#but damn it sold like hot cakes

[cannibalhousewife]

hey guys be real w me would y'all like cancel me or look down on me if i ever make Hazbeen Hotel merch in the future at some point (like stickers or keychains or something)

because that shit seems to fucking make bank dude- AKSDFJG

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

Sympathy for the Devil

Prompt: Sold His Soul For A Donut | Word Count: 6666 | Rating: E | CW: Unprotected Sex, The Devil Doesn't Just Want Sympathy, But Praise Too, Mild Dom/Sub BDSM Vibes | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie, Eddie & Gareth | Tags: AU, Accidentally Selling Your Soul, Like a Dumbass, But With A Happy Ending, Steve Harrington is the Devil (No, Really)

Also on ao3.

Now

Eddie runs right into the back of Gareth, not paying a damn bit of attention where he's going, like always. But this isn't all his fault. He didn't expect Gareth to stop short.

"What? Why're we stopped?" Eddie asks, looking around, like he might find the answer. They're supposed to meet Jeff and Goodie back at the hotel in fifteen minutes and they are at least twenty minutes away by foot.

"Don't you smell that?" Gareth asks, looking through the window of the bakery he's paused on the sidewalk in front of, hands pressed to the glass like an unruly child.

"Smell what?" Eddie asks. All he smells is yeast from the bakery. He guesses it smells good, but not so good that he needed to stop and drool on the glass. 

"The donuts. They smell so good."

Okay? He should just get a donut. They aren't rich, but they definitely have donut money. However, there is a long line backed up to the door, and they don't really have time for that. But Jeff and Goodie know they'll be late. That's just a given. They have met them before. It's kind of their fault for letting them wander off by themselves, if you really think about it.

"I'd sell my soul for a donut right about now," Gareth says, and Eddie's laugh is cut short by a voice coming from the doorway of the donut shop, the bell jingling over his head.

"I can help with that," the man in a sharp black suit says, as they both turn to look at him. He pops open the lid of the red bakery box, and inside has to be one of every donut the shop Gareth's drooling over must sell. 

Gareth may have been onto something, they all do look amazing.

The guy holds out the box a little further, and Gareth reaches for one that looks like it might be a carrot cake donut, from the little icing carrots piped around the ring of fried dough. Carrot cake is his favorite, he was never gonna be able to resist that one.

Then the guy then offers the box to Eddie, and Eddie shrugs, taking one too. The one he picked has Honeycomb cereal, Eddie's favorite, stuck atop a bright yellow glaze. 

"Thanks, man," Eddie says, and Gareth nods in agreement, also saying thanks. The guy just stands there grinning, and it would look way creepier if he wasn't so good looking. He watches until they've both taken a bite. It's good, but not as good as Gareth's acting like it is, taking a stumbling step backwards like the wind has been knocked out of him.

And everybody says Eddie is the dramatic one. 

The guy then reaches into his shirt pocket, balancing the box in one hand with ease. Pulling out a business card. 

It's a striking red, and looks expensive. Eddie reaches for it. And it feels like it's linen or some shit that feels good under Eddie's thumb.

But he takes it from Eddie's hand, and gives it to Gareth instead, and that fucking figures that the hot donut man wants to fuck Gareth and not Eddie. Eddie pouts, just a little. 

"In case you need to find me," he says, and Eddie would like to find him alright. Gareth, though, well. Dude's barking up the wrong tree. Sucks to be him. He was just used for his free donut.

Then he's gone. Gliding down the street, his black overcoat billowing behind him before he turns the corner, disappearing from sight.

Gareth hands the card back to Eddie. There's an address on the back and nothing else. 

"Weird. What kind of business do you think he runs? A sex dungeon?" Gareth asks, and Eddie laughs. He fucking wishes. 

It starts slow, a callousness that he's never had before. A bite. And at first Eddie assumes the tour is just getting to Gareth, making him pissy. That happens. Being trapped with each other for days on end. In cramped hotel rooms, living on top of each other. 

But that doesn't feel right. Gareth's never acted like this before, he loves to tour, loves being in the van more than any of the rest of them.

Eddie can't put his finger on it, but it makes him feel unnerved.

The rest of them talk about Gareth in hushed tones behind closed doors. Something's wrong with him, and they're not sure what they should do about his new attitude he's been sporting. But they find there's no answers, no easy fixes. 

Gareth just looks at them, staring blankly and uncaring. You can't shame someone that doesn't seem to have any shame left.

The final straw is when he makes Goodie cry. Goodie, for god's sake. The one well known for dishing it out and being able to take it in return. Eddie's never seen Goodie cry a single tear in all the years he's known him. 

Until tonight.

Eddie has to do something. They can't go on like this.

In the morning, on his nightstand is the business card from the donut guy. He knows it wasn't there the night before, at least he doesn't think it was. Surely he'd remember that. 

But his gut twists with gnawing clarity. What he's silently suspected.

Eddie holds the card in both his hands, like it might disappear if he doesn't hang on tight. The building is unassuming, and he pulls open the door. It's a big, spacious room with a single red elevator at the other end.

His boots click across the marble floor, and despite all the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, he presses the single button.

The down arrow lights up.

Well. He guesses he's going down.

And down he goes. It feels like one of those expensive hotel elevators that moves way too fast. There's no floor indicator, so he's just along for the ride until it comes to a smooth stop. 

His ears pop, and that can't be good.

When the door opens with a ding, he's right in the middle of an office, and Steve Harrington is sitting behind a large, ornate desk.

He motions for Eddie to take the seat across from him.

"Please allow me to introduce myself," Steve says, "I'm a man of wealth and taste. I've been around for a long, long year and stole many a man's soul and faith. I'm Steve Harrington."

"Uh, that's The Stones," Eddie says with a laugh, and Steve chuckles along with him.

"Perhaps it was written about me. Perhaps a deal was made. Long ago. A better one than for a donut," Steve says wryly, and Eddie swallows. No fucking way. He thought, but not really.

"You took his soul?" Eddie asks, just to make sure.

Steve nods, and waves his hand at the rows and rows of what looks like built-in mailboxes all along the wall behind him, "It's right back there. With all the others."

"Did you take mine?" Eddie asks. He doesn't feel like anything's changed, but maybe Gareth doesn't feel like anything has changed either. Even if it definitely has.

Steve shakes his head, a wry smile on his face.

"Why not me? Why not mine?" Eddie asks, sitting across from Steve, fingers digging into the ragged holes in the knees of his jeans just for something to do with his hands.

"You didn't summon me, you didn't make me an offer I couldn't refuse," Steve says, arms folded across his chest. Smiling.

"I ate a donut, too," Eddie argues.

"That was freely given, because you're so nice to look at," Steve says, and Eddie kind of hates that he's into that.

"So, what? You're the devil? Lucifer?"

"I prefer Steve."

"Yeah, yeah, what can I do to get his soul back?" Eddie asks.

"You want to make a deal?" Steve asks, leaning forward across his desk.

"Not like that! I like my soul right where it is, thank you," Eddie answers. He doesn't want to get tricked into anything, here. He knows he needs to be very careful.

