residence reeked of decaying remains. They passed through the kitchen, and spotted the gift left for the crew in video two: a large canvas with red, painted letters saying, ‘You're already dead’. This of course led them to seek out the living room itself, where Rob’ and Koji’s bodies were left covered in flies and maggots, skin discolored, bloated, rot setting in. To both of their surprise, Tori was there as well, decapitated, not far from her friends. Both Darren and Trish had never witnessed bodies like this, they both felt sick even looking at them, keeping their distance as they craned their heads about, searching for the instrument or the fly-masked man.

The duo headed toward the secret room they saw the man emerge from in video two, pushing on a wall behind a mahogany bureau. Inside, nothing but dark loomed ahead, reminding them both of the movie, Barbarian. Darren lifted an LED flashlight from his pocket and twisted his hand to show a corridor bearing right after a short hallway, hidden in the walls. They both felt it had to be him, no way he wasn’t still here, somewhere, as if this had to be his lair.

Darren closed in on the new corridor, peeking around the corner with his flashlight before giving Trish the all-clear signal. Heading deeper in, the odor of mildew overtook the rotting bodies for Trish, who tried valiantly to cover her face, largely to no avail. Darren pressed on unfazed, scanning all about, coming upon a small inlet. They reached an old study caked in dust, furniture turning gray from the grime caked to every inch of it. Books sat on the shelves resembling old tomes you might see in High Fantasy stories, rather absurd-seeming things, with titles ranging from Alchemy, to Phrenology, and Miasma Theory. As well as more than a few on the occult, a tiny library of garish antiquities.

Trish ran ahead, suddenly far too alert, looking all around, sniffing. Darren stopped in his tracks, seeing this. Trish’s face contorted into confused agony as she sniffed the room, her body shaking, breaths growing labored.

‘What is it?’ Darren tried to mouth, reaching for Trish. The second his hand met her arm, she brandished the knife with a maddened expression, which immediately deteriorated into a bizarre wince. She held her ears, running away, back the way they came, screaming bloody murder. Darren was left dumbfounded, calling out to her despite knowing they wore noise-cancelling headphones. Terrified, he lifted his flashlight, returning the way he came. His mind attempted to downplay what he saw, soothsaying a tomorrow where they both prevailed, despite knowing how it looked.

Back where they came from, in the light of the doorway leading into the corridor, Trish hugged the instrument, caressing it in an almost motherly way, eyes drifting back toward Darren, becoming cross, almost territorial. Darren advanced, but Trish only tightened her grasp of the instrument, not even trying to communicate, her heart pounding, hammering against her ribs to the point of cracking as she watched Darren approach. Her only meaning in life now was to protect the instrument. She held up her weapons as Darren urged her to back down. Trish only smiled, holding up the knife, chuckling dementedly before running at him with a full sprint.

Adrenaline seized Darren’s body, puppeteering him, without so much as a second thought, he wound up, and swung at Trish. The hollow ‘ding’ the aluminum bat made against her skull echoed across the corridor. She was out cold, either that or dead on the spot. Darren knelt, trembling, parting her hair, leaning in to hear a pulse. He placed his fingers to her neck, only for a shadow to stretch across the two of them.

It was him, in the fly mask. He picked up the instrument, glaring at it, then Darren. “Huh,” the man remarked, in an almost humored way. He cranked the instrument off, before reaching into a satchel at his side.

“Stay the hell away from us!”

“No idea I actually had a fan.” The man pulled out a syringe, testing it by pressing the plunger, flicking the needle with his other hand. “And mom and dad said I’d never amount to anything.”

“Don’t you get anywhere near me or I swear to God I’ll paint this damn hallway with your brains.”

“Well, that’s awfully gruesome,” the man murmured in a low voice, approaching Darren, who wound up yet again, only for the fly-masked man to grab the bat, pull Darren in, and stick him with the syringe in one quick motion.

Darren collapsed almost instantly.

* * *

“Huh . . . ?” Darren mumbled, his mouth extremely dry and cottony. He sat up, now in some kind of dank old basement. “Still here,” he rationalized. He observed his surroundings and saw Trish on the bed behind him, breathing softly, a respirator around her face.

Darren got up, noticing a few items of interest. On a table in front of them, very much like the one the fly-masked man set the ‘gift’ on upstairs, in video two, lay a note. There was also a television sitting on the floor, plugged into the wall. Strangely, he heard a few cars honking upstairs, like some sort of commotion. He went for the note and read it,

Hello, to my Biggest Fan!

My name is Lucas Reed. I’m thirty-eight, and I’ve spent a lot of my life traveling and reading. But I never really cared about people, if that makes sense. I don’t know if something’s missing in me or I just came out of the womb defective; I’ve always been like this. I doubt you can relate. I don’t know why you’re immune to this infernal contraption I’ve stumbled upon. I think it found me, though I don’t have the intelligence or spiritual depth to begin to comprehend the mechanisms it used to find its way to me. Only that I’m chosen. So, remember to tell your friend to keep that mask on, I’m not sure what happens if the valve stays open for more than a couple minutes. I have no reason to believe that the miasma will stop spreading. If I can ask one more favor, since you are my biggest fan, would you mind watching my next video? I had hoped to keep going for some time. I didn’t expect to be found or even for my app to be taken seriously for years. So, I guess I’m skipping right to my grand finale.

Yours Truly,

Lucas Reed

Darren put down the paper, staggering toward the TV, turning it on. The only app was Maggot Box. The familiar sight of the disembodied eyes glancing back and forth as the app loaded greeted Darren, who stared vacantly at the TV, wondering if he’d be better off trying to escape, figure out what’s going on upstairs, why there was suddenly so much commotion. Sure enough, there was now a third category entitled, ‘Hilarious Resolutions!’ There was one video.

“ ‘Goodbye,’ ” Darren read the title aloud, selecting the video, which had a cover image of the instrument being photographed from a high angle, sitting on an unassuming street. However, there were a few shadows of people walking right by whatever was about to happen. Darren clicked on the video, which started on the very same image of the instrument set on the ground. Just filming, as countless shadows of people walked by. Talking, cars honking, laughter, so much going on. A baby getting pushed in a stroller, only a foot or so away from the instrument. The camera panned up, revealing . . . .

Darren shot out of the room, panting, sweating, totally flushed and disoriented from dehydration. He careened straight into a wall as he climbed the wooden stairs up to the first floor. The windows were nailed shut by boards; thin cracks of light entered through the filthy glass of the windows. The whole apartment was in shambles, old furniture and boxes. There were two bodies rolled up in carpets in the corner, covered by several quilts, left to rot for what must have been years. Darren continued through the apartment, desperately seeking an exit, racing through a murky kitchen besotted by grime and rust. He pushed his way into the foyer, and its many pieces of furniture wrapping in dusty plastic. Darren’s vision became a tunnel as he reaching the front door, hands so clammy from sweat, nerves, and tremors coursing through him, he fumbled to even grab the knob five times before finally twisting, letting in an unfittingly holy amount of light, cast upon the dingy residence.

He stepped out of a boarded-up row home in the heart of Manhattan. Koji’s van was parked illegally, the backdoor wide open, only a couple feet from the front entrance of the apartment, sloppily angled. They must’ve been dragged out in the middle of the night, Darren surmised, continuing to the end of the block, limping, bloodied. He reached a sign that said Fifth Avenue. He gathered his wits, trying to run toward Times Square, as people largely ignored him, thinking he must have been homeless or some thief fleeing a Duane Reade or something.

Not stopping for a second, his side aching, his body ready to give out, every bone and muscle screaming for him to stop, he saw the man in the fly mask, standing in front of the red steps, where several people took photos of filmed themselves. Amid the clamor and bustle of the notoriously busy crossing, people were dressed as everything from Spiderman to Elmo. A man in a fly mask was hardly the oddest thing there, hell, he almost blended right in. As Darren reached Times Square, wheezing, holding out his hand, trying to scream for everyone to get to safety, only a labored, hoarse breath escaped his lips. And in that moment, despite being surrounded by thousands of people, it was only the two of them, facing each other. Knowing. The fly-masked man looked directly at Darren, who tried his hardest to warn them. Maybe, deep down, he actually wanted Darren to succeed. But the would-be hero only held his side, struggling to get a word out that could break through the commotion. Nothing. The fly-masked man saw this, and realized he wouldn’t be stopped, gunned down in a blaze of glory. Caught, as he envisioned ever since he discovered that most heinous of contraptions. Against all odds, he won.

Lucas Reed twisted open the valve.

#writing #horror literature #short story #creative writing #writers on tumblr #female writers #lgbt writers #horror short story #literature #writerscommunity

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krcdgamedev · 1 year ago

Text

idle musings on Pokemon game mechanics

Gen 6 introduces a fun minigame to EV train your Pokemon. It was easier, and easier to control, than grinding on wild Pokemon or trainers, but you still had to work for it, in a fun way. Gee, I sure hope later games do the same for IVs and natures and don't just give you an item you can use and call it a day!

