#Little misfortune computer code

[ruesol]

Push & Pull | inbox (1)

(SUKUNA X READER)

PLOT:

You often find yourself complaining to your pen pal about the annoying IT tech at your soul-sucking corporate job. If only you knew that they shared the same identity beyond the screen.

or: the “You’ve Got Mail” au

MASTERLIST

You’re a mess when you tumble out of the elevator, your feet wobbling because of the forsaken dress code for women that requires them to wear heels. The umbrella that you accidentally ripped a hole in is dripping water everywhere, because by some misfortune, you had unknowingly thrown out its cover along with the rest of your ex’s stuff that was rotting in the back of your closet. 

The price you had to pay for deep cleaning your house on a weekday was that you had to look like a complete trainwreck in front of your coworkers the next day.

Nothing seems to be going your way lately. You had accidentally added salt instead of sugar to your coffee earlier this week, had to stay past five by yourself twice in a row, and had ripped your stocking in the middle of an important meeting.

“Looking sharp,” Sukuna remarks as he walks past you with the rest of your department in tow. Shoko and Suguru throw sorry looks your way as they continue conversing with him about some show they all like. Scoffing at his attitude, you pull yourself together, throwing your broken umbrella away in a nearby trash can. You could simply buy another one at a nearby convenience store after work.

Sukuna’s attitude towards you, though? Not something that can be replaced easily. It’s been foul since you started working at the company, and you have no idea why. It’s a shame, though, if his personality were as good as his looks, you would’ve asked him out despite your lack of confidence. A man too strapping to look twice in your direction.

Your coworkers aren’t seen anywhere when you make it to your desk. You don’t blame them. There were still ten minutes till the clock struck nine, so most of them usually hung out by the IT office, which happens to be on the same floor, and right by the break room. After graduating and getting your first real job, you realized there wasn’t much difference between high school and an average corporate office. There was still a hierarchy and a system of popular kids and average Joes. A frustrating but true fact. Being a corporate slave wasn’t much different than being a loner. Well, save for the days on when you’d hang out with your coworkers after overtime.

The moment you sit, your chair lets out an odd squeak like it’s already exhausted when the day has just begun, much like you. A few heads turn, and you look down at your desk to not garner any more attention than you already have. 

You slowly blink at the email login screen, but instead of entering your password, you open an incognito window and enter an archaic website’s name.

www.anonpal.com

And instead of your company’s domain login page, your computer loads an old-fashioned website. Something like Windows XP or a government services website where the icons for options like ‘log in’ and ‘forgot password’ still had a sheen designed on them.

You enter your corny little username (orchid27–named after the first thing your eyes landed on while you were signing up) and password. You don’t realize it until your joints ache, but you were crossing your fingers, hoping that he was online for a chat, all with giddy knees bouncing with your shitty faux leather heels.

But the little grey dot next to his name lets you draw a sigh instead. So you leave him a short letter venting about the little things that make your life shittier than it already is.

———

Dear ceos4unions,

I know it’s been a week, and I’m sorry for leaving you hanging. I should’ve given you some kind of warning, but honestly, life has just been incredibly shitty to me lately. It’s not even lunchtime, and I’ve embarrassed myself in front of my coworkers.

Today was just another one of those days where everything that could go wrong did go wrong. It’s the little things that tip the scale, you know? (like accidentally mixing salt instead of sugar in your coffee)

Hoping that your week isn’t soggy and is going way better than mine,

–Orchid27.

———

You had no idea who you were sending these emails to. It could be a chatbot on the site whose sole purpose was to keep it alive for all you knew, but it was cathartic to just word vomit to him. He claimed to be a man living in the same city as you. You answered your part, but refrained from going further, stating that the anonymity was comforting, to which he agreed with no protest, doing the same himself.

It felt like throwing words out into the void, knowing that nothing was going to come back to bite you over them. A sense of safety in the unknown.

You had found the website on some shady forum after your ex had left you feeling absolutely debilitated after cheating on you. Nothing gave you the same comfort you’d get when you’d see the little green dot blinking on the screen or receive a notification with a cheerful ‘You’ve got mail’ jingle. Friends had recommended different shrinks, workout classes, and whatnot, but for some strange reason, the only thing that had finally brought you out of the pits of depression was exchanging letters with a stranger.

You had a hard time trusting people. Talking about your feelings just didn’t come as easily to you anymore (not unless it was with ceos4unions). The mystery helped you cope with the fact that there wouldn’t be any consequences.

Before you know it, lunch hour rolls around. You roll your chair a few inches away from your desk, and it makes that loud creaking sound again. This time, all eyes are on you. To escape the weird stares, you trudge to the break room, where unsurprisingly, Sukuna is already slacking off.

You instantly notice his sharp gaze on you, which already makes you want to shrink into a sad little puddle on the ground. But alas, you can only feel sorry for yourself for so long, so you walk to the coffee pot for some much-needed caffeine.

“Sorry, got the last cup,” Sukuna snarked when you noticed the empty pot.

“You could’ve at least made a new one,” you say with an exasperated sigh as you open the cabinet. However, seeing that the coffee beans hadn’t been restocked was just your luck. “Are you kidding me?”

You glare at Sukuna, and he simply stares out the window. “I hope you know this breakroom is meant for the accounts department.” You know your attempt at confronting him with facts is useless. Everyone loves him too much. He makes Shoko and Suguru laugh as they share the same humor, he lends Kento his car occasionally so they get along just fine, and Choso is his best friend from college.

“Yeah, but unfortunately for you, I’m an honorary member.” He shrugs. The red coffee cup with the Zenin group logo looks comically small in his hands. All he needs is to take one big gulp, and the drink would finish.

Shoko walks in with Suguru, and they frown when they notice the empty pot. “Ugh, not now. I’m going through serious withdrawals. Feel like I could fall asleep any second,” Shoko groans as she leans on Suguru’s bicep.

“Well, Sukuna took the last cup, so what can we do?” You roll your eyes as you walk to the pantry, surprised to find that there’s only one snack left, and it just happens to be your favorite. “We’re out of snacks, too,” you point out as you tear open the packet. You feel Sukuna’s gaze flit to you, but as soon as you catch it, he looks back at Shoko.

“Well, I guess we know who we’re sending for a coffee run today,” Suguru announces with a firm tone. All three of you look at Sukuna, and he rolls his eyes.

“Fine, but I’m taking her with me,” he says as he points to you. Your eyes widen as you scoff at his condition. “And why would I join you?”

“Because I can’t carry all those drinks alone,” he says in a ‘as-a-matter-of-fact’ tone.

“Really? You have all those muscles and can’t carry a few twelve-ounce cups?”

“It’s because I don’t wanna spill them, but thanks for noticing my muscles.” You want to roll your eyes back into your head as your cheeks burn with a temperature that could rival the Sun’s. “You’re paying,” you grumble.

“Of course I am. I make more than you,” he smirks as he walks out the door. You look at your phone, hoping that time has gone the least bit faster since you entered the room.

It had only been ten minutes. Down to the company cafe you go.

—

It was hard not to be the center of attention when you were standing next to Sukuna. The man was the definition of the perfect bachelor: handsome, smart, has a great income, and towering height. He had everything most men sought to achieve. You were pretty sure you’d heard a rumor going around that Sukuna owned an Aston Martin. It wouldn’t seem that hard to believe it. He looked perfectly suited to have one.

When you finally state your order to the barista, Sukuna scoffs with amusement. “Make that one 16 ounces,” he says as he hands over his card.

“What was that about?” you asked as you both walked out of the line and towards the pick-up station. You’re finally noticing a lot of things about Sukuna that you otherwise wouldn’t have cared about because you had a boyfriend before.

Like the way his glasses have an expensive brand’s monogram engraved on the temples, or how his chest slightly strains against his navy blue shirt. Unlike you, he wears a smart watch which shows that he’s already burned off a few hundred calories today. He leads a life different from yours. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like you as much as the other coworkers.

“I mean, if you’re gonna die, why not go all out?”

“I’m not as smart as you, so you’re gonna have to be a little more clear,” you sarcastically reply.

“Four pumps of syrup? Really? Does the idea of having clogged arteries turn you on or something?”

You chew the inside of your cheek before you dig your phone out of your pocket.

“What are you doing?” Sukuna asks, an amused smile on his face as he watches you closely. His gaze feels like a spotlight, making your fingers tremble as you unlock your phone.

“I’m not gonna die by your hands. I’m gonna return what I owe for the coffee.”

“I’ll just return the money to you. I can’t let the golden opportunity go,” he teases, and for a second, you feel like you see his canines grow, turning his smile into a wolfish grin. His eyes habitually fixate on you like you’re his prey. You don’t need your anxiety adding on to it by staring at him continuously, so you turn away, choosing to stare at the barista who was now making your drink. One pump, two pumps, three pumps, four pumps. All the syrup dripping down the walls of the plastic cup had quickly pooled at the bottom.

“Whatever. I’ve had a shitty week so I deserve at least one good thing,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him.

It was not like making conversation with him had any real direction at all. For him, it was always about running in circles or catching you at dead ends. For you, it was all about getting him off your tail, like holding your pigtails together so the bully wouldn’t tug on them during recess.

When you both go upstairs, all your coworkers are overjoyed to see the drinks in his hand (turns out the fucker can hold the drinks by himself). You quietly grab your drink as you shuffle away to your desk, the ache in your back decreasing by an increment when you get back into your bubble.

When Sukuna gets together with your coworkers, the group is bound to get loud. You look over your shoulder and notice just how much he preens when he gets attention. You think of him as a pompous peacock, trying to do odd mating dances to attract his mate, and snicker to yourself.

And once again, you notice that he is the complete opposite of you. No wonder you both butt heads so much.

–

Your superior had dumped a few last-minute reports on your head right when you were finally looking forward to getting out of your tight work clothes. When the files hit your desk, you wish to hurl them at his head instead, but instead, you smile because the extra overtime pay would really help you.

Also, because you’re still new at the company, you couldn’t get too comfortable with refusing extra work when you were just a rookie.

You go to the washroom to freshen up before leaving. The veins in your eyes were getting more prominent by the hour, and you needed a splash of cold water to give you that last bit of energy to put yourself through the gruesome hour-long train ride back home. You want to shriek at the sight in the mirror–unkempt hair, eye bags, and dry skin. It’s hard to be kind to yourself when life keeps kicking you in the gut with different problems like student loans, high rent, and the indignation of taking public transport. Add a shitty coworker to the mix and you’ve hit the jackpot for modern day struggles.

You think the day cannot get worse when you see heavy rain blurring the view outside, but when you walk to your desk, you’re surprised to find an umbrella sitting on your desk. There’s not a drop of water on it, like it had been drying since the morning. You assume that possibly one of your coworkers might have left it, but the thought is diminished when you remember that Nanami and Choso carpool, and Suguru and Shoko have their own cars.

Maybe it’s the universe’s way of saying that life can be kind after all. So you silence all doubts and click the ground-level button in the elevator, with a new umbrella in hand.