"I could make you all very famous. I've done it before. Many times over. It's my specialty, actually. Keith and Mick struck a hard bargain, Mick studied finance, you know. I could give you the same deal. Not a ten year standard contract. Those are a dime a dozen. Boring."

Eddie hates that he almost believes this shit. If anyone struck a crossroads deal, it could have been Keith Richards. There's no reason he should still be alive and kicking, playing the goddamn guitar that well today.

There has to be a reason. And maybe that reason is Steve Harrington.

"I'm not giving you my soul to be famous. That's crazy."

Steve chuckles, and leans back again, "If you're not willing to part with your soul, then I'm not sure what you can give me of equal value. My hands are tied," he says. Folding his hands under his chin, elbows propped up on the desk. He's wearing a pinky ring, and Eddie can't look away from it. A signet, of some sort.

Now, Eddie's worn lots of rings in his life, but he's sure none of them have ever looked that goddamn hot. 

He forces himself to look away from it.

"You said I'm nice to look at," Eddie says, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. He digs his fingernails into his kneecaps.

"I did," Steve says.

"You can't have my soul," Eddie says again, "I do not consent. Can you take it by force?" 

Steve shakes his head.

"Why should I believe you?" Eddie asks. You don't trust the devil. That's like rule number one in all the books.

"I'm a man of my word. I only take what I'm offered. What are you offering me, Eddie?" Steve asks.

And a chill runs down Eddie's spine, making all the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. He never told Steve his name. He's sure of it. 

"Is your dick weird?" Eddie blurts out, and Steve laughs, a truly delighted sound. 

"Do you want it to be?" Steve asks, a glint in his eye, and Eddie can't help it, he laughs. Pulling his hair across the front of his mouth like he's a giggly schoolgirl looking for a prom date. 

Not a fully grown man, propositioning the goddamn devil. 

Eddie isn't sure what he's just signed up for, but Steve snaps his fingers and the room changes, shifts, and he's suddenly in a dark bedroom. All reds and blacks. Expensive draped fabrics.

It's a little on the nose for Lucifer, he's gotta say.

"What do you want from me?" Eddie asks, and he's equal parts concerned and excited. 

Whips, chains, hot pokers. Maybe he'll be hogtied and helpless. It could be anything, everything. Pleasure, or pain. Maybe both at the same time. Eddie'd be lying if he didn't admit to being excited by the prospect.

Instead of any of that, he watches as Steve sheds his clothes, and when he lays down on the bed, it's facedown, head propped on his arms. He snaps his fingers and a bottle of fancy-looking lube is suddenly in Eddie's hand. 

"That's a neat trick," Eddie says, and Steve laughs. He seems so normal, so human, it kind of scares Eddie that he's not terrified of him.

He's not human, he just happens to look like he is. No horns, no tail. Just miles of gorgeous skin. Eddie leans a knee down on the mattress, sinking in as he rubs his hand along Steve's back, over the curve of his ass. His skin is hot to the touch, a few degrees beyond warm, Eddie would wager. And always having cold hands, Eddie's immediately addicted to it. He glides along, caressing him, just barely brushing his hole with the edge of his thumb. Teasing him. Testing the water.

He's even hotter there. Goddamn.

Steve sighs contentedly, and closes his eyes.

Okay, then. Eddie smiles, so much for getting fucking freaky with the devil. But if that's not what Steve needs, well, Eddie will meet him where he's at.

"You like that, sweetheart?" Eddie asks, and Steve nods as his breath hitches in his chest at the endearment.

Well, good. He'll take care of him, then. He can do that.

He squeezes a good amount of lube on his fingers, and rubs them together. He wonders if this is even necessary. If Steve can just snap his fingers, and be loose, ready.

Where'd the fun be in that, though? 

Instead, Eddie works him open, first with his fingers, and then his tongue. It feels like it's burning him from the inside out, and he could get addicted to this. He always knew he'd tumble face-first into hell, he just never imagined it'd be like this. Eating out the devil. His palm pressed into a warm ass cheek, keeping him spread. Getting him wet, and sloppy.

Getting him ready to be fucked by Eddie.

Goddamn. 

Eddie's enjoying listening to him slowly lose control. He'd be lying if he didn't admit that it makes him feel powerful, having the devil himself bowing under his touch, his tongue. Opening for him. Begging for more, yearning for him. 

Turning over his control, which must be deep and powerful. Everlasting.

When Eddie finally pushes into him, he's snug and extra warm. Like he was made just for Eddie specifically. Eddie's never put his cock in anything this inviting in his whole goddamn life. It feels like he was always meant to be here, doing this with him. For him. Eddie leans forward so he can brush Steve's hair out of his eyes. So he can see all of Steve's face. If he's fucking the devil, he definitely wants to see him.

And he has no complaints when Steve's suddenly on his back, legs up, Eddie never pulling out, never even missing a stroke.

That's another neat trick.

Steve stretches his arms up over his head, his chest raising, and Eddie's eyes focus on a previously unseen mole in his armpit, barely visible on the edge of all that dark hair. Then Steve's gripping the metal bars of the headboard, and Eddie watches as his hands are suddenly bound to the bars, red scarves perfectly knotted at his wrists.

That's an even neater neat trick.

Eddie knows Steve's not really restrained, probably can't be, but that he wants to at least pretend he is, is doing something for Eddie.

Face-to-face is so underrated. He loves seeing Steve's face, because he doesn't want to miss a goddamn second of this experience, and he reaches down, wrapping his fist around Steve's hard cock. It's thick, big, absolutely perfect. Like it was designed with every ridge and vein being what Eddie would choose, if his personal preferences were taken into consideration. Eddie wishes he could choke on it while he fucks Steve. He's not sure if Satan has a prostate, but if Eddie had the power to bend things to his will, he'd make sure he had one that was easy to hit for goddamn sure.

Top priority.

Eddie tilts his hips, and Steve whines. 

"Look at you being so good," Eddie says, and Steve keens. Mouth parted, tongue wetting his lips. Interesting. That's very interesting. A subby, needy bottom isn't what Eddie had assumed he was getting when he agreed to hop in bed with the devil.

He rubs his hand against Steve's hairy thigh, fucking into him, "You like that. Don't you?"

Steve nods, white-knuckling the bed frame.

All in all, it's way more tame than Eddie had been expecting. He assumed he'd only leave here limping, scratched, bruised and scarred. But this isn't that. This is good sex, fuck yes it is, but it's not quite tormented sex dungeon.

Eddie jacks him firmly as he thrusts, trying to keep a good pace to keep those beautiful sounds escaping from Steve's parted lips. 

"That's it, darling, let go," Eddie coaxes. And he does. Hips leaving the bed as he comes all over Eddie's fist and his own taut stomach. Thick ropes of white, clinging to the hair below his belly button. 

Goddamn. 

Eddie thinks about pulling out, that's what he'd normally do, but Steve can maybe read his mind, which should scare Eddie more than it actually does, as he wraps his foot around Eddie's ass. Pressing inward, a blatant invitation to stay exactly where he is.

To keep fucking him.