Oh…

Well, let's fix that.

For IVs, I could easily see an extension of the super training system. Like, add to the hidden super-duper training courses you unlock with a max-EV Pokemon, courses where you battle to raise your IV by some amount. I could also see a system where you gain EVs then "commit" them into your IVs- like, if you want to raise your defense IV, you train a certain amount of defense EVs then go to the super special training and those EVs get converted to a commensurate amount of IV points. I could see a system of diminishing returns- say 100 EVs gets you an increase of 5 to your IV but for an increase of 10 all at once you need like 250. Or some entirely different numbers than that.

For natures, though, given the, ah, nature of them, I could see something a bit different. Natures are based in the intersection of raising or lowering one of the five non-HP stats. Hey, what other system in Pokemon has five variations and also literally already interacts with natures anyway?

Berries!! Or specifically their flavors. What's more is there's already a system of flavors cancelling each other out:

So if you want an attack-reducing nature for example, you'd use a dry flavor, which cancels out spicy, the flavor associated with attack-boosting natures. The flavor mechanic has kind of fallen by the wayside in favor of color groups (which is easier to keep track of at a glance I guess) or nothing at all, but that's fine. The berries could easily be reclassed into five color groups that largely just follow the flavor groupings, or something.

The games themselves use "mints" to change natures, which is incredibly underwhelming, like a damn breath mint can change a mon's entire outlook on life. But with the flavor system in mind it's a great place to start. My idea is, you use berries to make special cakes or other similar snacks. This makes the player put a bit more work into it with collecting berries and even the most basic mixing/baking minigame, still allows them to reasonably be sold at some late/endgame facility (a really high-end bakery for sure) (or you could have a baker character who takes berries in exchange for the cakes in later games where the minigame isn't implemented because the focus is just elsewhere), and increases the variety and character that can be expressed in the item designs. For example the bitter-flavored snack could be a cuppa coffee; the bitter snack with secondary flavor sweet (weakens dry, so increases sp def decreases def… kind of one of the more useless natures isn't it) would be a heavily sweetened coffee with a big ol blob of whipped cream on it and a lil cherry. Beautiful! Though I imagine a cup of coffee with like a hot pepper floating in it would be a little weird.

This could be expanded beyond the nature-changing system as well, like basic forms of the cakes just increase friendship or even give EVs. But take two berries and some sort of special ingredient, and you'll elevate your snack to one so powerful you mon will straight up change their nature to one that likes it.

Regarding the ingredients, Pokemon already has a few groups of berries that were only used for Pokeblocks in certain gens and are useless otherwise. Like here's one right here:

(Yeah some of these have uses in Go but ignore that)

But we encounter a problem searching for a second set:

In one set the first berry already has a use, and the second set is very rare and long-growing. Which might suit the requirement of needing an extra-special ingredient for the nature snacks, but I dunno about it… This is a very easy problem to solve however. Just introduce a new berry… and use it as the "mascot" of the nature baking system! That is, when the player is introduced to the mechanic, the new berry is the one used to show it off. If the new berry and Cornn set is the "primary" set, this woild give the player an attack-boosting nature snack, which wouldn't be too bad as a generic tutorial nature for a player who didn't quite understand things, always helpful to hit things harder. Or perhaps you could be tasked with making the cake for an NPC.

Monstars will probably have some kind of nature-like system, but I have no idea if this would be implemented in any form, and of course the idea of working with pre-existing items is entirely irrelevant. So this was an entirely pointless exercise. But I had fun. Isn't that what games are all about?

#game dev ramblings

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angrythingstarlight · 3 years ago

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Peach gets so clingy sometimes, and Bucky LOVES it

You can’t tell me he doesn’t get giddy when she slips into his basketball shorts and squeezes the bejesus out of him 😅

Pairing: Chubby!Baker Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, implied smut.

A/N: Written on my phone.

He blushes every single time you hug him. The deep red flush spreads down his neck to his upper chest and he mumbles a sweet, raspy and endearingly bashful Peach when you wrap your arms around him and squeeze as tight as you can.

You can feel the rapid beat of his heart under your hand, your fingers skating across his soft belly. He melts into your touch faster than a hot knife through butter. His head dipping back like you just took the weight of the world off of him and now he can relax.

The kitchen is brimming with the scents of chocolate and spiced orange, but all you can smell is him—inhaling his cologne, all fresh rain and cedar while you press your cheek into his warm, broad back. The corded muscles shifting whenever he reaches for something.

For a long while, the two of you stay like that, leaning on each other, the silence broken when you ask him about his day.

There’s a happy, almost giddy quality to his husky voice, his thoughtfully spoken words washing over you. Sharing bits of his morning at the bakery while he stirs the decadent concoction in the pan.

Most of it makes you laugh, which makes him laugh.

Steve dropped an entire sheet cake when Honey came in for another cupcake. He glared at her like it was her fault but get this she glared back at him; she snatched the last cupcake off this display and stormed out. Neither said a single word. Yes, I got it all on video, no Steve doesn’t know. Oh, I found my favorite mixing bowl wedged between the stoves, no idea how that happened, Peach. It was so busy today; we sold out of the new macaroons. Found out me and Steve have both been secretly feeding the stray cat that living in the alley by the back door. Can you believe I caught her begging Steve for more food even though I just gave her a whole can of tuna.

He clears his throat, grabbing your hand in his larger one, he chains kisses across your knuckles. “I named another dessert after you, think I’m going to have make a display just for your stuff, Peach.” A wistful tone winds around his cadence, stranding through each word. “Ya know how much I miss you during the day? Everything reminds me of you. Steve says I’m not allowed to say the word Peach for the next month.” He finishes with a short laugh. “He even banned them from the kitchen, can you believe that?”

“Thats not fair.” You place a kiss on his back, he shivers and you do it again. Oh, the way he loves you is intoxicating and you can’t help but love him back. “Since you’re not allowed to have any peaches, guess I’ll have to show up every day and let you have a taste of mine until he changes his mind,” you declare, lightly raking your nails across his belly.

“Y-yes please,” he utters, glancing down at your hands drifting lower and lower. His breathing increases, becomes harsher.

“Can’t believe he was so mean to you.” You toy with the band of his shorts.

“So mean,” he repeats, swallowing thickly before turning the stove off with a shaky hand. All his thoughts centering on you.

“You want me to make you feel better?”

Bucky gazes at you over his shoulder. “You alway do, Peach, dont know how you do it but you do.” He says with a bright smile that quickly fades into a mischievous smirk. “But you know I could always use a little extra lovin’ from my favorite girl.”

“I’m your only girl,” you tease, sliding your hand into his shorts.

“Damn right you are.”

#sweet asks #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #chubby!bucky x reader #chubby!bucky #baker!bucky x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastion stan x reader #sebastian stan x black reader #sebastian stan x reader

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rigginsstreet · 2 years ago

Note

Steve Harrington is a pretty good choice in partner, but Billy is of the solid opinion that everything can be improved. And what won't be improved willingly can always be roped and dragged there kicking and screaming.

First and foremost; that godforsaken bedroom his boyfriend expects him to sleep in. Billy actually physically recoils the first time Harrington opens the door, and decides immediately if you ever want to break a man, just lock him in here.

Looking at his dad's bare asshole would invoke less of a vomit reflex than tartan on tartan. Also, whoever actually created and sold tartan wallpaper needs to be killed for the immediate greater good of humanity.

Still. The wallpaper is a longcon kinda game, so Billy turns his attention to something that can be fixed with relative swiftness.

The fire is roaring and crackling when Steve comes home from work, and his boyfriend scrunches his nose at it with a pleased, surprised smile. "Howdy, Pyro," he greets, leans over Billy's shoulder to warm his hands. Billy offers him the pack of marshmallows and, subtly, uses his heel to kick the pair of scissors further under the deck chair.

"Is that fabric?" Steve asks on his third marshmallow, leaning so close to the flames Billy has to pull him back lest he lose a brow.

"Eh, scraps I found in the garage."

Two weeks later, Steve has been rib-deep in his closet for a good half an hour before he calls out; "hey, Cake? Do you know where my green sweater is?"

Billy can't help smiling a slow, smug, sly little thing as he dries off the last dish. "Sorry, Hidalgo. No idea."

The next time, Steve brought it on himself. The faux-fur monstrosity he wears out to the movies looks like he cut up a rug made out of unfortunate roadkill and shaped it like a jacket, and honestly, Billy's just doing the Lord's work when he trips and spills a blue slushie all over it. It'll never wash out, and Harrington wisely decides the thing has lived a full life and deserves to visit the landfill of eternal rest.

The day after, Billy buys a cream colored suede jacket with sheepskin on the collar and cuffs. Presents it to Steve, pouty and apologetic, and Steve wears it for a week straight when they go out. It makes his eyes look deeper, darker. Makes the pink on his cheeks stand out a little.