TAGLIST : @numblytemporary @sttaejoon-blog @gojoscumsluttt @lik0 @sukubusss @cherryredkissez @fushiguroooozzz @curlsnchxos @toffeebrat @lazypostfandomer @ttrinity @abbyy54 @poopooindamouf @veluoriaaa

[drsmokescreen]

thebestdecepticonleader 16m "In that case, I shall sign as soon as the formal agreement is written. The sooner the Autobots know I do not wish to take command of them, the better things will likely go once the news is announced."

'The announcement is tomorrow,' Smokescreen said. 'There's still time to add a paragraph that Ultra Magnus will be continuing with military duties and that the separation of powers is an ongoing discussion. Today is for you two to meet, and for Ultra Magnus to be prepared for what is coming tomorrow. I've been sparing him this shock till he was well enough to take it. I can spare you no more time, Commander,' looking at Ultra Magnus. 'The secrecy has become as great a problem as the cause.' Namely, Smokescreen cannot be the Prime.

Ultra Magnus gives Smokescreen a nod, now understanding the need for secrecy in general and with him. The doctor has been wise to break up this terrible time into smaller parts, but seems to have been managing this crisis mostly alone with his limited power.

'Today is also a work day,' Smokescreen continued as he pushes off the counter. 'I'm taking Ultra Magnus back to his bed, then I'll come back for your appointment, Star. After that, if you two still want to talk, I can bring Star to your room.'

The exam last nearly five hours, in which Smokescreen extracts fourteen anti-Autobot codes from Star. He stores them on a biohazard slug for study later, if anyone picks up after him.

After a little nap for the long software surgery, Smokescreen set about getting his affairs in order, solely consisting of documents at this point. He read over his official report one more time, adding a few grammatical corrections before filing it. While waiting for the ID citation to be returned, he opens a letter for Ultra Magnus, listing some more ideas he might find helpful for 'crowd control' and the transition. The ID citation comes and he attaches it to the letter. At the end, he gives Magnus a personal note that he enjoyed working with Ultra Magnus, finding his frankness easy to work with.

Smokescreen wrote personal letters to Jazz and Ratchet, thanking them for their friendship and in Ratchet's case, for his mentorship additionally. All three letters are stored in his communications unit, which he will send out sometime tomorrow.

Smokescreen then adds the new part about the split in power to the announcement that they talked about earlier in the day. Stating it here is a good idea, as it assures the Autobots that a Decepticon will not be getting all the keycodes immediately. Jazz didn't return any edits or suggestions, so either Jazz doesn't want to acknowledge this Letter of Ascension's existence (most likely) or he didn't see anything to change.

Smokescreen would love to spend his last night in a card game, but he hasn't made any contacts in Raisen. Card games are a tight-lipped community. He has to settle with playing on the datapad against the computer, which he takes out to find some spot a false prime won't be stared at too much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Smokescreen wakes the next morning and has his breakfast, going about his morning as normal as possible. He looks over the Letter one more time. He doesn't want to die but he can't stop this. They had plans for that fateful day, but they didn't have plans for loosing three precious assets at once and what bonkers idea the Matrix would come up with. There was no plan for a quad-failure, and the misfortune of it mostly crash-landed on Smokescreen to mitigate with no time or plan. In months or years ahead, someone will see a better way, but Smokescreen cannot see it now.

Smokescreen sends the Letter to the news publisher, attaching a copy to Ultra Magnus' letter and sends that to him, letting him know it has started. He figures he has 2-3 hours for the publisher to review the Letter, confirm it, then publish it. Smokescreen puts the pad down and goes out to the balcony in the officers' lounge. He will hear it start from here easily. He wishes he had some Polyhexian spirits to sit and wait it out with.

[alleecatblues]

Fun little anecdote I have about C418: When I was in high school (around 2011-2012, I know I’m old) I bought the Minecraft soundtrack on Bandcamp. Shortly afterwards, my computer bricked and I lost everything on the hard drive. I haven’t used Bandcamp in a long time, so I don’t know if this is still a thing or if I could have done something about it at the time, but Bandcamp gave me a one time use download link and I couldn’t redownload the soundtrack.

I was a poor teenager at the time so the $15 or whatever I had spent was a big deal, so I took a chance and reached out. I explained the situation and asked if I could get a new link.

Not only did he respond within the week, he sent me a code to get the album again and offered me condolences on my misfortune. This guy who had done the soundtrack for one of the most popular video games of all time, even at the time, had taken time out of his day to help me and offer sympathy. He didn’t know if I was telling the truth. He just did it.

That little act of kindness has stuck with me ever since. So yeah, he’s a cool guy.

shoutout to C418 (one of minecraft’s composers) for just fucking snapping recently on twitter

[crwnofthcrns]

STATS:

full name: lavender honey parsons birthdate: october 28th, 2002 age: 22 height: 5’6” sexuality: heterosexual residence: on campus degree program: computer science ship status: chem testing

TW: abandonment

BIO:

the start to lavender parson’s life was less than ideal, but if you ask her about it, she’ll still paint it out like it was picture perfect

born in new york to a young single mom, the two struggled with housing for almost too long, often finding themselves in homeless shelters or couch surfing for a few days

lavender’s mother also struggled keeping jobs; she was unable to afford daycare for her daughter, and she didn’t have many people in her life that she trusted alone with her, and it felt like an endless cycle most days

but despite the shitty hand, lavender was a happy child; as long as she was with her mother, she had a smile on her face and a great attitude

but trying to raise a daughter was too much on lavender’s mother, and after five years in a constant struggle, she had to make a decision no mother should ever make

she brought lavender to city hall, all of her daughter’s things packed into one bag, telling her that she would only be staying there while she was at work for the day, and at just five years old, lavender was none the wiser to what was about to happen

she stayed at city hall all day, bounced from desk to desk and stared at with sympathy as she clutched her stuffed bunny to her chest; lavender waited hours for her mother to come back for her, but when city hall closed up for the day and she was packed up to stay at the house of one of the workers overnight, all of her hope was lost

her mother had completely abandoned her, leaving her in the care of the state in the hopes that she would eventually be adopted

lavender tried not to let her misfortune get her down; instead she chose to live her life like a normal kid, ignoring that she kept getting bounced from place to place for the sake of her own sanity

in her years of foster care, lavender displayed her smarts in humble ways; she got good grades in school, and even helped her foster siblings with their homework whenever they needed it

and in another attempt to keep herself busy and distracted, she started playing youth volleyball, liking that it gave her something to do after school

things started looking up for lavender after that, and shortly after her tenth birthday, she met the couple who fell in love with her instantly

the parsons weren’t able to have children of their own, and despite already having a brood of children at home, they knew lavender would be the perfect way to complete their family

and so she packed what little belongings she had and moved to greenview, maine; it was vastly different from new york, but lavender fell in love with the little coastal town

she integrated into the family easily, bonding with each of her siblings easily and settling into her new life that was full of love

while the parsons family weren’t the wealthiest in town, what they lacked in money they more than made up for in love; each of their children was cared for deeply, and it was clear they’d do anything for them

lavender was finally thriving, doing well in school and even joining the school’s volleyball team, a sport she clearly had a natural talent in

but apart from volleyball, lavender was obsessed with computers and how they worked, and when she wasn’t on the court, she was in the computer lab burying herself deep in codes

her brains and talent in sports is what landed her a spot at greenview university on a full-ride scholarship, but she doesn’t advertise that to anyone 

lavender doesn’t want people to judge her based on how much money she has, but rather how well she can do for herself on her own

despite the hardships she’s gone through in life, she’s a very friendly and bubbly person; it’s hard to find lavender without a smile on her face, and as obnoxious as it can be, it’s also infectious

she’s very much like a puppy in the sense of how easy it is for her to make friends; her personality is like a magnet, and she loves each of her friends individually

[adagreys]

Little misfortune computer code

#Little misfortune computer code code#

The game will also prompt the player to guide Misfortune's hand to perform certain actions or play minigames, such as fixing a broken vase or playing Whac-A-Mole. At certain points in the game the player has to make choices for Misfortune, which may trigger special animated cutscenes. Set in a 2.5D perspective, the player may only move forward or backwards. Set in the same universe as Fran Bow, the game revolves around the titular character Misfortune, who, guided by a voice in her head, seeks the prize of eternal happiness for her mother. The mask will disappear from mom’s face and she will smile.Little Misfortune is a 2019 dark fantasy adventure video game developed and published by the independent Swedish studio Killmonday games. If you have collected all the crystals, then you can get the achievement of eternal happiness. Benjamin saved her soul and will lead the heroine into the world of the dead. It turns out that the heroine was dead from the very beginning. Next, pick up a straw doll and go in search of Benjamin. When a voice asks for a door, you need to hide under the bed. Move the chair and climb through the window. A fox will appear and you will hear the voice of a monster. Next, talk to the fox, but he will run away again. The heroine will run away from the monster. So, you are on the other side keep moving past old and broken toys. Then you can spend the coupon on the fortune teller and buy all the prizes. Further, these coupons will come in handy. We spent our ticket on the HorrorHouse attraction. If you decide to eat sweets, the heroine will become a little bad. Inspect all carousels before you will spend your single ticket. We continue to move and answer voice questions.Īt the entrance to the amusement park, you will find one ticket.

#Little misfortune computer code code#

So, now we know the code from the safe - 27581. There is a safe in the room, but we need a password. There is a building behind the cage with the wolf. Insert the stone that you took earlier and read the inscription that appears. You need to throw a stone at the zoo window to get inside. Get to the stop and press the button to call the bus. Stop by the stone and read the inscription. Along the way, a voice asks us questions. Ride the carousel and then pick up a straw doll. Next you will meet a duck with a boombox. There is a remote control with a red button on the wall, press it. Even if you refuse, you still have to do it. Draw a drawing for the fox, take a brush. Examine the corpse on the rope and apply glitter to the boots. Enter George's house by ringing or knocking on the door. We chose cookies for the dog.Īgree to tell George what happened to the dog. Whatever you choose, crows will snatch the dog. You will find a jar of cookies - one with a prediction and one for a doggie. Once on the beach, you interact with the sand. If you play with the dog, then a branch will fall on him and he will die. Apply glitter to the car and the dead crow. Both there and there, you apply glitter by pressing F. Take a look in the fridge and soup pot on the stove. Collect all the fragments and be sure to place the flower inside. Select one of the toys - a unicorn or stone. Look under the bed on the left side, examine Babsi, read the diary and decide what to do with the coloring - leave Babsi or take with you. Pick up a jar of glitter from the floor mat. This is an unusual adventure game with a side view in which the development of the plot and the fate of the little girl depend on your choice.Īfter the introductory video, you will control a girl named Misfortune.

[une-femme-de-lettres]

Imagine Being 141’s designated hacker Just a thought I had while writing late at night

Sure you would have liked to spend those few days at the safe house enjoying a bit of quiet time, simply concerned with keeping watch or keeping track of your supplies. But your latest mission had rewarded you with a more than interesting set of data that could definitely earn you a nice little line to add to your list of ‘wins’, as Soap liked to call them.