So, Eddie does. Keeps the same pace, listening to him moan with every thrust. It doesn't take much longer, and as Eddie's hips stutter, his rhythm lost, he presses as far into Steve as he can. Coming deep with a long, satisfied groan.

He stays buried to the hilt, eyes focused on Steve's chest, heaving with exertion underneath him. Sweat clinging to all the hair on his chest.

He's gorgeous. 

When Eddie pulls out, his come is already leaking out of Steve's used hole. He presses his thumb against the hot, puckered skin, pressing it back into him as best he can. Fingers toying with him, unable to stop touching him. If he could get hard again right now, he would. He'd slide right back into Steve and fuck him all over again.

He'd never stop.

Instead, he gently lets Steve's legs down, and carefully unties his wrists, even though he knows Steve could do it on his own. He wants to, and when he's finished, he curls up against his side, wet fingers brushing through his chest hair, finding his nipple.

Steve giggles at the sensation, and Eddie laughs. Kissing both of his wrists, even if there's no indication he'd been tied up at all, before he presses his face into Steve's shoulder as they lay there together and catch their breath. Coming back down to earth, or wherever the fuck they are. Eddie isn't really sure, honestly. He might literally be in hell.

He can't find it in himself to care either way.

But he does have a question that's itching the back of his skull, demanding an answer.

"Why would you give us your card? Wouldn't it just be easier to disappear without a trace with his soul?" Eddie asks, laying in the most comfortable bed he's ever been in, in his entire life. The silk sheets are a little much, but the mattress truly is to die for. 

Steve turns his head to meet Eddie's eyes, and smiles. He looks a hundred percent human, with his tanned skin, moles and chest hair. 

"Well, that's the general rule, yes."

"Then why—"

"—you, of course," he interrupts. 

Eddie smiles, "Me? Seriously?"

"You're here, aren't you?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. He's here.

"You don't bring everybody home after you try to steal their soul?" Eddie asks.

"First off," Steve says, a hint of bitchy in his voice that really works for Eddie, "I don't steal anything. I take what I'm offered. And second, no, this isn't part of the arrangement most people get."

"How unlucky for them," Eddie teases, and Steve laughs. "Besides making a deal with The Stones, who else did you make deals with?" 

Eddie has to ask. He's super curious.

"In modern musical history? I'd say it starts with Robert Johnson," Steve says.

"So the crossroads legend is actually true?" 

"Not fully true, no. I didn't tune his guitar. That was an embellishment to make the story better. I don't even know how to play the guitar."

"Who else?" Eddie probes.

"Well, the whole 27 Club, basically. Those are mine. You don't get that kind of talent and fame in such a short period of time without some help along the way."

"Steve Harrington, were you making deals with minors?" Eddie asks.

"Oh no, if you want to join that illusive club, you'll take less than the average ten years in exchange for the notoriety. It's only fair."

"Does Gareth only have ten years, if you don't give his soul back?" Eddie asks.

"No, we didn't make any such deal. Those aren't done so easily. He got his donut, I got his soul, end of story. Most people, you know, those that think these things through, keep their souls until the end of the agreed upon contract. Gareth was just one of those souls so easily offered up that I sometimes choose to go ahead and collect."

Eddie nods. Steve didn't say he'd give it back, but Eddie thought it was implied. Maybe not, maybe he's been played, too. Just in a different way. Maybe he should have got it in writing, but that would have felt too much like prostitution. He didn't sleep with Steve only to get Gareth's soul back. But that was what brought him here in the first place. Obviously.

Maybe Steve never intended to give it back.

He can't think about that right now. 

"Stevie Nicks?" Eddie asks, going back to a more comfortable topic. 

"No. No, no, no. I don't mess with witches. No way."

"Elvis?"

"Of course. (You're The) Devil in Disguise is about me too, you know. Basically anyone who's covered Crossroads is mine."

"We've covered Crossroads!" Eddie yells, swatting at Steve's arm, and laughing as Steve ducks away, and then gathers Eddie up against his chest. Holding on tight. The devil is playful. Who fucking knew?

"Recorded," Steve amends, "not covered in a dive bar. I don't have that kind of time in the day, or the storage space, honestly."

Eddie just laughs. It shouldn't be funny. These are people's souls they willingly gave away for fame and fortune, no matter how fleeting. It makes him sad. 

But also, wildly curious. 

"The Kennedys?" Eddie asks.

"No, I don't deal in curses, and that's a cursed family if I've seen one. Whoever lost that rabbit's foot fucked it all up for the entire bloodline. I ain't touching that with a ten foot pole."

Eddie grins, "Ooh! The Beatles?"

Steve nods.

"Wow. Paul must have struck a much better deal than John," Eddie comments, and Steve smirks, a shit-eating grin if Eddie's ever seen one.

"No way!" Eddie says, rolling onto his side, "Paul is dead?"

Steve just shrugs his shoulders. 

"Holy shit. Tell me more," Eddie demands, curiosity getting the best of him. He wants all the dirty details. He loves to gossip, and this is the best pillow talk ever.

"Jacksonville in the sixties was a hotbed for dealmaking. You wouldn't believe the deals that could be made with people just trying to escape that swamp."

"You took Duane from us! And Berry!" Eddie accuses, pointing his finger at Steve, then thinks for a second, adding, "And Skynyrd?!"

"Who doesn't put fuel in a plane, honestly?" Steve asks, and Eddie knows the question is rhetorical. "Sometimes my job does itself for me."

Eddie goes through all the talented guitar players in his head that he knows came out of Jacksonville around that time.

"Mike Campbell?" 

Steve makes a face, touching his fingers to his lips, looking like he's disappointed, "Unfortunately not. All his talent is god given. Tom Petty was mine, though. I wandered down to Gainesville, just to see what they had to offer. You know, I think that's what made their music together so good. The devil on one shoulder, an angel on the other. In perfect harmony. Blood harmony, as only brothers can be. It was probably that prick Gabriel that touched him. And what does he know? I was the angel of music. He's just a baby."

Eddie can sense a family squabble when he hears one, and chooses to just ignore it. He's not sure he's equipped to offer guidance on a fight between archangels, fallen or otherwise.

He changes the subject.

"Stevie Ray Vaughan? Please tell me you didn't take SRV from us?"

When Steve doesn't deny it, Eddie flops his head into the pillow, "You are the devil."

"As I've said, repeatedly," Steve banters back, "pleased to meet you."

Eddie shakes his head, before the next name pops into his head, "Buddy Holly?"

"No! That was just a terrible accident. You're not pinning the day the music died on me! No way. I don't only deal in plane crashes, you know."

Eddie just laughs, "I know, sometimes you use motorcycles, apparently."

Steve just glares at him.

"Touchy, touchy. Easy there, Beelzebub. You just tell me who else if you're gonna get all bent out of shape about my guesses."

"Do you follow sports?" Steve asks. Eddie doesn't and shakes his head accordingly.

"Oh, well. The Chicago Bulls dynasty in the 1990s was thanks to me, and in football I signed quite the trifecta: a quarterback, tight end and the head coach. You want a dynasty? You'll have to pay for it."

Eddie laughs, he has no idea what he's talking about.

"So, yeah, I've done some sports deals. Tiger. Olympians, every four years, like clockwork. But I just have a preference for guitar players."