Two months into dating proper, Steve wears an honest to god vest that Nancy got him for his birthday to Jonathan's college leaving party, and Billy has to do breathing exercises before getting in the car.

"You love him," he mutters, clenching and unclenching his fists. "You love him. His dick is fucking huge. You love him. He eats your ass like he's starving. You love him...."

The vest, ultimately, accidentally gets washed with a pair of jeans Billy doesn't really care about anyway, which happen to have a forgotten switchblade in the pocket, and Billy has to visibly school his expression when Steve pulls it out of the machine a half-hour later in eight different pieces.

They're three months, two jackets, three sweats, one vest and a pair of honest to god flared khakis ("they're novelty, Billy!") later, and they're laying together in their newly papered bedroom when Steve rolls over him, tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear and says;

"The guilt is eating me alive, so. How about next time you hate something I wear, you just tell me, and we can donate it to charity so you can get me something else, my conscience stays clear, and we're both happy, mm?"

Billy grins. "And inflict those crimes against humanity on other people? Damn, Long Johnson. Knew you were a secret sadist. That's kinda hot," he bites his lip and Steve laughs, squirms up close, fingers digging into Billy's hips, words hot on his ear.

"Oh, Barbie. If you wanna see sadism, I'll show you my christmas sweater collection."

I AM SCREAMING AT THESE NICKNAMES!!!!

billy is gonna queer eye steve so hard when they start dating ... he loves the rich preppy boy money he does NOT love the yuppie fashion he has to draw a line somewhere

#billys mantra every time steve does/wears something he hates being reminders that hes got a big dick and eats him out so good... real #harringrove #briana answers things

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whoslaurapalmer · 2 years ago

Text

@littlestsnicket tagged me in the get to know you better tag and I love a good tag situation

three ships: I too must go for lemonberry ice and doctor/master. they both live rent-free in my brain at all times. but the third one……..kakashi/obito/rin. naruto always lives rent-free in my brain as well and those three for sure. let kakashi be happy goddammit

last song: all I want by kodaline! I’ve been looking for songs for a Specific Character I Cannot Reveal For Fic and that song does not fit on her playlist at all (very few songs do…….) but I was thinking about it so I went to listen to it.

last movie: oh my god, I rewatched camp rock last night. I’ve been digging through a lot on disney+ lately. it was, fine? always fun to see super young jonas brothers, at least. and I think the songs were pretty good. I remember really disliking the sequel so I will probably not rewatch that.

currently reading: rereading t*witches; literally JUST finished the fifth book, don’t think twice. I don’t necessarily recommend them but it’s nice to relive the childhood nostalgia. as I’ve mentioned the dialogue is almost DISTRESSINGLY so 2001 it’s alternately painful and hilarious, and it gets me every time. my favorite book when I was a kid was the ninth one, split decision, like my copy of it got really beat up bc I reread it so much, and I’m really excited to get to that one.

I’m also like a chapter and a half into the first lord of the rings book and really looking forward to reading more and I BOUGHT THEM but sometimes like, reading a physical book is not enough to fully distract my brain from the 28 Long Years Of Rampantly Unmanaged Anxiety I’ve been dealing with, but reading on my phone or my laptop has been usually fine??? but I’ve been reading t*witches on the internet archive and lotr is also there so when I finish barreling through t*witches, I can read lotr there if I want!!

I also usually have a ramona ebook on my phone right now for when I just need something Without Any Stakes At All, Whatsoever, and the one I have right now is ramona the brave. it was my FAVORITE when I was a kid and my first grade teacher read the books out loud bc it has the story where ramona shouts GUTS! when she wants to say a bad word. THAT was intense, to a six year old. as an adult I think my fav is ramona and her father, bc it’s very sweet.

currently watching: AS WE SPEAK I am binge-watching lizzie mcguire. well, binge-watching-in-the-background. (I’ve also been working my way through my childhood disney sitcoms.) BUT ALSO I keep up with abbott elementary and animal control and I’m hoping animal control gets better? it’s okay, it’s decently funny, but I’m still not sold on it yet. abbott elementary is gold, though. (not a current watch BUT spring baking championship starts on the food network next week!!! I love the themed baking championships. also kids baking just ended on monday and every single season I cry over all the sweet tiny kids doing their baking they are so damn adorable) oh my mom and I have stalled in our murder she wrote watch with a season and a half left bc the quality has kinda, dipped. I think the first seven seasons are the most entertaining.

currently consuming: water! I never drink enough of it. it is, a struggle. I am drinking more than I was, for sure, but it is, still not really like a GREAT amount. I am……...working very hard at it………...and it’s very frustrating.

currently craving: something I can really take a bite out of. a big cinnamon bun…...a hefty piece of cake…...not necessarily craving this but some day soon I am going to get delivery from red robin and get the MADLOVE BURGER. by god, that burger.

additionally, if it's gonna rain I think it should thunderstorm. we've had a lot of rain lately but like NO thunder and you can't really hear the rain at all and it would just be nice to have a good decent NON THREATENING thunderstorm. and for a while, too!!!! the last one we got was a hot ten minutes. I want some substance.

#IF I'VE EVER //NOT// DONE A TAG THING IT'S VERY MUCH BC I'VE FORGOTTEN AND MY DEEPEST APOLOGIES #also I'm so delighted to know people are watching seinfeld it's been a favorite since i was. the tender age of. 10

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fanmoose12 · 4 years ago

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a little something that may or may not become a multi-chaptered fic <3

There was nothing quite as dreadful as attempting a daring escape during a downpour.

The heavy rain did not only obscure his vision and render his hearing ineffective, it also made every possible surface wet and slippery.

But Levi didn’t allow these obstacles to stop him. He continued to run, in spite of it all.

His pursuer followed, hot on his heels.

The fucker was built like a fucking brick house, and, upon first seeing him, Levi thought that escaping from him would be an easy piece of cake. There was no way a guy like that would be able to outrun him. Right?

Wrong.

The giant was relentless, not giving Levi even a second to breathe.

Levi thought he’d shake him off at the very beginning, right after he jumped out of the bed, ran to the window and climbed on the rooftop. He thought that he’d lose the fucker after he leapt over the fence and to the next rooftop. He thought that the mountain of muscles wouldn’t be able to perform that jump.

And yet, he did.

He jumped, he landed and continued running after Levi, silent and unyielding like a fucking Terminator.

After crossing a few rooftops, Levi took the fire escape ladder, tumbling to the ground. He turned the corner, climbed a metal fence, took another sharp turn. The Terminator followed.

He didn’t even stop to think, to bewilder at Levi’s sudden change of course.

But what worried Levi even more was his silence. His pursuer didn’t make demands, didn’t ask him to stop, surrender and all that usual shit.

So… he wasn’t from police, which was already obvious, the guy was too good to be a cop. He wasn’t his past client or the enemy of his past client either. He didn’t need the information, otherwise he’d simply ransack his place and steal his laptop.

No, he needed Levi – alive or dead, the jury was still out on that one.

A curse left him through his gritted teeth. Fucking hell, how could he get himself into this shit? He was so damn careful, as always, so how—

Kirstein, Levi realized. Fucking Kirstein, his contractor, had sold him out. Even if he didn’t sell Levi out, he’d definitely done something to compromise his current safe house.

And now… fuck, now Levi was in deep shit.

He chanced a glance back, hoping to see that the alley behind was empty. Of course, it fucking wasn’t.

The Terminator was already there, his form seeming even more enormous because of his black hood.

Levi didn’t have a hood, Levi didn’t even a have a jacket, the only thing he was wearing was a thin t-shirt and sweatpants he had fallen asleep in the night prior. He was lucky that he managed to put his sneakers in time.

Although… it would have been nice to have a hood. It’d keep his hair from getting wet and falling into his eyes.

A knife would have come in handy as well. Levi could have engaged in a fight then. He could still engage in a fight, perhaps, he would even win… but one punch from that mountain of a man would probably knock him out.

There! Levi’s eyes widened, as he spotted tonight’s first struck of luck. There was a building on the other side of the street, and from looks of it, it was abandoned. There was a shuttered window right in front of Levi, a window he’d be able to easily slip through. His enormous pursuer, on the other hand…

Levi smirked, as he headed there.

So long, fucker.

After he jumped through the window, he appeared inside a long, dark hallway. Despite the slight eeriness and general dustiness of the place, it provided a welcome retrieve from the downpour outside. And Levi’s ardent follower.

Levi allowed himself a second to breathe and collect his thoughts. Most probably, the guy would try forcing his way inside through the front door. Levi could find another way to escape the building, or he could barricade the door and hide somewhere on the higher floors. Even if the guy would manage to get in, he’d have trouble finding Levi. Then, he’d have no choice but to give up and cease the chase.

That was the best case scenario, and Levi knew all too well that chances of events progressing in that exact way were extremely slim. But there was still a chance.

And there was nothing as addicting as hope during a dire situation.