It was indeed unfortunate that this set of data was contained in an encrypted hard drive. Accessing such crucial intel as easily as plugging a flash drive into a computer? Where’s the fun in that, right…

Now in your misfortune, luck had smiled upon you as you possessed just the skills necessary to crack that hard drive open. Just a few lines of code and you would be able to hack into it and get it to tell you all its secrets. Right?

Three days it took you to finally come up with a program that resembles something that would work on this thing. Three days, and almost as many nights.

You are presently on your third night sitting at the double screen of your computer, curled up under a blanket, living off of your usual rations washed down with the least tasteful energy drinks you could find at the corner shop, just below the apartment that served as a safe-house for you and your team.

You need to crack this thing open and fast. Otherwise you might very well lose your mind, if that wasn’t the case already, that is… Luckily, you are about to start testing your program, and from what you can read in the multi-coloured letters and numbers displayed on the dark background of the interface, you are seconds away from completing your task.

“You need to get some sleep, Shells,” Ghost calls softly from behind you, nudging at your arm as he comes to stand beside you. You pull the blanket up over your shoulder and keep looking at your screen, typing the last few lines.

The room you’re in is pitch black, only lit by the light emanating from your screens, making you wonder why the ‘dark mode’ on coding softwares is so fucking bright. Ghost looks at you, waiting for a response. You can feel his judgmental eyes on you but you don’t pay him any mind.

All your other teammates have probably gone to sleep by now, you can tell how late it is by the number of empty cans on your desk. But you need to finish this before you get to bed tonight. Tonight is the night and you definitely won’t be able to find sleep unless your program works. You tried yesterday and the day before. All you got were three of four hours of restless slumber.

“I’m nearly done, I just need to-” you respond to your Lieutenant, finally pushing the ‘enter’ key and waiting for your on-screen feedback. ‘Could not run code. Error code: 00x567283’ “-fuck!” you blurt with frustration, still trying to keep your voice down as to not wake up your teammates sleeping in the adjacent bedrooms. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you mumble, rubbing the sleep off your eyes.

You hear Ghost chuckle from his spot beside you, his arms are crossed as he rests his weight on one leg. His right arm unfolds from the other slowly and he silently points to a line in your code. You were about to lose it and tell him to fuck off if he’s just gonna laugh at you but your attention is brought back onto your screen.

“Parenthesis,” he says simply.

You take a second to process everything. That line is missing a parenthesis, right where his finger is pointing. You roll your eyes, taking a deep breath and blocking it before correcting the line and running the code again. ‘Encryption assessed, begin data extraction? <yes> no ;’

“How the fuck did you see that…?” you say in a long exhale. He remains silent for a moment and bends over to close the space between you.

“I’ve not been curled up like a fucking Gremlin at this computer all day and night, that’s how,” he says, his tone a bit too smug for your liking. “now - go - to - bed,” he finishes, turning your desk chair so you face him, now looking sideways at your screens with a pout.

“But it works now…” you say, looking back up at him, all curled up on your chair, wrapped in your blanket. He watches you for a second, cocking an eyebrow under his balaclava.

“Nah the puppy eyes don’t work if they’re all bloodshot, you look terrifying…” he simply says with a straight forwardness only he could manage. Your mouth opens wide, you’re offended.

You are about to protest when he grips your upper-arm, pulling you forcefully against him. Suddenly, you’re on your legs again, still trying to hold onto your blanket. His mouth is pressing against your ear through his mask.

“I want the Gremlin in my bed, right now,” he orders, his voice now taking an authoritative tone. Your mouth closes and you swallow the lump in your throat, trying to pay no mind to the centre of your body coming to life with all kinds of sensations.

“On it, Sir,” you say with a nod as he lets you go. You trot to the bedroom he’s staying in without looking back. Your heart beating fast inside your chest.

His eyes move back to the top of your desk. He looks at the cans littered all over the surface, crumbs filling the blank spaces between them.

“Fuck’s sake…” he mumbles under his breath before going after you, yelling at you as quietly as he can manage while making sure you’ll hear his command. “And take a shower first!”

[thewertsearch]

Asks Compilation 18/07

I'm really enjoying Hivebent! It almost feels like a detour into a different story, like the Intermission - although the difference, of course, is that we know this one is plot-relevant. 

The tone is quite different too. Things are kind of ominous - and not just because we know the troll session(s) are doomed. We’re slowly zooming into the culture of a pretty terrible world, and I’m sure there’s a lot more to see.  

I've thought about this, but there are two main issues here:

I like to refer back to previous posts a lot when I’m liveblogging, both for further analysis and to illustrate points. Audio or video reactions are sort of hard to reference - I could do a transcript, but I don’t think it’d be very useful, because

I’m just not very good live, lmao. I’m a lot more comfortable in text, where I can format and edit posts to properly illustrate what I’m trying to say. Live, I tend to ramble - even my text posts have to be cut down a little from my initial reactions. You’re really not missing much; trust me on this.

If the flashes ever get really long - like, if we do a larger one of these, which I’m assuming is a walkaround - I’ll reconsider. I doubt it, though, I’d probably be more likely to split it into multiple posts. I’ll keep it under consideration, though!

Karkat and his friends and everyone they would ever meet thereafter would experience great misfortune on account of the curse unwittingly implemented through Sollux's esoteric MOBIUS DOUBLE REACHAROUND VIRUS.

I think either interpretation makes sense - this sentence is kind of ambiguous, now that I’m looking at it again. Although, if Sollux did know what the virus would do, why would he send it to his friend? 

He knows Karkat is an amateur programmer, which is the worst kind of person to send this too. Karkat can compile and run this code, but he can’t understand it. What the hell, Captor?

I absolutely hate to admit this, but I watched Morbius with my friend a couple of weeks ago. The experience was indescribable, and it’s stuck in my mind ever since.

But my favorite moment will be when John looks directly out of the panel, meeting my eye, and speaks thusly:

I'm wearing ‘cliffnotes-esque’ as a badge of honor from now on. I kind of want to make it my blog header.

Yeah, I try to attach any relevant context to the points I make, just to help me tie things together. As a bonus, it hopefully helps readers out, too!

Oh my god, does this mean Sburb is on a grub? Are all the actual troll computers just... full of insects?  

Was Karkat, like, really confused by the non-biological tape storage in the Veil, or was his Veil just wall-to-wall grubs?

That’s too funny. It’s second only to Kingdom Hearts in weird stream-crossing moments in video games. I’ve never actually played a dating game before, but I gotta give this one a go - I actually think I’ve seen that JaidenAnimations dating game video before, I’ve seen a lot of her stuff. 

It may not be true canon, but maybe this is the legendary semi-canon that I keep hearing about...

Oh I love Undertale - Deltarune too. There is just so much going on in those games, on every level. 

Toby, not to rush you, but you have no idea the things I’d do for Chapter 3 to drop today. 

I actually didn’t catch this! Not that I’ve studied any classics, or anything.

I guess my pronunciation isn’t quite right. I guess it’d be something like ‘saul-ucks cap-ter’?

So he is. I think it’s a pretty safe bet that mental health services on Alternia are somewhat lacking, even more so than on Earth. Do you think trolls even know what therapy is? 

Aw, the poor monsters. 

Shit, I hadn’t thought of this yet - what lusus will my trollsona have? I’m thinking of some sort of insect, but leave it with me. 

[https://4-panel-life.tumblr.com/post/63400990221/before-i-knew-what-homestuck-was-i-was-really this I think 😂 - Cat ] 

Love it. I’d honestly have probably spent the rest of my life confusing the two, if I hadn’t started this blog. As I said, I have no earthy clue what Homestar Runner is about, only that it was a beacon of internet culture in the era before I came online.

I don’t doubt that puns were in play when Hussie was initially naming these Aspects - and those puns may well tie into their symbolism. It’s a pretty good way to get some inspiration when you’re naming things.

But I’m sure there’s more too it - simply because people love these Titles. The system is presumably pretty deep, and the pun is but a single faucet of each Title.

Thank you! Hilariously, it’s actually hotter at home than it was abroad. 

Is anyone else dealing with the heatwave, right now? Holy shit, you guys, even normal summers make me drowsy. This one is something else. 

Always up for some Sylladex analysis. 

We’ve considered this interpretation before. It makes a lot of sense - and it gels with what we already know about Sburb - but I’m still on the fence about it, mostly because it raises the same question that the rest of Sburb’s predestination system does - namely, how it would account for alternate timelines. 

There are ways to handle it - like, maybe each iteration of each person gets their own, personal index - and I do think we’re on the right track with predestination, but I still don’t think we have the whole picture here. 

Everything, Everywhere was a lot of fun - and all the AU and alt-self stuff was very Homestuck. 

Does anyone else wish we'd seen more of the other timelines, though? I know the movie was intentionally centered on one specific iteration of the family, but I'd love to have seen more of what went down in, for example, the Prime Timeline.

Dis* is me when I try to use regexes.

I'm on the for you page? I've fucking made it. Catch me monetizing the shit out of this blog now.

thewertsearch, brought to you by Namco™ High!

[ omg. um.... here it is... humanimals.... drawn by Hussie, I believe a few years before HS...

https://mrcheeze.github.io/andrewhussie/comic.html?comic=humanimals

content warning for... I guess body horror, and weird... human animal people, I don’t even know what description I could give but it’s nightmare fuel xD

it’s not directly plot relevant to HS the way SBAHJ is, I leave it up to your judgement lol - C ]

........

I honestly don’t think I can post these on the blog. Why does the the fact that they’re office clerks make it worse, somehow? The juxtaposition of the casual mood with what we’re seeing is generating a feeling that’s adjacent to, but somehow more harrowing than, the uncanny valley. 

Incredible. I feel like my life has been enriched in a way I can neither understand nor describe.  

Oh right, yeah, the ‘secrets’ in the playable panels! Yeah, I’d actually forgotten about these, thanks for the reminder.

It's been a while since a playable flash, so I need to remember to find the key combination for each of them. if I miss one, remind me!

[erogenousmind]

System Update

Fuck me, Master! It feels so good when you fuck my mind away!

Dagny was reclined in the most unladylike manner, her legs splayed as she slouched in her chair. Situated properly, her clothes would make her look ready for bed: loose fitting short shorts with a flirty message on the butt and a baggy t-shirt. They were not situated properly. She held her computer mouse with one hand as she lazily scrolled down. The other hand...

It wasn’t her favorite way to end the night, crawling through porn on this glorious hell site, but it was certainly cathartic after a long day of not being able to embody her inner slut.

The most debauched images were not holding her attention on this particular evening. This was a night for fiction, for getting to immerse herself in a story and imagine the part she might play. That and the occasional spiral she would lose a little too much time watching. They paired well, she thought. The swirling image allowing her to dissociate that little bit more and rest the part of her brain that could then more completely live in whatever she read next.

It had gotten far too late, and Dagny told herself for the nth time that she would stop and go to bed after the next one. The next what wasn’t exactly clear to her, but she was confident she would know it when she got to it. Or she would keep scrolling until the next one.