"Gareth's a drummer. Your aim was off," Eddie teases, and Steve just smiles at him.

"I don't know, I think I got exactly what I wanted out of that interaction," Steve answers, pulling Eddie tighter against him, and Eddie feels his face flush. 

Eddie should run fucking screaming, but instead he slides closer to Steve, pressing his thumb to Steve's neck. He can feel the pulse thrumming there, beating against his skin. He's alive. But he's been around for decades, maybe centuries. Maybe forever. 

Because he's the goddamn devil. 

Eddie just can't find it in himself to care.

He slings his leg up over Steve's hip, and presses their lips together in another kiss.

Then he hooks his chin over Steve's shoulder, holding onto him tight. They just hug in the silence for a while, before Eddie says, "I could teach you to play the guitar, if you want."

Steve slides his hand up Eddie's back, letting it splay between his shoulder blades, fingers gently rubbing circles against Eddie's skin. It takes a few moments, but Steve finally speaks, "In all my years, nobody's ever offered to teach me to play before. Thanks, Eddie."

Steve falls asleep burrowed under the covers, back to Eddie, and Eddie wasn't sure if the devil needed to sleep, but apparently he does. The only reason Eddie's pretty fucking sure he's actually asleep is because the room shifted, changed, as if it couldn't be held in the state it was without Steve being conscious. The facade, gone.

It's a normal bedroom, now. Light gray walls, the bedding piled high on the bed, all so incredibly soft, and in shades of deep, stunning blues. It's cozy, and comforting.

It feels like a home. Not a sex lair out of some sort of B-movie.

And for some reason Eddie feels grateful that he was invited to peek behind the curtain.

There are pictures lining the walls. Some look old, very old, and others appear more recent. He wonders if these are of his chosen family, people, loved ones that he found after he fell from grace. If the devil is even capable of getting attached to humans.

He's definitely interested in finding out. He wants to know everything about Steve.

Eddie stills, frozen when he sees a shadow moving through the hallway outside of the door. His imagination runs wild. Hellhounds, demons, something straight from the depths of hell coming to dispose of him.

It's just a woman. In fuzzy slippers, and a long t-shirt. Her hair cut into a cute bob, even as mussed as it is from sleep. When she spots him, she stops in front of the door, and they stare at each other.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispers, and Eddie wonders if this is a warning. If she's trapped here, if she doesn't want him to meet the same fate. If—

She reaches forward and yanks him by the arm, tugging him into the hallway, hissing, "Steve doesn't bring anyone home, how'd you get here?"

"Uh, he fell asleep, I think," Eddie answers, and she looks around him, back into the room, like she's trying to decide if he's telling the truth or not.

Then she grins, "Did he really?"

Eddie nods, and she slugs him on the arm, "Look at you go, little weirdo."

"Who are you?" he asks, rubbing his arm. "His wife?"

"Ew. No. I'm Robin. His lesbian best friend. Don't hurt him or I'll make you pay," she says, and he swears her eyes flash red, just for a second.

"I'll try not to hurt the devil," he says sarcastically, but she just smiles, looking him up and down.

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, Eddie," she says, and he swears to god, is he wearing a nametag he's not aware of?

She just gives him a push back into the bedroom, and then she's gone. 

The devil has a lesbian best friend named Robin, and they live in the suburbs?  As if his day could get any weirder.

Eddie turns and looks back at the bed. If the room changed, Steve probably did, too. A nervousness twists in his gut. The urge to look, but also the urge to stay in the dark. To not know what he really looks like. To not know what he just had sex with.

But, bad news first, always. 

And he creeps to Steve's side of the bed, and the comforter is pulled up over his shoulders, but his face is visible. Cheek pressed to the cotton pillowcase, features slack, as he very slightly snores on each exhale.

He's still Steve. 

Eddie shakes his head at his overactive imagination. He doesn't know why he expected him to suddenly have red skin and horns, but he definitely did.

So, the room is a facade. But Steve isn't. That's really what he looks like, and isn't that just unfair. A handsome devil, indeed. 

Eddie stands in front of the window, the moonlight casting shadows, a single street light illuminating the corner where a black cat sits and licks its paw. He could be anywhere. In any neighborhood. But looking out at it, all he cares about is that it looks peaceful.

Eddie carefully crawls back under the pile of bedding, and slides an arm over Steve's side, pressing his face into Steve's back. If he lives until tomorrow this will be a hell of a story, that's for goddamn sure.

When he wakes up, he's back in the dark, silk-covered cave of a bedroom. Not the homey one. Steve's already up, dressed in an all-black suit, the only color is his deep red tie. 

Once Eddie's up and re-dressed into yesterday's clothes, Steve walks him to the rows of mailboxes, and his hands still in front of one. They aren't even marked with numbers. They all look identical to Eddie.

"Is that his?" Eddie asks.

"Yes," Steve answers.

"Do you have, like, a chart? A logbook?"

Steve laughs, "No. I have a good memory."

Eddie finds that to be a little suspect, but he watches as Steve adjusts the dials, using the combination to unlock the box. 

"What if you're wrong? What if that's not his soul? What if that's Ted Bundy's soul?" Eddie asks, his hand covering Steve's.

Steve laughs, "Just trust me."

Eddie pulls back his hand. When he does, Steve opens the mailbox and a swirl of pure white light escapes, it's nearly blinding as it bounces around the room, nearly frantic in movement, before slipping into the crack of the elevator, suddenly gone from sight.

"That was Gareth's soul?" Eddie exclaims, and Steve smiles, closing the door on the box once again.

"That was his soul," he confirms, "Feisty little thing."

"And it'll find him on its own?" Eddie asks, needing to make sure. He can't have it just bouncing all over the world. He needs it back inside Gareth, like, yesterday.

"It will," Steve answers, "but let me assure you, this won't be fun for him. Once you're here on earth, souls are only supposed to go one way: out. Through death, or a trade. A deal. Going back in isn't really advised."

"But it'll work? He'll be okay?" Eddie asks, nervous. Gareth needs his soul. The rest of them won't be able to stand him without it.

"It'll work, but he might wish it hadn't for a few days," Steve says, and Eddie nods, swallowing hard. 

Eddie stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Unsure of what happens now. Does he just leave?

"So, we're good? He has his soul. I have my soul?" he clarifies.

Steve grins, "Yes, you have your soul. I can't take it without it being offered. Without you making a deal, a trade for it, no matter how fair or unfair the terms and conditions."

Eddie nods, but Steve keeps talking.

"And I kind of like it where it is. It's what makes you, you," Steve says, rubbing his palm against Eddie's sternum. Eddie reaches up, wrapping his arms around Steve's neck, kissing him.

When they break apart, Eddie looks into his dark eyes, "Will I see you again? Or, will this place vanish the second I step out of the elevator?"

Steve giggles, a delightful sound, "You watch too many movies. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, quite literally for eternity. And as long as you have my card, you can always find me. The address may change, but the place will not."

"Fuck, I gotta keep track of the card?" Eddie asks. He's not the most organized person on earth. He's lost four wallets in six years.