His eyes falling on a sturdy enough wardrobe, Levi walked up to it with the intent of using it to barricade the door. The wardrobe was tall, taller than Levi, and yet it wasn't heavy at all. He managed to move without any effort whatsoever.

The door now barricaded, Levi allowed himself to relax.

But, strangely, he didn’t hear curses, sounds of struggle or anything that suggested that the man was trying to get inside through the front door. Did he realize what Levi had planned? Was his resistance futile from the start?

During the whole chase, he couldn’t shake that feeling. The feeling that the man was foreseeing his every move, that he wasn’t running after Levi. He was cornering him. Leading him into a trap.

If so, had the trap already closed on him? Had he no chance of escaping?

Levi frantically looked around, his mind going into frenzy. It was impossible, the man couldn’t know his every move, every turn and direction Levi took, it was completely abrupt, not planned at all. He didn’t plan it.

But what if someone else did?

Just as that thought entered his mind, Levi heard a noise. A loud, sudden and unmistakable noise. The sound of someone taking the gun’s safety off.

He whirled around, heart jumping in his throat. The Terminator was standing right behind him, a gun aimed at his head.

Fuck. How he hadn’t heard him enter? When and how had he entered?

There was no time to dwell on it. Not when a gun was directed right at the center of his forehead.

Levi saw the man’s finger move and he ducked before the shot rang out. The bullet missed him, but just barely, scratching his cheek.

Cursing Levi started moving, shoving the fucking wardrobe aside once more. Thank fuck he was strong enough to do it swiftly.

The man didn’t relent, and in the same moment as Levi was opening the door, he shot again, this time almost grazing his left leg.

Panting and with his heart jumping out of his ribcage, Levi tumbled on a street. He shifted his gaze from one side of the street to the other, desperate to find the best course of action.

The street was wide and empty, there was nowhere he could hide. Especially from a man with a fucking gun.

The hope was leaving him, at a rapid pace, when Levi saw it – a truck, heading his way.

It was his chance, his only chance - perhaps, he could grab the back of it and make a swift escape. But just as Levi was ready to jump on it, the truck stopped, right in front of him.

Another shot rang as Levi tried to make sense of it.

Only pure lack saved him this time. The door of the truck opened at the same time, shielding him from the flying bullet.

“Get inside!” the driver of the truck outstretched their hand, offering it to him. “I’m here to help! I’m Hange Zoe.”

Levi took the hand without hesitation.

#levihan #i blame my brain and cyberpunk soundtrack for this mess #also i just remembered that i forgot about the last day of lhweek omg

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6rookie-writer0110 · 4 years ago

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Christmas shirt or Christmas ugly sweater?

Justin Russo x Male Reader

Request - Justin Russo x male wizard reader: first chirstmas together? Reader's parents travel for their job so Justin invites his boyfriend to have christmas with him and his fam.

You and Justin went to a cafe shop to get something to eat and drink. You and Justin saw a movie a little while ago, it's date night.

“What are you doing no Christmas?” Justin asked.

“I will be busy with my family” You lied.

“Oh, I thought you can spend Christmas with me and my family. But we can do it next year if you want” Justin said.

You don't want to feel like a burden to Justin and his family. So, you will keep lying about it.

“Next year, we can. I have family coming over so I will be busy” You lied.

“I understand, babe,” Justin said.

You felt bad about lying to him. Later, you and Justin go ice skating. You and Justin are having and hold hands while skating. Justin buys you a cute plush Christmas Reindeer.

“Thanks for the reindeer”

You kiss him and he smiled big. Justin did kiss you back.

----

You come home from your date, you noticed the house is empty. You check your parents’ bedroom and they are gone. Again you will spend Christmas alone, every year they go away for weeks and you spend the holidays alone. You ordered pizza and watched movies alone. You did put the plush reindeer on your bed. You don't decorate the house or the bedroom when Christmas comes. You always wanted to do it with someone not alone. Justin doesn't know, you always spend the holidays alone.

You get on your laptop, search, and think about what to buy for Justin. You picked the best gift but it was sold out.

“Damn” You mumbled.

You start to think and started to search online for ideas.

---

Harper went to see Alex and she is with her brothers at the shop.

“Whos the gift for?” Harper asked.

“It’s for y/n, Justin was looking for the best gift,” Alex said.

“That’s nice you will celebrate Christmas with him,” Harper said.

“Um... We won't spend Christmas together. He will be busy with family and stuff” Justin said.

Harper shakes her head.

“He won't busy. He always spends Christmas alone” Harper said.

“Wait what?!” Justin said.

“Harper, how do you know that?” Alex asked

“Y/N always spends Christmas alone because his parents always go away. I know because last year I went to his house because he loves my mom’s cake. He told me why he is alone on Christmas, I always invite him to my house but he feels he will be a burden. My mom and I do take him food so he won't eat junk food all the time” Harper said.

“Oh, I had no idea. Makes sense, he doesn't talk about his parents or what he does on Christmas” Justin said.

Justin left to speak with his parents.

✬ ✫ ✬ ✫

Later that night...

You opened the door and it's Justin.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“Babe, why you lied to me about spending time with your family?” Justin asked.

He followed you to your bedroom and sat on the bed.

“I don't know. I just got used to being alone on Christmas and New Year's. My parents always go away and when they come back we just move on with our lives. Harper has invited me to her house but I don't want to be a burden. Justin, I'm sorry I lied” You said.

“I’m not mad. Y/N, I want you to spend Christmas with me and my family and you won't be a burden. I spoke to my parents and they want to see you” Justin said.

“I don't know what to say,” You said.

“Please say yes, babe,” Justin said.

“Okay, I will spend Christmas with you and your family,” You said.

“Awesome!” Justin said.

You and Justin start to kiss each other and he pulled you closer. You and Justin spend time together alone and cuddle in bed. Much later, he helped you pack some clothes.

----

Justin’s house...

Theresa hugged you and kissed your cheek and Jerry hugged you. They support the relationship 100% and they can see that you make Justin happy. Justin helped you put your clothes away, it's Justin's idea to wear matching Christmas shirts.

You played board games with his family. Later, played video games with Max and Justin and you are on a winning streak. Later, you helped Theresa and Jerry in the kitchen.

It started to snow, you and Justin play outside with the others. Everyone is throwing snow at each other and laughing. You can't stop smiling

✬ ✫ ✬ ✫

You and Justin hold hands and go for a walk around time square. You don't have your knitted hat and you are feeling colder, and Justin can feel you shivering.

“Are you cold? Don't lie, babe” Justin said.

“Yeah, I'm feeling cold,” You said.

Justin takes off his beanie and put it on your head, then he takes off his scarf and put it on your neck.

“What about you? Now you will get cold” you said.

“I will use my magic to keep me warm. You look cute wearing my stuff” Justin smiled.

He gave you a peck on the lips. You smiled and went to get something hot to drink.

----

You had dinner with Justin and his family. You like being around them and you are falling in love with your boyfriend. Much later, you and Justin have a movie night in his bedroom. Justin picked his favorite Christmas movie, you and Justin try to get comfortable in bed.

“Y/N, I'm glad you're here tonight,” Justin said.

“Me too, babe,” You said.

You kissed him then watched the movie with him. In the middle of the movie, you and Justin fell asleep holding each other.

#justin russo #Justin Russo x reader #Justin Russo x male reader #Justin Russo imagine #x male reader #male!reader #Wizards of Waverly Place imagine

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 4 years ago

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hiiiiii could you please do a will poulter imagine where the reader is in a broadway show and will comes to watch and instantly falls for them (could it be gender neutral as well if you can?) and keeps coming back to the show until he finally gets the courage to ask them out, but the reader is the one who makes the first move? i’d literally love u forever

Of course! What a cute idea 😊

Sorry it took awhile, had to juggle school and some drama, but here it it finally lol

~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't often that Will got to go to a Broadway show.

After weeks and weeks of his best friend, Collar, going on and on about how amazing this play he recently discovered was, Will immediately jumped at the chance of seeing the show with him when he found out that they'd be in his hometown that week.

Will thought his ribs would be crushed from how tightly Collar hugged him. Will was lucky enough to get really good seats before they were sold out.

It was the first night that the show was in London, so they weren't surprised to see that the place was packed, but that definitely didn't lessen the excitement. "I'm so excited for this." Will expressed.

"Oh, you're gonna love it, mate." Collar replied.

Taking their seats, it was only a matter of minutes until the lights started to dim and a loud overhead voice explaining the show was about to begin and repeating how no photography or video was allowed and all that.

Will and Collar were pretty much beaming with excitement, the latter bouncing his leg up and down with anticipation.

The two friends were immediately entranced when the ensemble cast walked onstage and performed the first song, applauding along with the rest of the audience when it ended.

Main characters were quickly introduced, and Will was surprised at how much he was enjoying the show so far, but he should've known Collar had the best tastes.