The current vignette ended, and while very exciting, Dagny decided the next one would probably be her last for the night. She noticed a thumbnail rising from the bottom of the screen and sat up slightly in anticipation of what she was sure would be wonderful content. And then the window flashed for a moment and closed. Before Dagny could move to try to reopen her browser, the screen flashed again and her desktop was replaced by that demonic blue. A single word appeared in white text beneath a familiar disk of spinning circles.

Restarting...

Another flash and the disk reappeared, circles speeding up and slowing down, appearing and disappearing. New text became visible for a moment and then vanished again.

Working on updates  0% complete.

Dammit, Dagny silently cursed her misfortune adjusting her shorts. The automatic updates always picked the dead of night to go through, because of course no one would be up late doing anything they wouldn’t want disturbed. Maybe she should just go to bed. The screen had changed again, showing programs that still needed to close. The circles continued to spin. Fast and slow. Appearing and disappearing.

Dagny moved to stand when something in those circles caught her eye. They were normally white against the deep blue background, but she could have sworn they were the colors of the rainbow that last cycle. As she focused on them again, they were that same pale white. She paused, waiting to see if it happened again. And they continued to spin. Fast and slow. Appearing and disappearing.

She didn’t notice the system closing the first program: CriticalFactor.exe The circles refused to change color again, but every time Dagny thought they were behaving themselves, something would be different. It was always too subtle for her to be sure. Did they spin faster that time? Were they a little larger? A little smaller? She stared and the program closed. And the circles continued to spin. Fast and slow. Appearing and disappearing.

Closing: NeuroMusculatureLink.dll

Dagny sank back into her seat. She could just watch and eventually she’d figure out...that is she’d see...eventually it would happen again. She could wait to do whatever it was she was going to do. The disk was spiraling now. In and out to match the fast and slow. Appearing and disappearing. And something else now. It felt indescribable, like a spiral mixed with a QR code. Her eyes scanned every pixel and she sank deeper. Deeper into her chair. Deeper...

Closing: Inhibitions.exe

Her hand drifted back to where it had been not long ago. Her body was still aroused and it felt wonderful to just stare. The system was right. It was even better. Even more titillating. She thought about the stories she had read minutes earlier. How hot it had been to imagine staring at that spiral while the words took her deeper. While she gave in. Faster and slower. Appearing and disappearing. She thought she might stay up for a while even after the updates were applied. She thought –

Closing: Thoughts.txt

Dagny stared. She sat motionless save for her eyes scanning the screen, watching the spinning disk. Eventually the updates prompt appear again and the percentage began to tick up. Images and symbols and code flashed on the screen constantly updating. Dagny saw it all. Her mind absorbed it all. An unconscious moan escaped her lips as her fingers twitched. 50%

File after file was rewritten. Registries changed. Drivers installed. Dagny’s mouth hung open, a drop of drool forming at the corner. Her eyes darted, seemingly at random, her face showing no sign of comprehension or that she even saw. Fast and slow. Appearing and disappearing. In and out.

The screen was just line after line of symbols now. 1′s and 0′s and pointers gushing into an open mind. The counter paused for a moment at 99% as various windows closed. Dagny stopped breathing for the duration of the pregnant pause. Her eyes quivered in place without anything new to read. She hung. And then the counter ticked over: 100% complete

Dagny’s body shivered in pleasure. The screen flashed a final message before going black: Restart

Her eyes rolled up, showing only white. Her head fell back and rolled to the side as her body continued to convulse with aftershocks. Her mind switched off. After a moment, everything spun down, her body sagged, her eyes closed, and every muscle relaxed. Dagny slept.

The morning found her in the same place, her skin still slick with sweat. Her eyes opened, and Dagny 2.1 awoke.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

here lads have an angsty supercorp soulmate story

It starts exactly 24 hours after Kara’s departure. 

It’s subtle at first. It actually reminds Lena of the first few days after they met. 

The slow but steady build-up of pain manifesting itself into little things; shaky hands, dizzy spells, chest pains. The pills help, of course. She’s already ingested 5 pills in the span of 3 hours and she’s contemplating taking more. Just to keep the pain—threatening to overtake her—at bay. But what good would she be if Alex finds her passed out on the floor? Veins chock-full of narcotics? 

So, she wills her hands to stop shaking and pushes on. She sends a text to Jess to send a shipment of pills to her home address; tells her to be discreet. 

She can do it. She’s done it before. She can fucking do it again. And she will bring Kara home. 

Because every moment that passes with them apart, means a step closer to Lena’s death. 

You might think she’s exaggerating, but really she isn’t. See, Kara’s her soul mate, not just in the figure of speech wax-poetic sense but literally Kara’s her soul mate. 

But her being a Luthor of course, soul mates wouldn’t come easy. None of it had ever been easy. Why would this one be an exception? It wasn’t unheard of, no, there were a few rare cases of it being recorded. Of course, Lena would be one of those people. Why wouldn’t the universe add shitty soul mate luck into the long list of misfortunes in Lena’s life? What’s one more curse, right? 

See, Kara’s her soul mate but...Lena isn’t Kara’s.

“You look like shit, Luthor. You’re allowed to take a break you know?” 

It’s Alex who breaks her out of her reverie. She prays to God that Alex doesn't notice her shaking hands. She’s well aware she looks like shit. She feels like shit, she doesn’t need Alex of all people to point that one out. But now, Lena notices that the whole place is empty, she didn’t even notice J’onn slip out. She didn’t even notice Alex coming in too, really. 

Brainy had long passed-out in one of the beds in the MedBay in the 2nd level of The Tower, Nia taking up the opposite bed. There was a brief moment when she walked in that made her feel tempted to occupy the third bed and take a break. But then, her chest tightened and a flare of pain lit up her whole insides, it was reason enough to keep her feet moving and back unto the computers trying to pinpoint Kara’s location. 

“I know,” she replies, “But it’s really not necessary, Alex. I’ll rest after.” 

She doesn’t need rest, what she needs is Kara to be here. 

She refuses to look at Alex, fingers flying across the screen. Alex shifts closer to her, lays a hand on her right arm prompting her to stop. Her eyes land on Alex's hand and continue up to Alex’s eyes. 

“We’ll find her, Lena. But you have to rest. I’m serious, Luthor. Come on,” Alex persists, wrapping her hand more firmly and tugging at Lena to follow her. 

She doesn’t say that rest will do her more harm than good. She doesn’t say that if she closes her eyes all she would see is Kara’s body floating all alone in space and the pain would start anew.

First, her chest and then travelling up the rest of her body until all there is is pain. 

She doesn’t say that she needs to work in order to distract her from the pain. 

Instead, she holds her tongue, lets Alex bring her to the 2nd level and tries to have the most fitful sleep of her life. 

***

It gets worse on the 5th day of the second week. It really isn’t a surprise considering this is the longest she’s had to go without Kara around. 

She’s taken mega-doses of painkillers in anticipation for today. Last night was a nightmare, she had to bite down on a hand towel as waves of pain assaulted her, again and again and again.

When morning came, it slowly subsided. Once feeling had returned to her legs she ran into the kitchen and swallowed 3 pills immediately. 

It doesn’t matter if she’s taken 3 or 4 or a whole bottle today, because it will just get worse and worse the longer Kara isn’t by her side. 

And so, she drags herself into The Tower again, because she needs to finally find a way to bring her back. 

She tries to ignore the tightening of her chest even though she’s really having a hard time breathing now. Not to mention the pain behind her eyes that is bit by bit making it difficult for her to coordinate with Brainy’s computations. 

She’s taken to keeping a bottle of pills on her person now. Opting to take them dry as if they were mint candies to keep her tongue moving while programming lines of codes. 

She thinks she’s still being subtle. 

Well, she is.

Until she isn’t. 

She crumples to the floor in front of everyone and a guttural scream of pain breaks free from her lips. 

***

When she wakes it’s to Alex sitting by her bedside. 

She lets out a groan in response to the sore feeling of her entire body. It’s like the time they were forced to do team building exercises all day in Mt. Helena and Lena nearly passed out. 

Alex hands her a bottle of water. She sips greedily before handing it back and wiping her mouth. 

“Hey? How you feeling?”

“Like I wanna die.”

Alex sighs and Lena intentionally avoids her eyes. 

“It’s Kara isn’t it?” Alex says and Lena doesn’t bother with lying anymore.

“It is.”

“How you survived almost two weeks away from her, I wouldn’t know. Two days away from Kelly—” Alex breaks off, inhales deeply and then sighs again, “That’s already torture for me.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” She retorts flatly, hands fiddling with the rough edges of the blanket. Alex looks like she wants to say something about that but Lena beats her there. 

“How?” She asks, gesturing to the IV drip. How am I not feeling pain right now? How am I still breathing? How am I still alive?

“The DEO created a special fluid for agents,” Alex reveals, “They distribute it to agents on field assignments. That way, them and their partners don’t die from pain. Good thing, J’onn had a stash hidden here, well, we always thought it would be for me and Kelly. Never expected you, Luthor.”

Lena takes that in for a moment. So, the DEO had a special formula of Dextrose to stave off the pain of soulmate separation and apparently she’s using up all the remaining bags of it. 

And it’s not even supposed to be for her. 

“Don’t worry about it. Brainy can replicate the formula.”

Worry must’ve shown on her face. So, she works on schooling her features again, she knows that Alex is itching to ask her questions but is trying to be polite. 

There’s really no use hiding anything now though. 

“K-Kara’s my soulmate,” she finally says out loud, and she’s always thought that it’s supposed to feel cathartic and freeing but instead it just feels heavy. 

“But I’m not hers,” she quickly finishes, better to rip the band-aid off. She briefly looks at Alex, whose face doesn’t give her anything; mouth a tight line and eyes shining with curiosity. 

She doesn’t know if Alex had ever had a conversation with Kara about soul mates before. Had they talked about it? Had Kara ever mentioned Lena acting too clingy whenever they don’t see each other for a short period of time? Had Kara ever told Alex if she would want a soul mate of her own?

But the look and silence from Alex’s side makes Lena refrain from asking. 

Instead, she starts to tell her how it had hit her the instant Kara walked in her office. How there was a zing! and her brain had immediately screamed HER. That’s the one. She’s the one. 

How when they met eyes and Kara had told her her name it felt like Lena’s soul finally found her home. 

“I asked for her name and I kind of thought she’d wait for me to get out of the office,” Lena trails off and Alex takes it for what it is. 

Their first meeting was all sparks for Lena but then, the conversation kept going and going and Clark had tried interrogating her and Kara didn’t do anything. 

Didn’t approach her afterwards, didn’t show any reaction that might’ve given Lena a clue that she felt the way Lena did. 

A conclusion was easily reached. 

Kara was hers but she wasn’t Kara’s. 

After the initial shock settled in, Lena set to work. Because that was what she did best. Work out a solution to everything and anything that poses a problem. 

How many people have dreamed about meeting their soul mate? How many years had Lena sat there hoping that tomorrow maybe, maybe she’ll finally meet them? She never expected this, never expected her soul to find a home that isn’t hers. 