"If you lose it, I'll know. I won't let you get away that easily," he says, "you still owe me."

Eddie feels momentarily uneasy, but it passes looking at Steve's open face, "What do I owe you?"

Steve cradles Eddie's cheek in his large palm. It feels so warm against Eddie's skin, "Another night together. Dinner. A date."

Eddie laughs, leaning into his touch. He's gonna date the fucking devil, and he's somehow a thousand percent on board with that idea.

"Deal," Eddie says, and Steve laughs, brushing his thumb against Eddie's cheek.

"Don't say that word. Don't make deals. I'm not the only thing out there that can take advantage of it."

Eddie swallows, and nods. No deals. Got it.

"Okay," Steve says, pulling back and Eddie knows that's his cue to go. 

Steve walks him to the elevator, and presses the single up button, the arrow lighting up red over their heads.

He guesses this is it.

It's not until the elevator doors close behind him that he realizes he's got an extra ring on his finger. Steve's gold pinky ring is now on Eddie's own hand, standing out against all the silver. He twists his hand under the lights in the elevator, watching it gleam, and he grins.

That's when he recognizes the drum beat, the familiar guitar lick that leads into the riff coming through the elevator speakers. That sultry, laid-back sound.

Eddie smiles as the lyrics kick in. Steve's giving him permission. To love him, or to not. A direct message that Steve thinks he won't run away, and well, he's right. Eddie won't. 

He's definitely feeling like it's love, even if that seems ass over teakettle crazy.

"It's alright...it's alright," he sings along under his breath, as much to himself as anything else as the elevator makes the long, smooth climb upwards.

Then, the ascension finally stops, the elevator chiming, announcing his arrival topside.

The doors open, and Eddie feels rooted to the floor. They start to close again, but he shoots his hand out, and sees that golden ring, leading the way.

And he finally steps out.

It feels warm on his finger all the way back to the hotel across town. Like Steve's own fevered skin is touching him, constantly. A reminder. He adjusts his half-hard cock in his jeans at the idea of somehow being claimed by Steve.

That should terrify him, but it doesn't. It really, really doesn't.

When he opens the door to the room, Gareth is shivering in bed.

"Are you back to fucking normal?" Eddie asks, crawling into bed beside Gareth. Hands finding his face, checking him over. Looking for some sort of sign. A light in his eyes.

He knows what his soul looks like, now. How bright, how energetic.

Gareth nods. He's shivering, and fucking bawling. Good. Maybe next time he won't make a goddamn deal with the devil for a fucking donut. He's burning up. Steve said this would happen. It's supposed to be a one way exchange. Putting one back isn't as easy as it sounds.

But he did it, for Eddie.

Eddie climbs back out of bed, runs cool water over a washcloth, and presses it to Gareth's forehead when he climbs back in bed with him.

Eddie pulls Gareth into his side, pressing the damp cloth to his skin, "It's fine now. You're fine. I fixed it."

Gareth nods against his chest, and then croaks out, "What'd you have to do?"

"You don't want to know," Eddie answers, but the smile that spreads across his mouth is wide. Steve's card is burning a hole in his pocket, and he can't wait until he gets to see him again. It may be a terrible idea, but for some reason he's choosing to trust the devil he now knows.

"Eddie," Gareth pleads, coughing, a wet hacking sound, "Was he the devil?"

"Yeah. That's Steve. You'll like him."

"He took my soul, Eddie," Gareth whines.

"Yeah, but he gave it back, so you better be nice and grateful the next time you see him. Got it?"

Gareth mumbles under his breath, but Eddie flips the washcloth, offering the cooler side, and he settles against Eddie, "But what did you have to give to get it back?"

"Don't you worry," he says, pressing his lips to the top of Gareth's head, "it was nothing I didn't want to give away freely."

Later

Eddie stands on the stage, and wraps his hands around the mic as it's secured in the stand, center stage. Guitar slung loose at his side. He grips the mic, and can't help looking at the gold pinky ring, the stage lights making it gleam.

The crowd screams for the encore. The stadium is packed to capacity. Another sold out show, on another sold out tour. A career other bands envy and have tried desperately to emulate, with little success. 

Clamoring for the secret, the one Eddie isn't willing to share. It doesn't matter, there isn't another deal like it, and never will be. 

Four souls, fully intact. 

Only his love, given freely. 

The deal that wasn't really a deal at all. But one he'd make it again, and again, all the same.

Eddie smiles as Gareth starts gently banging on his conga drum, setting up the percussion loop as Eddie entertains the crowd. Then he does the maracas, and the guiro. Eddie hears when the loop is set, and is ready for Gareth to start in on his snare groove, using one stick to bounce off the head, and the other to hit the rim. Wood on metal.

The crowd screams, knowing what's coming, what song they always end their shows with. The same song, night after night, tour after tour. The one constant.

Glancing stage right, Eddie sees his familiar arms folded over his chest, the black suit making him nearly invisible in backstage darkness. But Eddie can see his own silver ring, a shining beacon off-stage. Catching his eye, and his heart. A promise, a commitment.

A love.

Eddie pulls the mic closer to his mouth, grinning wickedly before he starts singing the familiar song, written about the devil himself, who just so happens to also be Eddie's whole goddamn world.

"Please allow me to introduce myself…"

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

Notes: Welp. Sympathy for the Devil will now forever be tied to Steve Harrington to me. I don't make the rules.

This was one of those fics that I didn't know what I was going to write for the prompt until I opened the doc, and it just kept pouring out. Those are always so much fun! The first 5,500 words were written in 24 hours! And once I realized I was in the ballpark of 6,666 I had to go for it. Obviously.

It was fun to run with the age old myths and conspiracies theories that celebs sell their souls for their fame and fortune: That Paul is dead. That Keith will outlive us all. That the Kennedys are cursed.

The football trifecta was left intentionally open. It could have been the Patriots (Brady, Gronk & Belichick) or the Chiefs (Mahomes, Kelce & Reid) - it was readers choice, lol. Or if you weren't into sportsball, like Eddie isn't, it truly didn't matter. There's just no universe in which Steve Harrington, sports enthusiast that he is, wouldn't be putting his thumb on the scale for sports, too.

Duane Allman and Berry Oakley, both members of The Allman Brothers Band, died in separate motorcycle wrecks, almost exactly one year apart, the wrecks happening three blocks from one another. Both were 24. They are buried beside each other in Macon, Georgia.

Something was in the water in Jacksonville, Florida with all the guitar talent that came from there in a very short period of time. I couldn't resist giving Steve credit for it here.

The elevator song was Breakdown by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, that starts like this:

it's alright if you love me, it's alright if you don't i'm not afraid of you runnin' away, honey i get the feeling you won't

And finally, here's a playlist of some of the mentioned artists that may or may not have sold their souls to Steve Harrington. I had fun picking out songs that either directly referenced the devil, or at least could be interpreted that way. 🤘

[mncxbe]

ANNE DONT MIND ME PLS you write so good and reading these drabbles made me want to request one of my own !!

imagine professor!dazai giving u an extra lesson after class 🤭 it's 12 from the list btw <3

CHIYO MY DEAR♡ i'm so happy you requested this one. hope you like it. I made Dazai a literature professor👀♡

12 — Professor!char giving you an extra lesson after class

ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑𝒄𝒘: lowkey unethical, sex toys, semi-public space, creampie

"Keep reading, bella, you're halfway there."