A new character was introduced, and Will could not take his eyes off them. The voice that emitted from this person was almost otherworldly, he'd never thought someone could sing so well. Will could've easily said that they were beautiful as well. Maybe it was the way the spotlights shined on them, making their aura angelic in a way. They seemed to exude confidence, that in itself was so damn attractive to him.

Every time this person went onstage, Will naturally focused in on them, he didn't even realize until after the show. "I know that look," Collar smirked, "which one was it?"

Will blushed. "I don't know what you mean..."

"Mate, don't bullshit me." He laughed.

Will rolled his eyes, knowing he couldn't lie to his best friend. "The one who sang that solo, before the intermission."

Collar's eyes lit up in clarity. "Oh, yeah! They were awesome. The cast usually meets fans after the show in the lobby, you should try to meet them!"

Will quickly shook his head. "No, no, no, that's okay."

"Nah, come on!" Collar grabbed Will's wrist, dragging him to the lobby with a ridiculous amount of force.

Just as Collar said, the whole main cast was lined up behind a red velvety rope, all smiling, signing autographs and taking pictures with fans. Will instantly spotted you, grinning widely while talking to a fan. You looked like the friendliest person on the planet. Obviously, Will didn't know if you were for sure, but he had a gut feeling.

You felt someone staring at you, well, hundreds of people have been staring at you every other night for the past two months now, but you were proved right when you caught the eye of a man across the room.

It took you a bit of recall, but you eventually recognized him as Will Poulter. You hadn't watched his recent stuff as you were so busy, but he was an actor you had respect and admiration for. He looked like he had taken an interest in you, which you never thought would be possible. You gave him a warm smile, and you could see his bashful gaze and blush.

"Dude, you gonna talk to them or?" Collar asked impatiently. "They just smiled at you, that's gotta be an invitation, man."

Will wanted to, so badly, but you looked busy enough as it was. "Not tonight, I'm pretty knackered if I'm being honest." Collar gave him an annoyed look, but he wasn't going to pressure him.

You saw Will leave the theatre from the corner of your eye, and you refrained from frowning. You really thought he'd come talk to you, but in a way you were thankful, you probably would've embarrassed yourself in some way. But still, you were a bit disappointed, but you still smiled when you met people who enjoyed the show.

Will pretty much slapped himself for not even trying to talk to you, so he did something rather impulsive; he bought another ticket to your show. "You haven't even met them, and you're already whipped!" Collar laughed loudly.

"Please, don't start." Will whined.

Seeing Will again at the show, in the orchestra seats, almost made you blush onstage. He was there again? Your gut told you he was there because of you, but your logic told you that you were being conceited. Maybe he just was so moved by the performances that he had to see the show again.

You felt his eyes trained on you the entire show.

After the show, you were in your dressing room, scrubbing off the caked on stage makeup that you had to wear every performance. Until your friend and co-worker barged in unannounced. "Knock, for the love of god, knock!" You snapped.

"I did!" Your friend replied, not very convincingly you might add. "Did you see that hot blonde eyeing you tonight?"

You furrowed your brows. "How'd you even see that?"

"I know when someone's eying MY friend!" They said, emphasizing the 'my'. "It's a superpower I have."

"Yeah, well, that guy was here yesterday. He must love the show a lot if he came back a second time in a row." You said while finishing taking off the makeup.

Your friend smirked. "Or maybe…he loved your performance?"

You rolled your eyes. "Stop, you'll get my hopes up."

"Well, I guess we'll see when you go out in the lobby."

You loved meeting people who enjoyed the show, especially your performances. Praise felt nice, but what felt even nicer was the fact you saw Will awkwardly making his way to the area were the cast was, shaking hands and congratulating your fellow performers.

Slowly but surely, he made his way to you with a grin. Damn, that grin could probably cure every illness in the universe, you thought. "Hello there, loved your performance!" He praised.

"Thanks! You were at the show last night too, weren't you? Or are my eyes just playing tricks on me?" You giggled.

Will scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Uh, yeah, actually I was." He chuckled.

"Dang, you must really love the show!" You chuckled when he couldn't come up with a reply. "I'm Y/N." You stretched your hand out to shake his.

"Will." He smiled.

"Oh, I know actually! I know some of your work."

Will blinked in shock, but smiled nervously. "Oh, wow, awesome! I'd imagine doing this type of thing, traveling, how would you even find the time to relax and watch films?"

"Oh, trust me, we barely even have time to relax much less watch movies. But I remember seeing you in Son of Rambow, you were a pretty cute kid." You smiled.

Will chuckled bashfully. "That's very kind. I'd hope I'm still as cute as I was when I was little."

"You definitely are." You didn't exactly mean to sound all seductive like, but it just came out that way. You found yourself liking the way it made all of Will's blood rush to his cheeks.

"Oh, thank you." He stuttered, looking around nervously. "Well, it seems like loads of people want to meet you so, I'll get going."

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, willing yourself to tell him to stay, but all that came out was a strangled sigh. Damn it, you must've scared him off…

"They said that to you?!" Collar shouted, listening intently to Will about the encounter with you as soon as he got to his apartment. "They said you were cute. Mate, please, tell me you asked them out."

Will cringed, biting his lip and looking up to his friend in shame. "I got nervous…"

"That was your opening, man!"

"I know, I know. Just gonna have to have a go at it again…" He said, pulling out his phone with another sigh.

"Tell me your not."

"Too late." Will showed his phone screen to reveal a newly purchased ticket to the show…again.

"You're burning a hole in your wallet."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." But he hopes it'll be worth it. "Third times a charm..."

Another night, another show, and you felt yourself having a little bit of low spirits, until your friend pulled you by the wrist to the side stage. "What're you…?"

"Look who's here, again!" Your friend whisper yelled, pulling aside the stage curtain to reveal a tiny bit of the audience waiting for the show to start. "Look there!" They pointed.

"No way…"

Will was there in the audience again!

"He must really want that ass!" Your friend guffawed, making you lightly slap their arm.

You couldn't help but blush, it was so sweet. But you thought back to the night before, he was so nervous and finicky. You realized you had to make the first move, no flirting or else he'd startle like a baby deer.

Oh boy, your nature was not able to NOT flirt. You might've thrown a couple winks to Will onstage, maybe thrown a couple smirks when you were able to. Yeah, the no flirting thing wasn't really working…

But you thought maybe it made him a bit more comfortable walking up to you easier after the show. "Damn, you have an obsession with theatre, huh?" You teased.

Will chuckled. "Yeah, I must."

"So, why are you actually coming here? Three times in a row must be hurting your bank account."

Will stayed silent for a moment, just staring into your eyes with a blush slowly rising to his cheeks. "I, uh…" He paused, "I just really love the show." He instantly cringed internally. "I should go."

"No!" You shouted accidently, startling him slightly. "Sorry, uh, why don't you stay? Our night ends in half an hour. If you don't mind, I'd love to talk to you."

Will instantly felt relieved, in a way. He nodded excitingly, causing you to grin.

"Great! I'll meet you out the front doors, okay?"

Quickly going to your dressing room, your friend hugged you tightly from behind you. "Dude, finally! I never thought I'd see the day you'd make a first move."

"Wasn't easy. Why can't extroverts act like extroverts?" You chuckled, looking over yourself in the mirror.

"You're generalizing."

"I gotta stop doing that. But anyway, I'll be back soon, hopefully he won't run off."

"Good luck." They blew a kiss.

Thankfully, Will was still waiting outside the theatre, sitting on the steps, scrolling through his phone. "Hey!" You greeted. "Sorry if I took awhile."

Will smiled, standing up from the steps. "It's totally fine."

"So, forgive me if I'm wrong, but I have a hard time believing you came here three times in a row, wasting money, just because you enjoyed the show a lot."

Will's smile dropped, looking to the ground. "Uh…you're not wrong."

"Last night, you left so quickly. Why?"

Will let out a sigh. "I got…scared, I guess." Well, he admitted that, why not admit more? "You just seem so confident, I was intimidated. But I did want to talk to you more, just didn't have the guts to, I suppose."

Another smile graced your face happily. "Well, the show is still in town for a few days, then our tour is over. I'd love to go out for a coffee or tea sometime, if you're available."

Will's eyes lit up, his grin coming back and letting out a thankful chuckle. "Yes! Yeah, I'd love to!"

"Here's my number, call me and we'll work out the details."

"Wow…" He smiled.

"What?" You asked with a giggle.

"That was a lot easier than I thought it would be."

~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you liked it, @poulterfilms , I hope it's what you had in mind🥺

#will poulter #will poulter x reader #will poulter imagine

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artificer-real · 2 years ago

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I posted 5,300 times in 2022

That's 1,181 more posts than 2021!