Staying away from Kara was a non-starter, it’s only been a day since they parted but Lena can already feel the beginnings of pain. Slow but sharp shots of throbbing from behind her eyes then came the shaky hands then the dizziness and then— 

They became friends and Lena made sure Kara didn’t know anything about her growing need to be close to her; didn't let Kara know about the fact that the universe made Lena its most epic punchline yet. 

She agreed to scheduled game nights and movie nights and lunch dates. She never knew the pain of soulmate separation during those early days. Kara was always around; bringing her a salad, covering an L-Corp gala, crashing on Lena’s couch. 

“It was easy, you know? Kara was always there. What are friends for?” Lena mimics Kara and then repeats somberly, “It was easy, Alex.”

Or at least, Lena kept telling herself it was easy. She had it easy. She didn’t have to think about painkiller pills or cutting her business trips short—because the pain becomes unbearable too soon—like so many of her board members do. 

She had it easy with Kara, she can just call and she’ll be there. 

Until, Kara started going MIA. And for three days pain overtook her entire life. The pain made her unable to think clearly, the pills kicking in at the last minute. 

“You haven't been around. Supergirl's been there for me. Person who judges me on the very premise of my last name, but my best friend hasn't,” she accuses because Goddamnit Kara has no idea what kind of shit Lena had to endure with her going away with no warning. 

Logically, Lena knows it’s partly her fault. 

She knows that if she only just told Kara that she needs her to live, Kara would stay. But she doesn’t want anything to change. 

Of course, Kara would stay, it was the kind of thing a person like her would do. 

Kara would take care of her, whatever Lena needed she would give. 

But Lena didn’t want things that way. 

She wants Kara to want her the same way she wants her. 

But no, Lena’s not going to tell her that. She is never going to know. She will find an alternative. So, she injects as much venom as she can into that accusation, “B-but maybe it’s better if I leave.” 

She makes Kara leave. 

She just got her cure back and immediately Lena had pushed her away. The moment Kara stepped out of the door, a dull throb already kicked in her chest; as if telling Lena she was making a big mistake. 

She regretted that night so much, Jess had to drag her drunken body out of her office. 

Then it became normal again and Lena went back to not worrying about body pains again. 

Because a different kind of pain is trying to make itself known. 

A gaping hole in her heart that is entirely unrelated to the biological consequences of being separated from your soul mate. 

She was falling in love. 

She was falling in love and she wasn’t prepared for how it would hurt to have Kara not love her back. She can endure the physical pain, there are pills for that. 

But there wasn’t any type of medication to see your other half everyday and not have them see you as theirs. 

When Lex told her Kara’s secret. Something broke inside of her. Which was saying something, considering she was getting her heart broken every single day that Kara wouldn’t look her way. 

But to know how stupid she’s been? To realize that the flutter of her heart whenever Supergirl was near was her brain telling her it was Kara? 

There was no word for that. 

“I think, I kept rejecting the idea of Supergirl being Kara you know?” Lena huffs out, laughs drily, “Imagine how fucking painful it would be, Alex, if Supergirl was my soul mate. This person who didn’t trust me wholly, who lies behind my back, imagine if she was my soul mate? It would have felt humiliating. My body knew better, though,” she admitted sadly. 

“When Lex told me, all the little painful outbursts every time Supergirl flew away? It made sense. Everything made sense, but at the same time? Everything hurt too.”

She tried hurting her back. Created Hope. Experimented with Q-waves. Foolishly used Myriad. Teamed up with Lex.

But even through all of those? The separation pain never knocked her out. 

Even when they were fighting, Kara was still always around. Even when the world—the fucking multiverse got reset. The pain wasn’t enough to knock her out. Not like today. 

Because Kara was always lingering around convincing her not to join Lex, crossing paths in CatCo, flying into her home even if it was to call her a villain. 

All of those interactions were still sustenance for Lena. 

But this? This separation? This knowledge that Kara was somewhere out there, unreachable. That she could be lightyears away in space and it has been two weeks since Lena had last saw her, it has her every molecule shouting to go find Kara. 

“It’s never been like this before,” Lena confesses, “I thought I could do it without-”

“Help?” Alex supplies and Lena finally turns to her and she feels a hand squeeze her. 

“Yeah.” She mutters back softly. 

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Luthor. You’re part of the team now whether you like it or not. We are going to help you, we’re going to find a temporary solution for that pain and then we’ll get back to work and we’ll find Kara.”

[jonspurpleskirt]

Sharing Comfort

A/N: This is for @archivalpride. Prompt was “Sharing Clothes” and “Pre-Canon” so I wrote a fluffy piece to celebrate the quiet moments of trust. 1.7k in word length. No warnings apply.

___

Jon did not make friends fast. Most people he found to be too intimidating, boring or exhausting and not many knew what to do with his sudden info dumps and sharp comments that shot out of his mouth seemingly at random.

He'd been alone in Research for a long while because of it and happily so. Things had changed when Tim had joined the Institute, though. Tim had come into the library and sat down opposite Jon with a thunder cloud hanging over his head and pain in his dark eyes. He'd been quiet and snappy in a fake cheerful way that screamed undealt trauma. At least to Jon, who seemed to be the only one to feel the vibes of "Leave me alone" and "I'm grieving" that Tim gave off in a constant stream.

Having Tim as his desk partner was an intense experience despite the way they only ever nodded to each other in greeting at first. But it was also intriguing. A mystery. Jon loved mysteries.

The instances he had ever willingly initiated a conversation with a stranger could be counted on one hand. Which marked the day he tapped Tims shoulder - after roughly two months of co-habiting - to tactfully ask him what he was groaning about as a very special day indeed. They steamrolled into friendship from there, both personalities clashing in the best ways possible.

Jon pulled Tim into nerve wracking research expeditions, Tim flirted them out of being arrested a few times, they went out for drinks and karaoke and movies and stayed late nights to crack nutty cases of supernatural bullshit together.

This went on for months. A nice, comfortable new routine. Jon wasn't alone anymore. And Tim broke out of whatever had pulled him down so much, becoming more cheerful and flirty by the day. Which didn't matter to Jon because Tim would always come to him the most, would always seek out to partner up with Jon and would defend his prickly personality to his dying breath.

And then Sasha joined them. She came from Artefact Storage, which made her a prime target for every curious researcher in a five mile radius. Tim and Jon included. Alright maybe they were the worst of the bunch.

Although Jon only thought of himself as a partner in crime in this one. He had been dragged along by Tim, after all. Sure in the end he had been the one to ask the most questions, but that wouldn't have been the case if he had just been left alone to be antisocial in front of his laptop.

Sasha and Tim, much to Jons chargin, hit it off within the first few seconds. And ever since then their cozy two-someness had turned into a group effort. With specially leverage put on the word "effort".

"Morning Jon!"

Jon let out a deep, rumbly hum, voice not up to the task of supporting words this late in the- He glanced at the little clock at the bottom of his screen. Ah... early in the morning.

With a laugh that was far too cheerful however you would describe the current hour, Sasha sat down next to him. She leaned in to look at what he was working. He leaned away to get her out of his personal bubble.

Her legs brushed his and the rustling drew his gaze downward. She wore a thick wool skirt, long enough not to go against the dress code. It was a somewhat dull navy blue and fell down in enticing waves around her crossed legs.

It looked very soft and comfortable. Jon itched to touch it. Instead he rubbed against the stiff fabric of his own cream coloured dress pants.

"Would you mind?" He snapped at her.

"No. You spelled 'aboriginal' wrong."

"Thank you for your insight. Don't you have anywhere else to be?"

"Don't you?" She shot back, light and quick as though they were just bantering and not fighting over the right to sit at this table.

Sasha huffed at his glare and slid a cup of something steaming over to him. "You keep staying so late that I can buy you a drink at the asscrack of dawn and be sure you're still here to consume it hot. I'm not usually one to judge anyone's sleep schedule. But I'm judging your sleep schedule."

"And yours is any better?" Jon muttered, taking the offering and peeking inside. Black tea with a bit of cream and hopefully enough sugar to rot his teeth out of his mouth. He needed both the coffein and the sweet energy source.

"I'm getting at least two more hours of sleep than you do on a daily basis, so I'm good."

"Tim would have both of our heads if he knew."

Sasha put her hand on the table and stretched out her pinky. "I swear secrecy if you do."

With a snort Jon linked their pinkies. "I'll hold you to that."

So... Maybe Sasha wasn't that bad. She was a little aggressive in her befriending techniques, Jon mused. At least he hoped the early morning chats and cups of tea and coffee were that and not an elaborate plan to get rid of him via slow poisoning. But she was about as curious as Tim and Jon and her skills with computers were very happily exploited by the both of them. So Jon eventually had to admit that she was actually a very nice addition to the group.

Not that he could have ever said no to their friendship. Tim and Sasha put together were a maelstorm of affection, sucking Jon in with a force he had no chance to defend against. And before he knew it they had successfully gotten him accostumed to friday nights at the pub and saturday mornings in their flats, smashed together on a couch or a bed or a mattress depending on who had had the misfortune of playing host that week.

Jon hadn't been this comfortable since Georgie. And that wasn't only the booze talking. It was one of those nights where they ended up leaving the pub early to lounge around Sashas massive sofa instead. Jons head was swimming within a blissful haze of tipsiness.

He was slouching over one end of the couch, head tilted just so that he could watch his two friends bicker. The words didn't really register, but the noise was nice and their expressions were funny.

Without his conscious saying so, his gaze slid down to Sashas leg area. She wore a very eye catching, fluttery red skirt this time around and the way the warm glow of the ceiling lamp was reflected in the material was mesmerizing.

"Oh Jonny boy, don't you know staring like that is rude?" Tim half-joked as he noticed.

Sasha slapped him on the shoulder. "Shush you there's like zero sexual longing in his gaze, Tim. You don't need to go all protective big brother on me. He just really likes my skirts."

"They look comfy." Jon muttered, sinking deeper into the couch.

"Awww. Jon. Jon my love. My friend. My buddy." Tim scooted over to him, nearly face planting on the floor in his eagerness to slide into Jons side. "Is this jealousy I hear?"

"No. Did you just degrade me from lover to lowest friendship tier?"

"Oh I beg to differ." Tim sang, ignoring the question and making Jon scowl harder.

An arm got thrown over his shoulder and Jon was tugged into Tims side, relaxing into the tight hold against his will.

"You know if you didn't make it a sport to buy the most uncomfortable clothing ever, you wouldn't need to glare at Sashas fashion choices all the time. Making other people think things about your intensions."

"Fuck other people."

Jon waited until the surprised laughter of his two friends ebbed down to speak again. "I wanna be comfortable too..."

"Say no more. Sasha to the rescue."

Tim and Jon both whined as she hopped off and darted away into her bedroom. She hadn't been part of the cuddle pile, but her presence was still dearly missed. Thankfully not for long because a few minutes later she reappeared with a long, purple skirt.

"Here you go mister. Go on try it on."

Trading places with her Jon didn't hesitate to shug his trousers off and slip the skirt on. Tim wolf whistled behind him and Jon dutifully showed him a finger. The yelp he heard shortly after told him that Sasha must have taken more direct approach to disciplining Tim.