Your professor's voice carried a hint of mockery as he soothed your thigh with a hand, pushing the silicone toy deeper inside you. You winced at the sensation, shooting Dazai a desperate glance over your shoulder.

Osamu Dazai was the new literature professor at your college– some prodigy kid who finished his PHD by the age of 25 and whose novels sold like hot cakes and now everyone was singing him praise. Frankly, you weren't too impressed by his accomplishments, but he was the only professor in the whole faculty who actually encouraged you to write something different, out of the norm; so you did anything to stay on his good side.

Even if it meant helping him around the office and fucking him from time to time. Not that you'd complain, Dazai was incredibly good looking and knew how to please a woman.

So naturally, when your professor asked you to come to his office after class you expected a quick fuck, as usual.

But the smug bastard had you bent over his desk with your panties lowered mid-thigh and a vibrator shoved up your pussy, making you read the assignments your colleagues turned in while he made snide comments on the side.

"Was that supposed to be a metaphor? 'The mist of the summer evening' what's that supposed to mean? God, I swear these texts are getting worse and worse..."

"Ngh– 'samu please" you whined, shifting your hips "Can't we just do this later?" The ache between your legs was almost unbearable, you needed him inside you, not that stupid toy.

"Sorry, bella, I have to grade this paper by 6. The kid's coming to discuss it" he mused, watching your walls clench around the toy with keen eyes. God, your pussy was divine– his pants were tightening just by looking at you.

Reaching a hand towards you, Dazai touched your folds, gathering your slick and smearing it all over the inner part of your thighs. "My, my, you're dripping, dear. Better hurry up and finish reading if you want me to fuck you properly" His deft digits found your bundle of nerves and gave it teasing flicks.

Your mind was starting to get foggy, the sentences melting into a jumble of letters as you struggled to read the last paragraph out loud. It was painfully embarrassing, the way your body jolted up as he drew slow circles on your clit with his thumb, how desperate you were to have him inside you. All the while, Dazai was toying with you, playing with your pussy like it was his favourite toy.

The second you were done with your paper you let it fall on the desk next to you. "Done, I'm done." you huffed out, looking over your shoulder to see Dazai's teasing smile.

"Good job, bella. I think it's worth at least 60 points. I mean, it's a progress from the last assignment he turned in. What do you think?"

I think you should stop messing around and fuck me already– you wanted to say back but all that came out of your mouth was a breathy yes, sir. i'd say so too.

The man got up from his chair and slowly ran a hand through your hair. You could hear him unbuckle his belt and lower the zipper of his suit pants, your hips swaying in anticipation. "You're such a pretty girl" he hummed, removing the toy from your pussy with a wet pop and alligning himself at your entrance "And obedient too. I think you deserve a reward ah shiit—"

A broken whine slipped from his lips as he slammed himself inside you, the grip he had on your hips growing fiercer. Fuck, your cunt was basically sucking him in. You were so damn perfect he swore he could spend all day fucking you and it wouldn't be enough.

Your moans filled the tiny office, the smell of your arousal lingering in the air, fueling the man's need. His hips snapped against yours, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. "Y-you're so tight bella think 'm gonna– fuck i'm gonna cum soon"

"Me too me too 'samu" you mewled as the tight knot in the pit of your stomach snapped and you came around his cock, soaking it in your juices.

It wasn't a surprise you came so fast, he'd been edging you for hours and you were so sensitive. Even now as your walls pulsed around him, Dazai's fingers found your puffy clit and your body jolted up. "W-wait 'samu you can't I just–"

"Want you to cum again with me, donna. Can you do that for me?" he huffed out and your pussy fluttered at the sound of his breathy, whiny moans, pressure building up in your core again.

When the two of you reached your high again, his hips halted flush against yours, his milky cum shooting deep inside you. The man's breath was ragged and he hissed when he slightly pulled out, watching the sticky substance form a ring at the base of his cock as it dribbled out of your hole.

Something sparked inside him at that moment and he quickly flipped you over, caging you between his arms as he leaned over your frame. Droplets of sweat clung to the tips of his hair as he pressed his forehead against yours "Can we do it again?"

"But Dazai we just–" you wanted to protest but he cut you off with a deep thrust, making you choke out a moan.

"Don't care bella you don't understand what you do to me I can't get enough of you" he sighed, slowly, almost lovingly, rocking his hips against yours, his lips ghosting over your cheeks, jaw and down the expanse of your neck, making you shudder. You'd lie if you said that his confession didn't stir something inside you too.

Before you could answer, a knock on the door snapped both of you out of the intimate moment you were sharing. "Um... professor? You said I could come by at 6 so we can discuss my paper"

𐙚prompts closed

[copperbadge]

Hey Sam!

I recently purchased a second hand bread machine, and I know you like to bake! (I got King Authur's Flour per your recommendation.) I was wondering if you have any recipes or tips and tricks for bread making? I don't have an oven in my apartment so sadly that's not an option for me 😔

Without an oven, a bread machine is a great acquisition! You can often also make rice, oatmeal, and sometimes even yogurt in a bread machine, depending on the model. If the machine didn't come with a manual, try googling for it, or googling the model name and "recipes" to see what else people have done with theirs. It's great you bought KA flour, because materials really do make the difference -- good flour and yeast are key. Freshness can matter with yeast so buy something with a long expiration date, and keep the yeast somewhere cool, dry, and dark.

For bread making, there are two main things I always think about: you are nurturing yeast, which is a living thing, and you're forming gluten (presumably, if you're not cooking gluten-free). The yeast wants to have food and be warm, so you want to use pretty warm water (most machine recipes say something very specific like 115-125F or similar, but it should be warmer than your skin and not so hot it hurts your skin, that's how I measure it). Sugar helps feed yeast, so often there will be sugar or honey in a recipe even if it's not a "sweet" bread. If you're using older yeast, adding a bit more sugar can help it work. Meanwhile, protein helps support gluten formation, so milk or milk powder are common ingredients often listed as optional but which are very helpful. If you have a stove, you can even make milk bread, which is one of the best, fluffiest kinds -- google "hokkaido milk bread" for recipes. Nearly any bread recipe that doesn't have a super long rise or need to be shaped can be made in a bread machine, but often (especially on the King Arthur site) a recipe will include special tips for adjusting it for a machine.

Specifically for bread machines, the bread can stay warm in the pan for a bit, but the longer it cools in the pan the more likely it is to form condensation, which leads to moisture on the surface of the crust in contact with the metal. That dries out pretty quickly if you leave it out for a bit, but moisture reduces the shelf life of homemade bread a LOT (moisture feeds mold). Your best bet is to remove the bread as soon as it's cool enough to handle -- it used to be the hardest part of making machine bread was getting it out of the damn pan, but they may have gotten better since I had one -- and wrap it in a tea towel or leave it out to cool completely before putting it in a package of some kind. I used to keep mine in the fridge because without preservatives it can mold quickly. These days most breads I bake included a few spoonfuls of King Arthur Bread and Cake Enhancer, which is a mild preservative and worth every penny -- it makes the bread softer, with better crumb, and it stays good for longer. There are other brands you can get cheaper on amazon, probably, but I've only ever used KA so I can't speak to their efficacy. It's generally not sold in stores.