99 posts created (2%)

5,201 posts reblogged (98%)

>perfectly balanced

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@turtle-ly

@yearning-and-arson

@even-if-in-another-time

@crippledinafunway

@buggachat

>Makes Sense. Most from buggachat are from when i rb'd the entire beau comic

I tagged 4,195 of my posts in 2022

Only 21% of my posts had no tags

#miraculous - 665 posts

#she ra - 545 posts

#toh - 470 posts

#dc - 456 posts

#unrelated - 348 posts

#amphibia - 272 posts

#video - 151 posts

#me - 134 posts

#steven universe - 120 posts

#fav - 108 posts

>I have gone on several reblog sprees for miraculous stuff, no wonder

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#but im specifically imagining some old guy poking his head out of his window to yell at some troublesome kids who are also the protagonists

My Top Posts in 2022:

words cannot fucking describe my confusion WORMS????

6 notes - Posted August 10, 2022

>worms

Fintan is a really long pole cat like 5 feet long he has no hips and his back legs just float behind him he also only dresses in a pink leotard when he’s tryna seduce a king into releasing a plague

when hes tryna WHAT

.. heres the real question, does he look good in the leotard?

7 notes - Posted September 2, 2022

>Oh ya, the time when i got a taste of the kotlc fandom

sometimes i underestimate tumblr's capacity to simp over the most pathetic men possible.

Wheatley??? the moron that succeeded at one (1) thing ever??? THAT Wheatley????

every single decision that metal sphere has ever made resulted in unintentional destruction. He was in control of aperature for less than a day and nearly destroyed the entire facility.

Wheatley would sell you to satan for a corn chip, and then through a convoluted series of failiures end up getting sold in your place.

13 notes - Posted March 22, 2022

>still right about this

i've been tasked w/ describing the one and only fintan pyren to you so here we go. dude's an elf that's definitely over 1k years old, probably 4k+. you can tell bc his comically pointy ears. former leader of a bad rebel organization. got his mind and sanity broken by telepaths once but he's fine now because he played one of the telepaths that broke his mind and sanity with his Excellent Planning Skills. powerful pyrokinetic that's also a pyromaniac. isolated in an ice prison bubble for his crimes. bitchy blond (hair length: hella long, flat as his paper thin ass that he insists is 'absolute cake'). dramatic as fuck. also gay as fuck - has definitely dated shakespeare, a current elvin gov leader, and the current ogre king. thinks 80's fashion is trendy, hence neon stripper outfits beneath his former evil organization's uniforms. (minors wear rainbow tutus over their pink leotards, though, because fetishization of minors = bad.) also he's got blue eyes and he's slender and blah blah blah but most importantly: short king who hasn't come to terms with being short. oh yeah he's also mentoring a baby gay smol pyrokinetic who comes to lessons with her hydrokinetic gf. yeah i think that's all the basics you need to know

Ah i see, so all ive said before, but with ears stretched out in photoshop. and fire powers? hot. i see why they didnt put HIM in the center of the earth now. wait did you say shakespear. ogre king? i wanna hear more about sharkgirl and lavagirl too! baby gays are my favorite!

13 notes - Posted September 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

damn i was gonna make a post about how yall are treating lila too harshly but like. she's not even that bad. Shes a canonically great liar, loves attention, and is 14~. of course she does all that shit.

yall are exhausting.

14 notes - Posted June 15, 2022

>fight me mlb fandom

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #no suprises here tbh

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snelbz · 5 years ago

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Reckoning and Retribution {3}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, House of Earth and Blood, & Throne of Glass Crossover, Western AU fanfiction.

Based on a prompt sent in for the 4k follower contest {winner}, from Anonymous: “Ok hear me out: WILD WEST AU CROSSOVER”

@snelbz / @tacmc

It was Saturday morning, which meant that the market was set up in town, every local farmer and gardener, and even some from other towns and territories, out to sell their goods. Elide loved Saturdays, loved deciding what she would be baking that week. She loved to bake, her mother used to bake, and she used to help in whatever way she could before her mother’s untimely death.

“You should bake banana bread,” Aelin crooned, looping her arm through Elide’s. “You make the most wonderful banana bread.”

“I do make wonderful banana bread,” Elide agreed, with a grin.

At the end of the market, up by Hunt’s saloon, Lorcan Salvaterre was leaning up against a post, the brim of his hat pulled down over his eyes, smoking a cigar.

Elide couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching her, that he had been since their abrupt meeting earlier in the week. His gaze didn’t unsettle her like it should have though. She often found herself meeting those dark eyes, and just when she thought he may approach her, something would steal one of their attention or he’d glance away.

“What a waste of a second chance.”

Elide glanced up at her oldest friend. She followed her line of sight and found that they were looking at the same man. “Why would you say that?”

“He’s awfully cocky,” Aelin said, with pure disdain. “And horribly rude.”

Elide had to admit that he wasn’t exactly welcoming during their encounter, but he didn’t seem that horrible.

Aelin lifted a brow. “Judging by your silence, I’m assuming you disapprove of my judgement.”

“It’s not that I disapprove,” she said, slowly. “I’m just...intrigued by him.”

“Intrigued…” Aelin mused, letting the word hang between them. “I wasn’t even aware you two had made an acquaintance.”

“I wouldn’t even say we’re acquaintances,” she muttered, stepping away from Aelin to inspect a stand full of exotic fruits. “We’ve only spoken once.”

“And when was that?”

The question wasn’t accusatory, but there was indeed an edge to Aelin’s voice that hadn’t been there before.

Elide sighed and turned around to look at her friend. She was off duty today, so she was dressed as Elide was used to seeing her: full, ruffled skirts, corset cinched tight at the waist and her hair was curled and pinned back off her face, which was elegantly accented by the cosmetics she used every day. She looked like a lady waiting for a ball, not the local deputy of a small town.

“A couple days after you started working with Sheriff Whitethorn,” Elide said, moving on to the next stall. Knives and blades and weapons and bullets and all manners of destruction and death were laid out before her. She made to move on, but they’d caught Aelin’s eye and she moved in.

“When you were dropping off my gift basket, I assume,” she asked, picking up a small, wicked looking dagger. Elide nodded, knowing Aelin had worked out the rest.

She’d ranted to her for an hour the other night after she’d come in and found his muddy boots propped up on her desk. Half the goodies in the basket were gone, too, though Rowan had admitted to eating quite a few of them.

“Mm.” Aelin said nothing else as she examined the dagger, it’s intricate filigree handle shining in the morning light, and found a suitable thigh holster for it. She paid the stall owner an egregious amount of money and turned to Elide. “I feel like you’re going to disregard everything I say and are going to attempt to befriend that surly brute of a man, so I would like you to be prepared, just in case.”

Elide blinked as Aelin pushed the small dagger and leather holster into her hand. “I can’t use this.”

“I’d prefer you not have to,” Aelin sighed, “but I’d rather you be safe than sorry.”

Elide hesitated, but Aelin was already walking away. After hurrying to catch up and match her pace, Elide was saying, “You know that I have never used a weapon, not once.”

“Perhaps I should give you a lesson?” Aelin asked, something new already catching her eye.

Elide sighed as she, once again, had to hurry after her oldest friend.

“I won’t even have to use it, Aelin,” Elide protested, looping her arm through Aelin’s to slow her down. “And I am not going to...befriend him.”

Aelin snorted. “You forget how well I know you, Miss Lochan.”

“Oh, trust me, Miss Galathynius, I am fully aware,” Elide said. “You know me as well as I know you, which is why I believe you’re being over dramatic about Mr. Salvaterre.”

A blonde eyebrow raised. “Mister, hmm?”

“Drop it, Aelin,” Elide said, picking up a new bundle of chalk sticks for her classroom. The pieces the children were having to use we’re becoming so short, their writing was becoming near illegible. Well, more illegible, in the case of her younger students. She snagged a bottle of ink as well and before she could reach for her money pouch, Aelin had paid the man. She didn’t bother thanking her friend, knowing she’d wave the praise off anyways. “There’s nothing going on between Lorcan Salvaterre and I.”

“Well that’s a damn shame.”

Aelin and elide turned, finding the man himself standing behind them.

“Miss Lochan,” he drawled, tipping his hat. “Deputy.”

“Mister Salvaterre, good morning,” Elide gave him a friendly curtsy and continued on her way, pausing at a stall that sold little trinkets and jewelry.

Once she was out of earshot, Aelin turned to Lorcan. “Don’t even think about touching her.”

His gaze was amused. “And what made you think I would, Deputy?”

The way he said Deputy made Aelin want to punch him in the throat.

“She’s a kind woman,” Aelin went on. “You will not do anything to cause her harm or ruin.”

Lorcan grinned, wild and vicious. “You make it sound like she fancies me. Has she taken a liking to me, Deputy Galathynius?”

The fact that he used her title as a form of mockery had her hands curling into fists at her sides.

“Aelin, are you coming?”

The pair turned to where Elide waited a few stalls ahead. She called, “Give me just a moment.”

Elide nodded and continued sorting through the fabrics the seller offered.