"Bad boy. I picked that colour for a reason."

Jon flushed at the reminder that Tim and Sasha knew. That they knew and accepted him and even went out of their way to make him comfortable.

"I may not be allowed to touch, but I can still appreciate beauty when I see it."

"Do you need glasses, Tim?" Jon couldn't help but ask while he settled back down.

It was his turn to be slapped on the shoulder. "Nu-uh! No self depricating jokes in my household!"

"Yes ma'am." He scooted over to Sashas side, marveling at the slide of the soft material against his legs. "Anyway. Touching yes. But no sex, only cuddles."

Sasha laughed in delight as she pulled him closer so he could stretch out, the two of them nearly shoving Tim off the couch.

"Wait, wait, wait Jon you're definitely not comfortable yet!"

"Hm?" He frowned at the renewed shifting, jeez everyone was being so squirmy today.

"Dress shirt? Really? Wait a sec."

Tim ended up finding a truly attrocious night shirt he had stored in one of Sashas cupboards. It was rainbow coloured, but at least it was made of a soft cotton and about a size too big on Jon.

"Awww Jon you're adorable!"

"Timothy Stoker don't you dare take a photo."

"Fine, fine. But I will remember this day forever."

It turned out that he didn't need to. The next time they were over at Sashas Jon asked to borrow their clothes again and the next time after, and the next time after that, too. It kind of escalated from there, clothes mixed together until it was hard to remember who owned what.

And that was perfect. Because the most comfortable clothes were always the ones that belonged to his friends.

[kjack89]

1B+

Man, I don’t even know. Established E/R, modern AU. CW for COVID and vaccine discussions.

“It’s redlining!” 

Enjolras’s raised voice was the first thing anyone heard as soon as they got on the weekly Zoom call, and Combeferre winced, reaching to turn down the volume on his laptop. The chat was already blowing up with everyone asking everyone else – besides Enjolras and Grantaire, for obvious reasons – what was the source of the argument this week.

Combeferre sent various versions of ‘I have no idea’ to everyone as Enjolras and Grantaire glared at each other through their respective computer screens. “I understand that,” Grantaire started, sounding angrier than usual, since he had a tendency to sound like he was enjoying his weekly arguments with Enjolras, “but I don’t think—”

“Look at the zip code map for the city,” Enjolras interrupted, also unusually angry, as Combeferre suspected (but would never, ever vocalize) that he also enjoyed his verbal spars with Grantaire. “It matches up almost exactly with historical redlining!”

“And I’m not denying that,” Grantaire snapped. “But that doesn’t mean—”

Marius had the misfortune of logging on right then, and had the even greater misfortune of not knowing immediately that he stepped right into the middle of a fight as he cheerfully said, “How’s everyone’s day going?” He broke off as he apparently spotted the desperate hand gestures that Courfeyrac was making. “Oh, um, sorry. Did I interrupt?”

“No,” Grantaire said stiffly. “We’re done here.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes but didn’t appear to want to argue further, and Combeferre waited for a beat before unmuting himself. “Do either of you want to catch us up to speed?” he asked carefully.

Grantaire shook his head as he stood, disappearing from his camera’s view, and Enjolras scowled. “We’re talking about the vaccine,” he said, a little sourly, hesitating before adding, “Grantaire got vaccinated today.”

Courfeyrac whooped. “R, you got your Fauci ouchie?” he asked, delighted.

“Which did you get?” Joly asked, more curious than elated. “Moderna? Pfizer? Johnson & Johnson?”

Bossuet nudged him. “Does it matter?” he asked, sounding amused.

“No, of course not, and I’ll take whatever they want to stick in me—”

“Yeah you will,” Courfeyrac snickered.

“—but I’m keeping track of anecdotal data about reactions to the various vaccines,” Joly continued, giving Courfeyrac the finger.

“It was the Pfizer vaccine, but I think you’re all missing the broader point,” Enjolras said stiffly.

Grantaire reappeared on screen, a drink in hand. “Pretty sure the only one missing the point is you,” he said. “And Joly, before you ask, thus far the only negative reaction I’ve had is from Enjolras.”

Joly frowned. “That’s not what—”

“Oh, I’m sorry that I’m less than ecstatic that you, a white man who lives in one of the most affluent zip codes in our city, was able to get vaccinated, while vaccine rates in low income and majority minority zips remain among the lowest in the nation,” Enjolras snapped, the impetus of his argument with Grantaire finally becoming clear for everyone else on the Zoom call. “Forgive me for not celebrating that Black and brown folks remain disproportionately at risk while you get to go back to wasting your life drinking in bars until all hours of the night.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes so hard that Combeferre was half-afraid he’d pulled a muscle. “Right, because I forgot, in addition to apparently being an alcoholic, I’m also so incredibly selfish that I would put low income workers at risk just so that I can sit by myself indoors at a bar during a pandemic.”

“Hey, not by yourself,” Bahorel interjected with the sort of threatening cheerfulness he used when he was aggressively trying to change the topic. “Don’t forget, Feuilly got poked a few weeks ago, so he could join you.”

Feuilly looked very much like he wanted to be left out of the conversation entirely. “Ah, yes, the perks of being essential to keeping capitalism running,” he muttered.

But Bahorel’s attempt at humor had seemingly only made Enjolras angrier. “Yes, Feuilly got his vaccine because he’s essential,” he said icily. “Not to mention because he’s been risking his life for over a year now while the rest of us got to stay home.”

“Not to pull a Taylor Swift but I would really like to be excluded from this narrative,” Feuilly said.

Enjolras and Grantaire both ignored him. “I’m sorry that I can’t be as ideal as Feuilly,” Grantaire all but spat, “but me taking the vaccine because I’m eligible and was able to has exactly zero impact on the failures of equitable rollout.”

“Right, one less vaccine going to someone who actually needs it has no impact on anything,” Enjolras shot back. “Of course, I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s not like you’ve ever been willing to sacrifice anything for someone else.”

There was a sudden intake of breath from the collective group at that, and even Enjolras looked a little shamefaced. Grantaire’s expression was stony. “You really want to talk about sacrifice?” he asked quietly. “After everything this past year?”

Enjolras winced. “I didn’t mean—”

“Because while you were working at home this past year, some of us lost our jobs.” Grantaire’s voice was sharp. “And some of us have since stepped up to more or less become the primary caretaker for someone who’s too fucking stubborn to get the damn vaccine for himself, even though he’s also eligible!” Enjolras looked like he wanted to refute at least part of that, but Grantaire didn’t give him a chance. “But you know what? I’m done with that now. You can get your own damn groceries, even though you don’t have a car and refuse to use instacart. Or you can have takeout delivered without using third party delivery apps. Hell, you can figure out how to get anything delivered to you without using Amazon! I’m sure you and your moral superiority and your goddamned heart defect will have a gay ol’ time waiting for some arbitrary measure of equity.”

With that, he left the Zoom, leaving absolute silence in his wake. Enjolras looked too stunned to talk, so Combeferre took over. “Alright, everyone,” he said, “let’s take a quick break. I’ll send a text when we’re ready to get back online.” Everyone else quickly left, most likely relieved to not have to sit there in the awkward silence. Combeferre cleared his throat. “Enjolras?” he asked.

Enjolras blinked. “What?”

“Are you ok?”

“Fine.”

Combeferre frowned. “I mean, with what Grantaire said…”

Enjolras suddenly seemed very engaged with scrolling through his phone and not making eye contact with Combeferre. “You know Grantaire as well as I do,” he said dismissively. “He’s a drama queen.”

“Sure, and known to exaggerate. But not generally to outright lie.” Enjolras made a face but didn’t argue and Combeferre sighed. “Look, you’re not obligated to share any personal medical information—”

“Tell that to Grantaire,” Enjolras muttered.

“—but if there is something you want to tell us about…”

He trailed off and Enjolras sighed. “It’s really nothing,” he said grudgingly. “I have a small, congenital heart defect. “

Combeferre’s eyes narrowed. “How small?”

“Just, a tiny little hole. In the wall of my heart.”

“Atrial septal defect?” Combeferre asked sharply.

Enjolras snorted a laugh. “You’re a freak, you know that, right?” he asked good-naturedly. “Yes, an atrial septal defect. So I’m at slightly higher risk for COVID complications than the average adult.” He made a face. “And because Grantaire knows about it, he’s been absolutely insufferable.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “Dare I ask how it is that Grantaire knows about this when you and I have been friends for years and this is the first I’m hearing of it?”

Enjolras squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, I sort of told him about it. But in my defense, I wasn’t exactly anticipating a pandemic at the time.”

“What were you anticipating?

Enjolras looked even more uncomfortable. “Um, more sex?”

Combeferre blinked. “I’m honestly afraid to ask.”

Enjolras rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not even a good story,” he mumbled. “It was back when we first got together…”

----------

Enjolras and Grantaire lay in silence next to each other, both of their chests still heaving. Grantaire was the first to break the silence, glancing over at him. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh,” Grantaire said skeptically, propping himself up on his elbow. “I can always tell when you’re thinking. You get that wrinkle between your eyebrows.”

Enjolras scowled, reaching up to rub his forehead. “Playing to my vanity?” he asked.

Grantaire grinned, brushing Enjolras’s hand aside and leaning in to kiss Enjolras’s forehead. “I’ll take whatever advantage I can get,” he said. “So what are you thinking about? Other than the best orgasm of your life, courtesy of me?”

“In fairness, the bar for that was pretty low,” Enjolras said, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth before it faded. “Just...shouldn’t we talk about this? About what we’re doing here?”

Making a face, Grantaire flopped over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. “Normally I require at least a half hour after sex before we do the ‘what are we’ conversation,” he said, his voice muffled before he turned his head to look over at Enjolras. “It’s like how you’re not supposed to swim for a half hour after you eat.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s an old wives tale.”

Grantaire shifted in what might have been an attempt at a shrug. “Maybe, but I’m not willing to take that risk.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and sat up. “Fine, then what do you want to talk about?”

“Who says we need to talk about anything?”

“Isn’t that normally what you do after having sex with someone?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire smirked. “I mean, I’m hardly an expert but normally around this time I’m fishing around for my boxers so I can do the walk of shame home.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Keep it up and you will be.”

Grantaire laughed. “Look, this isn’t exactly normal for either of us. I mean, at least I don’t have to worry about forgetting your name, so that’s a step up.”

“You are, as always, classy.”

Enjolras made as if to stand up but Grantaire reached out and caught his hand, keeping him in place. “Well, I mean, c’mon, we’ve known each other for years. This isn’t like a regular hookup. I don’t have to pretend to care about learning what you do for a living or what familial issues you brought with you into adulthood, mainly because I already know.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “You think you know everything about me?”

“I know I know everything about you,” Grantaire said, a little smugly. “I mean, besides your social security number and family medical history, but we can save those for the second date.”

“I don’t know, I think my congenital heart defect makes for fascinating post-coital conversation,” Enjolras said with a grin. But Grantaire just stared at him, eyes wide, and his smile disappeared. “I was kidding.”