Okay, two last things: one, I always put the bread machine on the floor when I was making bread in it, because it rocks back and forth a bit when kneading and I have had machines "walk" off the counter before. The floor or a wide table are best. Two, bread is difficult and even a machine for making it isn't perfect, so you may fail when you first start out. Even if you don't fail the first time, you may not get a good loaf at some point, and that's the nature of yeasted breads. Don't take it personally -- and don't give up! After a while, you start to notice if something seems "off" but it takes time to learn that sense.

Happy baking! I hope it goes well for you.

[sourlemonsprout]

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝓈

Seth x SugarBoo (gn!reader) x Alphonse

Word Count: 631

(In my head Sugarboo has some sort of out-of-home bakery business or just sells their treats to locals nearby idk🤷‍♀️)

•〰〰〰〰〰〰•✿•〰〰〰〰〰〰•

Seth wiped his brow and glanced around the shop once last before closing up. Summer had always been one of his favorite times of the year, water fights outside, camping in the woods, and all the other fun stuff you could do as a kid with the seemingly endless amount of free time on your hands. However, the oppressive heat that lingered in the mechanic shop coupled with the pesky bugs made Seth long for the cooler fall days ahead. It wasn't all bad though, he was truly grateful for the opportunity to work in the shop, and the summer evenings he spent with you and Alphonse were some of the most memorable he'd had in a long time. The comforting beachside strolls, the cozy nights spent by a fire pit, and the delightful array of baked goods you crafted using the fresh fruits that were in season filled his days with joy. Just as he was reminiscing about your delightful treats, a message suddenly lit up Seth's phone.

"heyy can you pick up some lemons on your way back from work pls?? xoxo"

He smiled down at his phone, shaking his head slightly, this was the second time this week you'd had him run to the store, but he didn't mind. As he closed the garage up and locked the doors, he pondered what sweet treat you were going to whip up this time.

As Seth rolled into the driveway, the sun began to flood the sky with a dreamy glow of orange and pink as it faded into the horizon. Stepping off his bike, he could hear your laughter through the open windows. You and Alphonse were sitting at the kitchen table, music playing softly from a speaker as you two chatted away enjoying the gentle summer breeze blowing through the house.

"How ya' doing big guy?" Al nodded at Seth as he walked into the house, kicking off his shoes by the door.

"Tired, but glad to be done for the weekend." He replied with a sleepy smile.

"Busy day?" Alphonse asked.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Seth sighed.

"Thanks for grabbing lemons!" you beam as you get up from the table, grabbing the bag from Seth and dumping them into a collider next to the sink.

"Whatcha planning on makin' with those?" Seth questioned.

"Shortbread lemon tart" you state. You make a mental note to wash the fruits tomorrow before using them, before returning to Seth and pummeling into his chest for a big bear hug.

"W-whoa" he laughed, catching his balance from the sudden hug attack.

"Why hello there Sugar," he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. No matter how hot and tiring the days were, coming home to you two made everything worthwhile.

"Whatcha end up making with the blackberries I picked up for you the other day?"

"Little blackberry pavlovas!"

"Pav... lovas?"

"It's an Australian meringue cake with a soft marshmallowy center" you explain.

"Yeah, and they made this compote with the berries and used some fresh mint leaves from the garden as a garnish, it looked amazing!" Alphonse chimed in.

"Damn Sugar, that sounds great! I bet those sold really well huh? s'there any left?"

"nOpe" Al snickered.

"Alphonse," you wine, "You ate the last one??"

"You bet I did, it was delicious Boo," Al said sticking his tongue out playfully at a disappointed Seth.

"You're an ass, you know that right?" Seth bantered.

"I'll save you some of the lemon tart, and I'll be sure to hide it this time. Anyways, dinner is hot and ready on the stove if you're ready!" you say finally breaking away from the hug. As the evening unfolded, the three of you sat down for a cozy dinner and chatted away until the stars dotted the sky outside.

•〰〰〰〰〰〰•✿•〰〰〰〰〰〰•

The End <3

[elslovers]

the one - E. Williams

a/n hello my loves apologies for falling off I have just been in a writing slump but I decided the perfect way to pull myself out was with a series I had been wanting to write for awhile of on shots inspired by Taylor swift songs - as ur certified switftie tlou writer it is my duty this is angsty but no better way to start off than some Ellie folklore angst I hope you enjoy

" and if my wishes came true it would've been you"

Your hand clutches the stem of your wine glass, makeup-caked eyes, and a weaker spirit than you possessed less than twenty-four hours ago. Chaos is so intense it's almost peaceful, like when something moves so fast the human eye can't see it. That's how losing Ellie has you feeling, spinning so fast you almost think you are standing still pacing, and you know your pacing, but your mind is somewhere else. You only stop when you catch a glimpse of yourself in your vanity mirror.

" I guess the greatest loves of all time all time are over now"

Your body sinks into the memory of your meeting you'd always been a romantic dreaming up the great love affairs you would have with the cute barista because she said she liked your bangs or the pretty girl who lived down the hall from you freshmen year it wasn't uncommon for you to fall fast and hard which is what made Ellie so Wonderfully different you weren't free falling into fantasy you were content in reality with her from the moment you met you were her waitress and she and her friends who would soon become chosen family had been hogging a table all night at the shitty little diner you worked at ordering nothing but hot cocoa and fries for the table you usually would mind but from the moment you saw her you started saying a prayer that shed be there till close she would smile at you every time you brought fresh cocoa for the table finding a new aspect of you to compliment shyly each time, you saw the eyes her friends made giving her a look of stop fuckin around and make a move and when she saw you dip into the bathroom she made her move.

you remembered it all feverishly a little hazy in some parts but some moments so sharp with hurt you were washing your hands when you saw her walk in from the mirror a smile turning up on your lips - was she here for you? You recall thinking these moments were fuzzy, her mind racing too much to remember the small talk you made, but when her lips crashed onto you with hunger, you made sure to remember everything the way her calloused hands held your cheeks, the way she didn't hesitate the way she backed you against the wall and after what felt like only a second pulled back and gave you a smile that seemed to say she already knew she had you and then kissed you again just as starved as the first Ellie has a talent for kissing you every damn time as she might never kiss you again

from that moment on it was just you and Ellie

until it wasn't

"and if you wanted me you really should've showed"

The problem with loving someone like Ellie is the love being loved more than their lover, or at least that is what you had gathered after six months of loving and losing at the same time she has a wandering eye, always had, always will, but she was yours. That's what you assured yourself of when she started hiding her phone more. She was yours. It's what you told yourself when she stopped asking you to accompany her to the house parties she sold at. She was yours, but Ellie belonged to everyone and no one all at once. She was never really anyone. Her friends would say how impressed they were. She'd made it so long that she was never good at monogamy, and you would always say she was good with you.