Turning back to glare at Lorcan, Aelin breathed. “I don’t like you. I don’t trust you. If it weren’t for my promise to protect this town and all who live in it — including you, apparently — I’d put a bullet between your eyes and wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep over it. Rowan tearing up the warrant for your arrest was the most reckless thing he’s ever done. Now, don’t make me repeat this, ” She was a solid foot shorter than him, but as she said the words, Lorcan felt as if he was being talked down to. Like a child. “Leave. Her. Alone.”

His eyes turned dark, hard, as his jaw locked. “Fine, if it means that much to you.”

“It does,” Aelin snapped, picking up her skirts as she stormed to Elide’s side, leaving Lorcan behind.

Elide blinked as Aelin approached, frowning. “Is everything alright? What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” Aelin said, forcing a bright smile. “Let us continue on with our morning.”

Sighing and linking her arm with Aelin’s once more, Elide did just that. After they’d shopped for a few more minutes and Elide had decided she had enough supplies for the week, they were making for her cabin at the far end of town. It was a bit of a walk, but the ladies didn’t care, not wanting to saddle horses. It was such a hassle, and now that she was used to trousers, Aelin just didn’t want to mess with it.

“So,” Aelin began as they walked up the steps of Elide’s little house. “Aside from the fabulous banana bread you’ll be making me, what other goodies will you be baking this week?”

Elide listed off a menagerie of delicious desserts and baked goods. “A peach cobbler, oatmeal and cranberry cookies, blueberry crumble, a couple pies, and a chocolate and stone ground oat cake.”

Aelin’s eyes were wide. “Such a wide variety. What for?”

The tips of Elide’s ears turned red and Aelin certainly noticed as she began to blush. “Mister Salvaterre’s welcome basket.”

Aelin froze as she followed her friend into her house.

Oh, this was not good.

* * * * * * * * *

Bryce loved the silence.

Lying on her bed, she opened the new novel Hunt had given her the day before.

A gift, he had said, and wouldn’t take no for an answer when she had told him that she couldn’t accept.

She was grateful for it.

It had been so long since she had been given a gift, had owned something new. She couldn’t wait to lose herself in the story, if even for a few moments, to get out of the living hell she was in.

A quiet knock sounded on her door. She tightened the sash of the dressing gown she wore around her waist. “Just a minute,” she called.

She made herself appropriate before opening the door, finding Hunt on the other side.

“Hunt-.”

Her quiet words were cut off as he crashed his lips against hers and softly shut the door behind him. When he finally pulled back, Bryce was breathless.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Come on, grab your things,” he said, looking around the room for a bag. The room was lavish and luxurious and the furnishings probably cost more than Hunt’s entire saloon, deed, ale, whiskey and all. “Maeve just left. Feyre is watching the bar. Let’s go.”

Bryce hesitated. “Go? Go where?”

Hunt took her face into his large, calloused hands. The look in his eyes was wild, determined. “It’s our chance. Now is our chance.”

Bryce closed her eyes. “Hunt-.”

“Please,” he breathed, his breath hot against her mouth. “Please, Bryce-.”

“I can’t go anywhere,” she whispered, forcing her eyes not to well up with tears. “You know I can’t go anywhere.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed on. “Cairn will find us, you know that. What happened to Clare, to Isaac… I won’t let that happen to you.”

Hung closed his eyes, letting his forehead fall against hers. He knew she was right, knew if they had any hope of getting out of this town alive, it would cost them an egregious amount of money.

Otherwise, they’d be paying with their lives.

Clare Beddor and Isaac Hale were proof of that. After they ran away in the dead of night, Clare’s debt unpaid, it only took two weeks for Cairn to bring back her lifeless body and his decapitated head. His mouth hung open in a wide, never ending scream. It was tossed into an unmarked grave somewhere on the property, but Clare…

Maeve had made a few extra bucks off of her, thanks to the few sick fucks who lived in this town.

This was her life, and there was no getting out of it, no matter how many sleepless nights she spent wondering how she could get out of her debt.

But there was no way.

It was hopeless to dream.

“Bryce,” Hunt whispered, bringing her back to reality.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it, even though it meant nothing. “You need to let this go, Hunt. I’m a lost cause.”

“Don’t say that,” he begged, just as he always did.

Every time he did it broke her heart.

“I’m making an offer to Maeve on Monday.”

Her head snapped up and her eyes met his. “What?”

He wrapped her up in his arms. She rested her head against his chest, listened to the heart beating inside. The heart that belonged to her, in every way. “I’ve saved up enough for your freedom, with some extra. With what you’ve…earned… We have to be close, Bryce.”

She heard the words he specified. Your freedom. But not Danika’s.

“It’ll be a few more years, Hunt-.”

“No, damn it, I refuse to believe that.” He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. He whispered, “I wish you never would have made that bargain.”

She shook her head. There was no dwelling on it now. What’s done is done, and besides… “I don’t. Not if it kept her safe.”

Copying her motion, Hunt shook his head, his loose hair shaking with the motion. “For two weeks, Bryce?”

The sob that tore from Bryce was heartbreaking.

When she was eight years old, her father had ripped she and Ruhn from their beds, with no explanation, and they’d left the small town they called home. Years later, they’d realize it was because he’d killed Bryce’s mother in a fit of rage. If only that was the worst thing their piece of shit father had done.

Just a few years later, the family, with their young ward, Danika Fendyr, visited Rose Creek on their way west, as far west as they could go. Their father had gotten drunk beyond measure, the former owner of the saloon supplying as much whiskey as any one man could consume. He’d run out of money during his poker game, and needed a few new bargaining chips. He had three.

Bryce and Danika were sold to Maeve, while Ruhn was shipped off to the mines.

The girls were only sixteen when they were to begin selling their bodies, their souls, on behalf of Bryce’s father’s debt. Bryce’s birthday came first, Danika’s just a month later. A week before Danika’s unveiling, Bryce made Maeve a deal.

Her life for Danika’s. Double the price, double the debt, Bryce promised Maeve double everything, if only she said yes.

Maeve agreed.

Danika went free.

She protested, told Bryce she was an idiot as she wept and wrapped her arms around Bryce. Bryce told her best friend, her sister, to go free, to make something of herself.

She deserved as much.

Less than two weeks later, just days after Danika turned sixteen, she was killed by a bandit, a robbery gone bad, making the sacrifice Bryce made worthless.

She had doubled her debt for two weeks of Danika’s freedom, and she had been paying off that debt ever since.

“I don’t care the price, I don’t care how long it takes,” he promised. “One day, you and I are going to leave this town, and we’re never going to look back.”

“Hunt!”

The cry from downstairs was a warning, their time was short.

“Go,” Bryce breathed, her tears at last running down her face. “You can’t be up here when she gets back.”

He knew that, knew that he wouldn’t be the one to bear the punishment if they were to get caught. He nodded, pressing another kiss to her forehead, then her lips, letting it say all the words he couldn’t out loud.

I’m sorry.

I’ll get you out.

I love you.

* * * * * * * *

Exhaustion dwelled in every inch of Ruhn’s body as he followed Aedion, Declan, and Flynn into the saloon. That exhaustion did not stop him, though, he had things to do, those to protect, even if he could only do it from afar.

Anything else would get him shot.

Or hanged.

All they had to do was raise their hands in greeting to Hunt before plopping down around a table. A minute later, Feyre came carrying a jug of ale and four mugs.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Feyre crooned, setting it all in the middle of the table.

“I don’t see any gentlemen here,” Flynn muttered with a smirk.

“True,” Feyre agreed, “but any other sort of greeting just seemed rude.”

Aedion’s attention was immediately on the striking brunette across the room. She was primped and preened and the smile on her face showed everyone how much fun she was having at the saloon, being passed from lap to lap.

That smile was the biggest crock of shit Ruhn had ever seen. It was the same smile he saw on Bryce’s face and Nesta’s and all the other girls who had to lay on their backs just to keep their families fed or protected.

Promising to come back if they needed anything, Feyre flitted off, refilling the glasses of whiskey the sheriff and his newest deputy had sitting on their table. The man in black intrigued Ruhn, but he wasn’t one to start a conversation and make new friends. Especially with a man he was sure had killed people.

It was slow, for a Saturday night, if Lysandra was down on the floor of the saloon. Either that or she was a walking billboard for the services Maeve offered. Since he didn’t see his sister, Ruhn was inclined to believe the latter.

So instead he kept an eye on Feyre, tracking her as she moved from table to table, carefully watching every hand that came close to her.

It seemed that Feyre was fairly good at taking care of herself, and Hunt watched her like a hawk, but still, as he watched Feyre flutter around the floor, watching every man she passed watch after her with a hungry gaze, Ruhn felt the need to look after her, too.

It was difficult enough having to watch the women passed around who weren’t allowed to say no, but he couldn’t bear to watch those who were allowed to say no be taken advantage of simply because they were a woman in a saloon full of drunk bastards.

