coffeepots | ryslig inbox

There once was a boy who was a Halloween fanatic. He loved dressing up for Halloween, he loved pulling pranks and watching horror movies, and above everything else... he loved candy. One fateful year, while he went trick-or-treating, he visited a house. This house was creepy as hell! It was big, it was old, it smelled like a grandmother and it was owned by a happy, old rich couple. The boy came here thinking that he would be handed out big chocolate bars, because it was a rich person's house but when he knocked on their door... he was handed a bag of that shitty candy that nobody likes! Tootsie rolls, shitty flavoured dum-dums, those weird... peanut things... needless to say, the boy was heartbroken. He was so heartbroken that he died, right there on their porch and now, every Halloween he goes out and finds people to curse. He wants everyone to suffer the same way he did!

Everybody is already suffering from his curse!! Send this to ten people to break the curse, or to avoid getting cursed, or you'll be stuck looking freakier than usual for the rest of your life!!!!!!!!!!

[ Slade can count the number of interactions he's had with Hawkeye on one hand. The latest 'anonymous' network post doesn't give enough information for Slade to go on — not that there's any indication that talk of vigilantism would either curb or curry Slade's favor. Still, there's a reason Hawkeye earned himself a spot on that list. ]

I have a proposition.

*** INVALID_USERNAME's username is invalid!
*** This is a courtesy reminder to update your userspace settings.
You
blonde man
Books ?
Have Books ?

Ho ho ho! Your secret Santa gift recipient for this year is a.dyer on the network.

Her name is Annie. From context, I'm assuming Annie Dyer.

Please spend no more than 20 solars on a gift for Annie, and ensure she receives it on or before Christmas Day (December 25). If not, Santa Claus will come to your house and glare disappointedly through the windows until you cough up.

Merry Winter-Holiday-Of-Your-Choice!

P.S. I, Santa Claus, am on Real Hawkeye's side: Hawkeyes don't have to know archery. Plus, I gave him a toy bow and arrows when he was seven, so that totally counts.

Edited 2020-12-11 23:39 (UTC)

[Harley doesn't know anything about this guy. Her brief search of the Network didn't bring up any specific friends or interests- so, in order to fulfil her Yuletide obligations, a little undercover work is required.]

Hiya! I saw your post from awhile back, about uh, possible living arrangements? And I might need a place to stay for awhile, while I'm still a normal boring flesh girl. What's the 38-8 like? You're the Super, right?

[Awhile after her intel-gathering mission, a brightly-wrapped package is left at the door of Clint's apartment. In it is a pair of fingerless gloves, leather on the palms and the backs of the hands; a couple tiny rawhide bones, small enough to fit into the palm of Clint's hand; a brand-new tennis ball; and a tiny, squeaky, purple toy in the shape of a pig. There's also a note, tucked between the gloves and the pig.]

Hope these come in HANDY, especially the gloves. (Get it?) Don't worry about your canine side; why not try leaning into it? Maybe rawhide is secretly super good and you never knew!

Happy Nattensfest!
- Your Secret Santa
018.07.163.69 (nice)

[Sometime on the 23rd, in the early hours, a parcel is left outside Clint Barton's door. The box is neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string of red and green, and the hand writing is a painfully neat font that almost looks typed.]

[Inside the box, when it is opened, are a collection of frosting dipped lebkuchen, all obviously handmade and bone shaped, decorated with carefully piped decoration to accentuate the bone shape.]

Barton -

Thanks.

Fröhliche Weihnachten

Gabriel. (209)

Edited 2020-12-23 18:15 (UTC)

[ Gods damn you, Clint Barton. Both for getting Angela a gift (and therefore requiring her to get you one in return), and for delivering it on Christmas Eve (therefore limiting the amount of time she has left in which to find, purchase, and deliver said return gift).

In any case, she pulls it off. Because of course she does. So on Christmas morning, there is a new leatherwork quiver sitting outside Clint's door. It is not wrapped. But it does have a note. ]

Thank you for your hard work.
—Angela

[ And if the "A" is stylized to resemble that of the Avengers logo, well... Don't mention it. ]

Edited 2020-12-23 18:28 (UTC)

This is your OFFICIAL notification that the monster pinup calendar photoshoot has been delayed to January 18th, owing to blizzards, burning, alien flesh parasites, and death. Sorry for the short notice, but your friendly neighborhood organizers were trapped in a death hotel, so. Tough.