“So you don’t have a heart defect?”

Grantaire’s voice was even but Enjolras winced. “Well, I didn’t say that.”

“What’s wrong with your heart?” Grantaire asked quietly.

“A great many things, as I’m sure any of my few exes could attest,” Enjolras joked, but when Grantaire’s expression didn’t change, he sighed and elaborated, “I was born with a small hole in the wall of my heart. It’s called an atrial septal defect. Quite possibly caused by the cocaine habit my mother likes to pretend she didn’t have in the 80s.”

Grantaire didn’t laugh. “Is it serious?”

“No. Not really.” Enjolras shrugged. “I’m at higher risk for some heart and lung complications, but mostly it’s just something for my cardiologist to keep an eye on.”

For one long moment, Grantaire was silent, as if he was struggling with something to say. Then he managed a small smile of his own. “Well, at least it’s proof that you have a heart,” he said lightly.

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “An Iron Man reference? Really?”

“Of course, I forgot that you hate the MCU.”

Enjolras made a face. “That’s a bit of a stretch. But Tony Stark is a war criminal so I’m not exactly thrilled with the comparison.”

Grantaire laughed. “Fair enough,” he said.

“Besides,” Enjolras said, his smirk returning as he moved closer to Grantaire, “wasn’t this enough proof that I have a heart?”

“Mm,” Grantaire said, his eyes half-closed as Enjolras traced his fingers down his back, “I’d say it’s more proof that you like sex. Which was also in doubt, for what it’s worth.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Then what about this?” he asked, closing the space between them and kissing Grantaire, a slow, heady kiss that had Grantaire tugging him down onto the bed with him.

When they broke apart, it wasn’t to go far, their noses brushing against each other as they lay tangled up in each other. “That’s closer at least,” Grantaire murmured, his expression soft. “But I’ll keep the heart defect in mind, just in case you give me reason to doubt that you have a heart in the future.”

“I don’t plan to,” Enjolras told him.

Grantaire half-smiled. “I’m not sure this is the kind of thing that ever really is planned.”

“I know. But I want you to know that I’m…” Enjolras trailed off, looking for the right words. “I’m not going into this with the expectation that it’s a one and done kind of thing.”

Grantaire looked taken aback for a moment before his expression evened out. “Why, Monsieur, what sweet words for one such as me,” he said with a fake accent, fluttering his eyelashes at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes.

“Be serious,” he scoffed, adding warningly, “And don’t even say it.”

“Say what?” Grantaire asked innocently, not able to stop his grin.

“You know what.”

Grantaire’s grin widened. “Even if it’s true?”

Enjolras just gave him a look. “You’re less wild than you think.”

Grantaire laughed and stretched. “Yeah, well, I blame my 30s for that.” He waggled his eyebrows at Enjolras. “Besides, if we want to talk about wild, I want to hear more about your mother’s suspected cocaine habit.”

Enjolras shook his head, his eyes darkening as he looked at Grantaire. “How about we do something that doesn’t require any talking?”

“Oh, do you have a ball gag hidden somewhere that I don’t know about?”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras sighed exasperatedly.

Grantaire grinned, running his hands down Enjolras’s sides. “I’m just saying, you’re a pretty mouthy lay.”

Enjolras pressed a hand against his chest “As opposed to you, who is known for his ability to be silent.”

“Exactly.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

Grantaire leaned in to kiss him but paused, his lips barely brushing Enjolras’s. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “Is your heart healthy enough for sex?”

“It’s healthier than you’ll be if you don’t kiss me,” Enjolras said warningly.

“God, you’re bossy,” Grantaire sighed, but he was grinning again, and this time, he didn’t hesitate before kissing Enjolras once more.

----------

“And then about three weeks later, the world went to hell and all of a sudden, what I had told Grantaire mostly as a joke was somewhat more relevant,” Enjolras finished.

Combeferre nodded slowly. “Because COVID could cause problems?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Possibly.”

“But enough to put you in the 1B+ priority group.”

Combeferre didn’t pitch it as a question and Enjolras scowled. “Theoretically, yes, but these phases are bullshit, and besides, I’m not getting vaccinated until—”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre interrupted, exasperated and wishing for not the first time that he could reach through the computer screen to knock some sense into his best friend. “Get the damn shot.”

Enjolras looked taken aback. “What?”

“The rollout is never going to be perfect, but this is the dumbest hill that I’ve ever seen you choose to die on.” Combeferre gave him a look. “And that’s saying something because I remember the time you took a stand in favor of school uniforms in junior high.”

“They can be an equalizer for students who can’t afford expensive clothes,” Enjolras muttered. 

“Enjolras.”

“I’m just saying,” Enjolras said stubbornly. “Besides, I don’t think this is a dumb hill to die on, considering the affluent folks who are exploiting every trick in the book to cut in line!”

Combeferre shook his head. “But you’re not cutting in line. You’re eligible.”

“Sure, but I also have excellent health insurance, and can take time off work if I get sick, so even if I were to catch it—”

Combeferre gave him a look. “And if you don’t eat your vegetables, there are poor, starving children in Africa…”

Enjolras matched his look with one of his own. “I’m more concerned about the poor starving children in our own neighborhood,” he snapped.

But Combeferre was undeterred. “And you refusing to get vaccinated helps them how, exactly?” Enjolras said nothing, just crossing his arms in front of his chest, and Combeferre managed a small, grim smile. “That’s what I thought.”

“It’s a matter of principle,” Enjolras said, just a little petulantly.

“So is getting vaccinated so that you can keep doing the important work that you do.” Combeferre sighed. “Look, I can’t make you get vaccinated any more than Grantaire can. But you being mad at Grantaire just because you feel guilty—”

“That’s not—” Combeferre raised both eyebrows and Enjolras winced. “I guess that is sort of what happened.”

Combeferre tactfully chose not to pile on to that. “Getting the vaccine keeps people safe,” he said instead. “And while Grantaire may claim not to care about anything, we both know he would do anything to keep you safe.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that he got the vaccine to keep you safe. And because he was eligible to.” Combeferre paused before adding, “And you owe him an apology.”

“And to schedule a vaccine appointment for myself?” Enjolras asked.

Combeferre shrugged. “Again, that’s your decision. But yes.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly, but he no longer looked angry. Instead, something contemplative stole across his expression. “Did you ever imagine, a year ago, that we’d be talking about this?”

“About you and Grantaire getting into some asinine fight and me talking you down from being a stubborn asshole?”

“Ok, well, when you put it like that…” Combeferre laughed and Enjolras managed a smile as well. “Thank you.”

Combeferre gave him a look. “The best way to thank me is to never make me play referee again.”

“Yes, but that’s just unrealistic, so…”

Combeferre laughed again and shook his head. “Talk to Grantaire,” he ordered. “In the meantime, I’ll get the meeting started again. You two can join us after you’ve talked.”

Enjolras sighed. “Yes sir,” he muttered sourly. “But there’s just one thing I need to do first.”

“Use an exploitative third party delivery app to send a bottle of whiskey to Grantaire as an apology?” Combeferre guessed.

Enjolras made a face. “Ok, two things.”

Combeferre grinned. “You’re making your vaccine appointment, aren’t you.”

Enjolras shrugged. “What can I say, you made some good points.”

“So did Grantaire,” Combeferre said pointedly. “And I suspect he’d much rather hear you say that than I.”

Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “Go,” he ordered. “We’ll be back on the zoom shortly.”

Combeferre hesitated. “Just one more thing.”

“Now what?” Enjolras asked, exasperated.

“Make sure to tell Grantaire that you understand.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “Understand what?”

“That he got the vaccine because he loves you.” He leveled a look at Enjolras. “Enough for him to forgive you for accusing him of cutting the line just so he can drink at a bar.”

Enjolras winced. “Not my finest moment,” he admitted.

“Not so much,” Combeferre agreed.

“Think he’ll forgive me?”

Combeferre didn’t even have to pretend to think about it. “I know he will.” 

[xbunnybunz]

Sick Days [BEN Drowned x Reader]

Summary: When a creepypasta manages to crawl into your home through a computer, people usually scream and call the police. You? Well, it's just another normal day for you.

Genre: Fluff, Horror, Humor

Date: June 20, 2015

-----

You sat in your room with the expression of utter boredom painted on your features, your hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on the table next to your open laptop. You grunted as your computer went into hibernation mode again and tapped the spacebar to reawaken the screen. Your bedroom window was wide open, allowing the evening breeze to float into your adobe and gently rustle the papers on your table. Fading streaks of sunlight peeked through your fluttering curtains, caressing your body with soft warmth.