Flynn and Declan had ended up at the bar and Aedion had snuck into the dry storage room, leaving Ruhn to mull over his day, life and purpose with nothing but a mug of ale to keep him company. When he realized he’d been tracing the same knot in the wood for an entire song in the old, barely-in-tune piano, he looked up, his eyes darting around the room.

No sign of Bryce, but he’d learned to not to hold out hope for easy nights for her long ago.

But when his eyes made another pass, searching for not for wine-red hair, but golden-brown… He came up short.

For a moment, he debated on joining his friends at the bar, if for no other reason than a new vantage point to watch the room. That thought drifted away as he heard a voice, full of sass, from behind him.

“Are you watching me, Mister Danaan?”

He spun around in his chair to find Feyre, one hand on her hip, the other holding up a tin pitcher.

“I was just...scanning the room, Miss Archeron,” he said, simply.

She narrowed her eyes and suppressed her grin. “I believe you’re telling a lie.”

Ruhn huffed a laugh, unable to help himself as Feyre sat down across from him at the empty table. “I was just ensuring your safety after what had happened the other night.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Feyre said, eyes bright. “You are appreciated, you must know.”

He tipped his head in thanks. “How has your day been?”

“Long,” she admitted. “I suppose I cannot complain, though. And yours, Mister Danaan?”

He thought of the hacking he’d done with his pickaxe, hour after hour after hour all day, before he said, “Mine was long, as well.”

Unlike his sister, Ruhn wasn’t forced into the servitude he was sold into. Gavriel, the man who owned and operated out of the mines, was a fair and just man. He saw the situation the children were in, saw that he had the opportunity to help at least one of them. So when Ruhn’s life was offered to him, as payment for a life debt, he said yes, took the young man in.

And then told him he was free to do as he wished. Free to go, to stay, to work, to run.

But with Bryce in proverbial shackles, that wasn’t an option. So he took a job in the mines, made a modest living and did what he could for his sister.

The sadness in Feyre’s eyes told him she understood well.

“Miss Archeron, may-.”

“Feyre, please,” she interrupted. “Call me Feyre.”

He smiled. “Miss Feyre, with your permission, I’d like to walk you home tonight.”

Her eyebrows rose, her blue-grey eyes bright in the candles hanging from the chandelier. “I don’t get off work until late, well past midnight.”

Shaking his head, Ruhn said, “I don’t mind.”

Feyre nodded, slowly, perfectly amused. “Very well, Mister Danaan, you may walk me home.”

She pushed herself up from the table and was beginning to walk away when Ruhn called, “Miss Feyre?”

She turned to face him, yet again, a small smile on her lips. “Yes?”

“If I can call you by your first name, then you may call me by mine,” he said, then added, “Please.”

“Very well,” she said, softly, and then she was off to make her rounds, yet again.

* * * * * * * *

Saturdays were Nesta’s least favorite day.

The crowds were bigger. The room was louder. The men were worse.

As Nesta hurried toward the saloon, she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of torture Maeve would have planned for her to punish her for being late the night before. Again.

She hurried into the saloon, squeezing Feyre’s hand as she passed, her sister giving her what little strength she could, and started up the stairs.

“Nesta Archeron.”

She paused, and turned, finding Maeve standing at the bottom of the staircase. “I’m not late tonight, ma’am.”

A wicked smirk. “No, you’re not.”

Nesta swallowed hard and made her way back down the stairs.

“Get ready and be back down here within twenty minutes. You have a special request tonight.”

A special request. It sent chills up Nesta’s spine.

And not in a good way.

Nonetheless, she did what she was told. After hurrying up to her room, she took her place in front of the vanity and took down her hair, the curls long and loose as they hung around her shoulders. She lined her eyes with kohl, painted her lips to a ruby red, and pinched her cheeks until they were nice and red. She looked at herself, admired herself in the mirror as she did every night before she changed.

Her reflection haunted her.

She was staring at the ghost of the girl she once was, the girl she once knew, before.

After pinning her hair back so that it was out of her eyes, she shrugged off her robe and dressed. Corset, skirts, stockings beneath that reached her mid-thighs.

Lacing her boots up, she steeled herself, praying it wouldn’t be one of the sick men who enjoyed pain. Nesta hated the pain.

She walked down the stairs, Maeve still waiting in the same spot as before. Eyes turned to look at her as she descended into the saloon, as they always did. People always stared when the whores entered the room.

She glanced around, trying not to make it obvious, as she caught the eyes of those in the bar. The usuals were there, of course, Hunt and Feyre and Luca, picking up dirty dishes. But Azriel Draeven was there, too, along with the mayor. And at their table, eyes trained on her, a glass of whiskey in his hand, was Cassian. Their eyes locked and her feet almost froze on the stairs, but she forced them to keep moving.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Maeve inspected her with an experienced eye. Without a word, she nodded, clearly pleased with Nesta’s appearance. She held out an envelope. “Do not open this envelope until you’ve reached the general store. You’ll find further instructions inside. You’ve been booked until sunrise. Go get your coat.”

Nesta didn’t say a word as she took the envelope and went back up to grab her coat. It was all she grabbed, her coat, not wanting to bring the rest of her belongings in case things turned ugly. She would have Feyre to grab them before she left. She wouldn’t mind.

She never did.

With her coat over her shoulders, she descended the stairs, once more, not bothering to look at anyone else except for her sister behind the bar.

Feyre could see the question in her eyes. She nodded, once, and Nesta ignored the sorrow in her youngest sister’s eyes as she exited the saloon, envelope in hand, and went down to the general store.

It wasn’t late by any means, but the dusty main road in and out of town was deserted. Those with families were home, having dinner, spending time with their loved ones. Those that didn’t… well, the saloon would be open for quite a while yet. The envelope in her hand felt heavy, though she knew that was just in her mind. It held nothing but a note, written in Maeve’s formal penmanship, like it always did. This wasn’t the first special request she’d fulfilled and she knew it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

With a sigh, she opened the envelope and a letter in an unfamiliar hand fell onto her lap. She read through it once, blinking, and paused. She was misunderstanding. She had to be. Nesta quietly read the letter allowed, making sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.

“Return to your home, lock your doors, and go to bed,” she murmured. “Tell no one, keep this a secret from all but your sisters. Get some rest, beautiful.”

The letter still clutched in her hand, Nesta looked around the deserted street. There was no one around, no one secretly watching her, waiting to catch her making a mistake.

Nesta had never run home so fast in her life.

* * * * * * * *

Lysandra had slipped into the dry storage of the saloon while Cairn wasn’t looking. She just needed a second to breathe, to sit without being hounded.

The door cracked open a minute later and Aedion appeared. “Are you okay?”

She breathed a relieved sigh as she nodded her head. She wasn’t sure if she could speak. If she spoke, she may start crying. Maeve would get far too much enjoyment from her tears.

He understood though, he understood how it took a toll on her. Wordlessly, she stood, making her way over to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Aedion didn’t hesitate to wrap his own around her and kiss the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

She shook her head and Aedion knew it’s because there was nothing either of them could do.

For a moment, that’s all there was in the world, just the two of them and the silence. She loved that silence, loved when he held her and she could take a few minutes to breathe.

Even if it was never long enough.

Which it never was.

“You should go back out there,” she whispered.

“Or I can give you some coin,” he replied, quietly.

Not for sex, she knew, but so she could have ten extra minutes of breathing time.

Lysandra shook her head. “It would be a waste of coin, and you know it.”

Neither of them made to move though. Aedion’s hand wove into her hair, holding her head to his chest as she breathed him in, as she rooted herself in this moment, to use it as her anchor for the rest of the night.

Stolen kisses and secret meetings are all they had. Aedion would gladly pay for a night with her, for every night with her if he could. He loved Lysandra more than a man had ever loved a woman, or so he firmly believed. And she had given him her whole heart, since they could never have anything more.

She was Maeve’s favorite whore. There were no prices for a night with Lysandra, not unless someone was willing to shell out a wagon full of coins. No, she was Maeve’s personal gift to give out.

To the most worthy of companions.

Maeve’s most worthy clients.

“I have to go,” she whispered.

Aedion nodded, knowing the time was coming. The time always came, no matter how many nights Aedion spent praying it wouldn’t.

He wanted so desperately to tell her that he loved her, but he wouldn’t. No matter how much he felt it, he’d keep it to himself, because to say it would be too hard.

He would say it and nothing would change.

“I’ll be there,” he decided on, after a few seconds passed. He would be there, in the saloon, in case she needed him to look at, to make eye contact with, when she was feeling completely and utterly alone.

She nodded, before taking one last deep breath, breathing him in. And then she was out of his arms, out the door and back into the front room, into her own personal hell.

Because when she saw who was sitting in Maeve’s booth, she thought she was going to be sick. It had been years since she’d seen him. When Maeve crooked a finger over and called for her, those silver eyes met hers and Arrobyn Hammel smiled.

#snelbz rar #reckoning and retribution #sjm crossover #snacmc #snelbz tacmc collab #snelbz x tacmc #acotar #tog #hoeab

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