because god was she good with you

good until she wasn't until she was good with the girl she promised was just a client turned smoke buddy you prided yourself on being cool unattached the type of girlfriend Ellie wanted the kind who didn't panic (or at least didnt let her see) you kept yourself so cool the girl she told you not to worry about found her way into the bed you shared found her way inside the girl you thought would make you never be shared again

good until it wasn't

The screaming her begging you not to leave you, throwing her shit into the hallway of your apartment, demanding she get the fuck out. The girl who Ellie could still taste on her lips, running for the hills as fast as she could, was all still fresh in your mind, an open wound bleeding out memories you try and drink away. 'How could you be meant to sound solid and angry like a proper woman scorned would sound? You try to sound like the hell these women are supposed to give, but it comes out weak and broken, followed by a sob and trembling lip as you try to preserve whatever dignity you have left - how could you be so blind? "Baby- she's nothing. I swear she's nothing." ellies pleading, but it is disregarded because, at that moment, you feel like the one who's nothing "Honestly, Ellie, if that's how you treat girls who mean nothing, then what the fuck am I- six months, and then you meet some girl and take her home." you sun onto the bed sobbing for her to leave until she shut the door of your once-shared home for the last time

"but if you never bleed your never gonna grow"

you spend the next three weeks bleeding day drunk in your bed cycling the five stages of grief one after another day in day out it hurt in a way you'd never felt pain before the betrayal the worst of it all it hurt more then losing her

but you let yourself feel it all because somewhere a part of you knows if you don't feel it now you'll be feeling it for the rest of your life

" I'm doing good i'm on some new shit"

Two months feel like a lifetime, like you've been walking around watching your whole life on a film screen with a projector that never entirely comes into focus - but after two months of grief, you want to bloom again. You want to be the version of yourself you were before Ellie broke your heart and took your light with you. The pains are still there, but it coexists alongside a fury to not let her win

so step one is to do your hair how you used to big rollers, pulling them out into perfect curls. Step two is to do your makeup in a way that makes you glow light and airy as the sun gave you her blessing to outshine her, and three, go to a party knowing there is a 50/50 chance she'll be in attendance and not caring either way

the music is loud in your chest, the bass a welcome replacement to the pounding go your heart. You always made it a rule never to go out alone, but getting over Ellie seems to require breaking some rules 

you take one shot after another, stopping when you reach the happy place of drunkenness of not being too sure you are standing on solid ground 

you dance alone, and you dance against people. You dance with people until you've settled your eyes on a girl who could make you forget who made you like this in the first place

she's pulling someone by the sleeve of their flannel, and after a moment, Ellies figure steps Into the red and blue led lights of the dance floor

god, Williams, you always did have good taste

the familiar feeling of emotions flowing out of you serves as a reminder that no amount of bleeding will heal this wound

not yet, at least

your frozen mind is willing your body to move before she has the privilege of seeing you of being in the same space as you, a privilege you swore to both her and yourself she would never have again - but you rooted to the floor, and in an instant, her eyes are on you filling with an emotion you can't place

before you know it, her strides are strong coating across the dance floor, leaving the girl who two minutes ago you were plotting to take home in the dust

she's by your side in an instant, and you want to run - you need to run, but you can't bring yourself to feel the spark you just got back draining faster than you can stop 

"Angel," her voice is loud but gentle over the music, and her words make your stomach churn Ellie and alcohol have always been a sour mix

"you don't get to call me that anymore" There's no gentleness in your words, no harshness, neither its matter of fact, which somehow hurts Ellie more than if you were to scream at her

"I fucked up. I fucked up so bad, but it's months, and your all that's on my mind. I see it; okay, you're the one. I got caught up, and I lost sight of that," her voice is begging, a sound you used to adore but now just makes you want to vomit

you were the one

but she wasn't

"your right- I was. I was the one, Ellie, and we- use, this fuckin love was something, and if I got everything I wanted, it would've been you. It would've been sweet if you could've seen it was me all along, but you couldn't, and now I'm the one that got away, not the one you get to have"

whatever force that had been holding you there let go allowing you to walk out of that party prepared to finish the bleeding and move on to the growing.

[popcultureoverdosed]

GTA 6 Fanfic- Almost Perfect Heist

" Put ya hands where I can see them and money in the bag!"

Two assailants charged into a busy convenience store in one fateful morning. The duo were practically glued to the hip with how they refused to leave the side of the other. Jason seemed to be the leader of the operation from the way he swaggered inside with brimming confidence while his partner, Lucia, faltered ever so slightly. They kept their guns trained on their targets as they made their way to the store's center.

A suffocating cloud of consternation hung heavy in the air, chilling the blood of almost everyone there. Crimes like this were far from uncommon in Vice City. You could hardly walk a few blocks without encountering dried blood caked up on the concrete or the cries of the helpless victim on their last day on earth. The patrons all instinctively knew that no cops would arrive just in time to save them from their darkest hour. If they remained obedient, they'd get to leave with their lives and a hungry wallet.

" You heard the man! Just give us all y'all cash and we'll be on our way."

Lucia walked around the store loading her bag with money while Jason dealt with the cashier. Everyone was quick to hand her their money before they ended up as yet another statistic. Many sobbed uncontrollably while others glared at her with barely suppressed anger. Lucia grinned wickedly as her loot steadily increased. Images of designer purses and shoes flashed in her mind, a collection of which seemed to grow every few weeks. She was about to check up on Josh when she heard IT.

The deafening sound of a bullet leaving its chamber in hot pursuit of its latest victim. Lucia moved to the front the see the cashier convulsing on the ground with a fresh bullet wound in his stomach. Hot tears raced down the cashier's face while he clutched at his wound. Lucia knew the look in his eyes quite well.

The look of someone with their back against the wall with no one to save them. A face that reflected years of pain and regret. She often held that same expression before she met Jason. Before she sold her soul for a life of degeneracy. 

" That's what happens when you try to be a fucking hero!" Jason cocked his head in Lucia's direction. " This fool got some mighty balls on him, trying to take my gun like that. He's lucky I didn't blast his head off. Let's bounce."

Lucia nodded and the two dashed out of the store and into a white Toyota Ae86. As Jason burned rubber on the hot asphalt, Lucia's mind drifted to the cashier. She wondered if he too had a loved one who would mourn him should the bullet wound prove fatal. She imagined all the anger, fear, and grief that must be consuming all those customers. Lucia was usually unfettered when she was with Jason, but she couldn't help feeling that all their crimes would eventually catch up with them. Sometimes she pretended not to care and other times those dreadful thoughts kept her tossing and turning throughout the night. Either way, this was the only life she knew how to live and she was damn sure to make the most of it.

[jmweaverauthor]

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.

(© 2025, J.M. Weaver)

[krcdgamedev]

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?

[angrythingstarlight]

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.”

[rigginsstreet]

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

[whoslaurapalmer]

@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.

[fanmoose12]

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.

[6rookie-writer0110]

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.

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

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🥺

[artificer-real]

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:

#5

words cannot fucking describe my confusion WORMS????

6 notes - Posted August 10, 2022

>worms

#4

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

#3

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

#2

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

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