In the meantime, this gives YOU more time to think about the shoot! As you're a Were~~dog~~wolf, your calendar month will be July, with the theme of Sports/Baseball/Maybe Archery. You're our only werewolf, so you'll have the diamond to yourself! But if you want any help with ideas, I'm always here.

If you have any questions or concerns, or if you died and need to be excused, let us know.

- Harley Quinn

[There are probably more delicate ways Joey could do this. When reaching out to someone after a traumatic event, he usually takes a much gentler approach, but - well, this is Clint. Soft, placating words don't really seem like a good fit for him, which is why Joey opts instead to open with a terrible joke.]

Hey, puppy. How you holding up? *buddy sorry, auto-correct

[ This comes quite some time after the tragedy at Iskall Resort, following a certain exchange to be very specific. Due to Clint not exactly being Clint at the time, maybe he will... or maybe he won't piece together why opening his mail receptacle of choice unleashes a small flood of coupons one day.

Okay, so.

It's not exactly twelve coupons.

He couldn't wrangle that many, and not all of them are for pizza. In an attempt to make up for the discrepancy, one is from a business called Poundmates, the one of a kind pet rental service! This pawprint-adorned slip of paper promises a free one day playdate with a loveable dog or cat of the redeemer's choice!

On the reverse side, in shitty, sloppy too-big handwriting:

APOLOGY ACCEPTED ]

[When Clint wakes up on the morning (or more realistically, the afternoon) of the 14th, he might be surprised to find a note on his kitchen counter, next to a toy bow and six arrows with sponge tips. A small bottle of purple acrylic paint sits on top of the note like a paperweight.]

[In Joey's neat, looping scrawl, the note reads as follows:]

If you're reading this the game is on. Whoever lands the most shots wins, loser buys pancakes.

[There are less complicated ways to say 'happy valentines day, let me take you out for breakfast/brunch' but what fun would that be?]

hey. you should get a piano for the complex.

[Yes, this does just get shot at Clint out of nowhere. No, she does not sign her name. If it feels a little like an implicit threat, that's because it is.]

So I'm hoping from the conversation I've had with Joey that I'm right in saying we should probably talk.

[On the 18th June, Clint will receive an envelope through his door. Inside, there is a card, simply filled with a wish for him to have a happy birthday, and a very neatly printed 'Gabriel and Montgomery'. Also inside the card is a 'voucher' of sorts:]

[This Voucher entitles Clint Barton and guests of his choosing to make use of the premium suite for a weekend, with meals and drinks included for their whole stay.]

[There's a clear message: treat yourself, bud.]

[oh come on. you knew this was coming.]

There once was a boy who was a Halloween fanatic. He loved dressing up for Halloween, he loved pulling pranks and watching horror movies, and above everything else... he loved candy. One fateful year, while he went trick-or-treating, he visited a house. This house was creepy as hell! It was big, it was old, it smelled like a grandmother and it was owned by a happy, old rich couple. The boy came here thinking that he would be handed out big chocolate bars, because it was a rich person's house but when he knocked on their door... he was handed a bag of that shitty candy that nobody likes! Tootsie rolls, shitty flavoured dum-dums, those weird... peanut things... needless to say, the boy was heartbroken. He was so heartbroken that he died, right there on their porch and now, every Halloween he goes out and finds people to curse. He wants everyone to suffer the same way he did!

Everybody is already suffering from his curse!! Send this to ten people to break the curse, or to avoid getting cursed, or you'll be stuck looking freakier than usual for the rest of your life!!!!!!!!!!

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, CLINT BARTON. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 008.01.023.11 * HAWKEYE has joined 008.01.023.11 <hawkeye> this is clint barton, please leave a message. <hawkeye>** if you need something fixed in your apartment please just knock on my door or something, it's faster.

<youllneverguess>

<cellist>

<INVALID_USERNAME>

<KrisKringle>

< StillHuman > - posted this to the wrong spot, sorry!

Secret Santa Strikes!!!

Midnight Delivery

A Christmas delivery

<GiggleGrrl> - Morning, January 14th

< Joshua626 >

super belate-y backdate-y

[backdated to the 14th]

<zhar-ptitsa>

<DICK>

[forward dated to the 18th]

<red-x> [anon]