Despite the serene atmosphere that had settled into your semi-messy room, your features were soon twisted into a grimace. The fingers that had been trailing along the table began drumming a steady rhythm, growing quicker and more impatient by the second. You glanced at the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, and read the blaring red numbers 6:23 PM. You scowled, annoyed. "Ugh, where is that little rascal?" You muttered, tapping your keyboard again and watching irefully as your homescreen popped up again. Ben usually arrived before sundown, but the sun was already halfway down the horizon. Ben probably would've taunted you for being so worked up over his absence, and you, being a little short tempered, would probably fall for his teasing and would have exploded into a mess of jumbled profanities. Though many would describe your actions now as "eager," you recalled how petrified you were when Ben first popped out of the fossilized desktop your dad insisted they brought when your family moved. That day, your mother and father had been visiting a sick relative in the hospital, and couldn't come home for the night. You, feeling free and a little daring, decided to stay up the entire night watching horror flicks in your livingroom. Although you felt the terror of eight marathoned horror movies shake you to your core, you persisted, jumping at every little noise from the movie and from your creaky home. That's why, when you witnessed the forgotten computer in the corner of the livingroom fizz and flicker on and off, you froze in unfathomable fear, merely staring as a deathly pale hand clawed it's way out of a jumble of binary code and pixels. By the time a head of tousled white hair and pitch black eyes with crimson irises emerged from the screen, you were already halfway out the door, knowing better than to trap yourself in your own bedroom. You would've spent the night at a neighbor's house, but your closest neighbor must have been at least a mile away- being that your family decided to move into the suburbs. Unfortunately for you, who was secluded in the pitch black of the night with god-knows-what in your house, it was pouring outside. In your mad scramble for salvation, you had not grabbed the keys to your house. You had originally settled for the plan to stay in the freezing rain, (it was definitely a safer bet than being in the house) but alas, the hours spent watching scary movies finally took its toll on you, and had made you paranoid to every small rustle and crunch. (In truth, it was just the trees.) This terror had driven you to crawl up some old growths of ivy on the side of your home, feeling blessed to find your bedroom window open just a crack- allowing you to pry the rest of the window open. Halfway through your window, you looked up- only to become blatantly horrified. There the white-haired boy was, floating in the middle of the room with bleeding eyesockets- as if he had been waiting for your arrival. Overcome with panic and surprise, you allowed the wet soles of your feet slip out from under you, sending your drenched body sailing face-first towards the hardwood floor of your bedroom. Your nose took the brunt of the fall, and erupted in a mess of blood upon impact. The pain of a shattered nose did little to deter you from the thing in your room. Holding your nose with both hands, you scrambled to press yourself against the wall- as far away from that demon-ghost-thing as possible. But when you looked back up, you were shocked to find it trying desperately to hold back laughter, it's eye twitching from the effort. The corner of it's mouth was twitching toward a smirk, and it's eyes were betraying it's stoic expression- it wanted to laugh at you! You shot to your feet, prepared to duke it out with the hovering monster- only to slip a second time on the rainwater that you had tracked into your room. This time, your head collided hard with the frame of your bed, and you blacked out. You woke up the next morning with a wrapped head and a bandaged nose. It turns out your parents had returned from their little trip and found you lying in a puddle of your own nosebleed- which sounds as humiliating as it felt- and had patched you up. After you told them about what you had seen, your parents merely laughed and gave you an affectionate pat on the head, claiming that the stress of moving and lack of sleep had to do with your "hallucinations." You would've believed them, if it wasn't for the fact that the boy showed up in your room again. You fell asleep while using your laptop and when you awoke, you found the pale-haired boy freeing his foot from your computer screen. Though you were sure that the white-haired monster returned to finish you off, you found him simply pointing his finger at your wrapped up face and cackling at you, tears budding in the gaping holes that were his eyes. You felt your face burn with embarrassment, and though you should have called for help, you simply sat there, allowing the strange being to laugh at your misfortune. After what felt like an eternity he retreated back into your computer, still snickering- leaving you bewildered and dazed. He later introduced himself as Ben Drowned over a cyberchat website named "Cleverbot," and you learned his story, as well as the fact that he could teleport just about anywhere that held an electronic device. Later that night, you awoke to a flooded room. With your heart pummeling with fear, you gasped and flailed for breath, desperately searching for a way out. You were less than pleased to find Ben on the screen on your open laptop- which was, for some reason, still working under water. His shoulders shook with muted laughter, doubling over with the hilarity he found in your pitiful predicament. As soon as it started, it was gone. The water that had once filled your room was gone, leaving everything unscathed in it's wake. Once you found mobility in your limbs again, you stormed to your laptop (which still contained the laughing freak) and took out the battery, taking away the laptop's source of life. You stormed about your house, rampaging in the middle of the night to turn off or unplug any source of electricity you could- the phones, the computers, televisions- even the dusty desktop. Despite the complaints of your confused parents, you were at peace. Since you had cut off any source of electricity, (other than the lights) that pesky elf hadn't bothered you- probably because he couldn't. However, your happiness was short-lived. Upon returning from school one day, you found that your parents had somehow reconnected everything before going to work- leaving you with two things: electricity, and an angry Ben. You had no idea how you did it, but you managed to convince Ben not to suck you into the netherworld or kill you- With minimal damage to the house. Before you placated him, Ben had flown into a livid tantrum, tossing tables and pictures to-and-fro with some unseen force, only ceasing when you promised that you would keep all electronics plugged in- thus allowing him to drop in any time he liked. Since then, the white haired boy with red irises visited routinely each day without intentions to scare you, though you were still unnerved by his presence at first. As if he sensed your uneasiness, Ben began to annoy you. Ceaselessly. Day after day, he knocked over decorative vases, messed up your room, taunted your occasional bad grades, and in all: irked the hell out of you. Yet here you were, waiting for his arrival like some kind of goddamned puppy. "What. Ever." You hissed through clenched teeth, standing up from your computer table, "Maybe he got bored of me. He's been visiting me for... God knows how long already...Good riddance." Despite your words, you felt a twinge of sadness prick your heart like a fine-tipped needle. Though he was undoubtedly aggravating most of the time, you had liked him company. Just a little. You sighed, the beams of twilight cast your shadow across the floor. "I should prepare some microwaveable dinner, my parents are working overtime today." As you sulked slowly towards your bedroom door, a loud crash and the sound of loud static pierced your eardrums, making you leap several feet into the air and scramble for the doorknob, storming downstairs to find the source of the noise. You were both annoyed and relieved to find Ben crawling out of the screen of the old desktop, though your annoyance went out the window once you spotted his shaking arms on the edge of the screen, as if he couldn't support his own weight. You extended a hand out to him, flinching as he finally managed to haul himself out of the mess of codes, landing in a heap on the floor. "Ben?" You inquired, peering at his crumpled form. "Are you okay...?" You knelt down next to him, touching his shoulder gently. "Ben?" At your voice, the creepypasta turned to look at you weakly before sniggering quietly- which worried you a bit. "What are you doing in my house?" You raised an eyebrow. "Ben, this is my house. Not yours." Ben, who had a pinkish hue to his pale cheeks, took a look around before the realization dawned upon him. "Oh, right. I'll be going then." You watched as the usually boisterous entity struggled to get back onto his feet, only to fall down again. This time, however, you caught him. Once his body made contact with your arms, you nearly shrieked. The back of his neck was burning hot, and the rest of his body was strangely warm- just like an overheated computer. "Ben-" You adjusted your hold on him, (he was a lot heavier than he looked) "Ben, are you sick?" Ben glared at you weakly. "No." You sighed, exasperated. His pride was going to be the death of him one day. You placed a gentle palm his forehead, cringing at the impossibly high temperature you felt. "Ben, you have a high fever. A bad one." The said person clicked his tongue and turned his face away, looking irritated. "That explains why I felt like shit the whole day." You couldn't help but snicker as you carried him to the couch, "That also explains why you didn't think of visiting me today." "Get off your high-fucking-horse, princess." Ben scowled, trying in vain to look threatening. "You should be thankful that I visit you everyday." You rolled your eyes, placing him softly on the couch. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for gracing me with your presence everyday, dumbass." You swore you heard Ben grumble something under his breath, but you were already too far up the stairs to hear. You returned with several pillows, a thermometer and some pills from the bathroom cabinet, determined to nurse Ben back to health. Though he was an annoying turd most of the time, there were rare moments where he comforted you in times of need- though most of the time, his offers to help just involved murdering someone, which you kindly refused. ("Killing people isn't the solution to everything, you freaking moron!") Now, it was your turn to help him. With an abundance of pillows in your arms, you urged him to sit up for a second (which he did with an anguished groan) and slipped four or five behind him, ensuring his comfort. You went into the kitchen and returned with a damp cloth and a glass of water to drink with the medicine. To be honest, you weren't quite sure if human medicine worked on creepypasta such as Ben, but it was all you had. "Ben, come on, you need to take some medicine." He scoffed at you. "Get your Earth pills away from me. You know just as well as I do that those won't work for me." You knelt next to him on the floor next to the couch and uncapped the bottle, shaking two pills out of the container and nudging him up. "You're right. I don't know if it'll work, but it's the only thing I have, so just suck it up and take them." "Get away from me." He hissed. "Ben..." You said, your tone threatening, "Don't make me unplug everything again." At this, Ben's hollow eyes narrowed, the red specks of light in them piercing into your skull. "You wouldn't dare." You gulped, feeling a cold sweat accumulate at his intense gaze. You steeled yourself and glared right back at him. "Try me." Grudgingly, Ben accepted the pills and sat up. Before you could stop him, he threw the pills in his mouth and began to chew. You froze, holding the cup of water in your hand and staring at him with wide eyes. You had made the same mistake of chewing those pills when you were younger, prior to figuring out that you could use water to wash them down. To be frank, those pills could cause more damage than a fever if not taken with water- they were horrendously bitter, and nearly caused you to puke. Just as you thought, Ben gradually stopped chewing, turning even paler than he already was- if possible. Though his face showed no emotion, you could almost feel the bloodthirsty aura that washed off of him, obviously not too pleased with the taste. You wasted no time in shoving the glass of water in his hands, urging him to drink. The water was gone before you could even blink, and Ben held the front of your shirt with an intent of death in his eyes. "You-" He stuttered, his face tinted red from anger, "You-" You braced yourself for whatever might come, but surprisingly, the grip on your shirt loosened, and Ben flopped back down unceremoniously, letting the pillows swallow his lean body. "Oh, whatever... Why would humans invent something so horrible to heal a sickness? If anything, that just made me sicker..." You smiled nervously, feeling the slightest bit guilty. "Er, it's my fault... I should have told you about the water sooner..." Ben scowled faintly. "Damn right you should've." You whispered a low "sorry" before wringing the wet towel, placing the cool cloth on Ben's head. This pulled a sigh of satisfaction from his lips, his eyes fluttering closed with contentment. You uncapped the thermometer, clicking the "ON" switch before turning back to Ben. "One last thing before you rest, Ben. I need your temperature." Ben didn't even bother to open his eyes or complain- which surprised you. Without hesitation, he simply opened his mouth. You found yourself smiling endearingly at his actions: it was like handling a stubborn child- all you had to do was get past his hard shell. Taking Ben's temperature was a little bit of a struggle, since the digital screen glitched and spazzed out once it made contact with him. However, once you had taken his temperature, your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. The little pixels, occasionally glitching, read "105.7° F. " After discovering this little fact, you urged him to sleep for a bit- feeling a bit panicked. After the third time of telling him to just relax and sleep, Ben snapped at you. "If you tell me to go to sleep one more time, I'll call Jeff up here and tell him to put you to sleep." Though you knew this was an empty threat, it still shut you up. You had heard a lot about Jeff the Killer, and though some of your friends were obsessed with him, you weren't too keen on meeting him. After turning on the fan in hopes to cool Ben down, you settled back next to him on the floor, watching his uneven breathing. After a few moments of staring, Ben's eyes snapped open, feebly glaring at you before it turned into a smirk. "Sweetheart, I know i'm good looking- but if you're gonna stare, at least do something that can excuse you from it." You blinked and furrowed your brows, feeling embarrassed but relieved. It sounded like he was feeling a bit better- but was that really a good thing for you? Silently, you lifted a hand and began combing it through his silvery hair, knocking his hat astray. However, Ben didn't seem to mind. In fact, he completely ignored his hat and turned away from you, as if he were hiding his face. Despite his best efforts, you spotted a pinkish tint on his cheeks that extended to his ears- and you were sure it wasn't because of the fever he had. You watched him with soft eyes and continued your small ministrations, wondering how he had gotten sick in the first place. Before long, Ben had fallen asleep to your touch and the low hum of the fan. Sighing breathily, you gave the sleeping boy a thoughtful look. You didn't understand why he had kept the routine of visiting you everyday, but you weren't about to complain. Moving was no easy task, it included making new friends and leaving the old ones behind. Your socializing skills weren't your strongest suit, and although you tried your best, it was difficult to keep a conversation with someone at school- you feared their judgement. Though you knew most of the people at school didn't mean any harm to you, it was still a little scary for you to be cast out into a new environment so suddenly, it made you feel vulnerable. And although Ben had scared the pants off of you at first, you slowly began to realize that your arguments and chats with him didn't make you tense or anxious. Perhaps you could even go as far as to say he made you the slightest bit happy. You continued to play with his hair for a little while before removing your hands, observing him carefully. It was true that Ben was relatively handsome, though you would rather die than admit that to him. His white hair and pale complexion gave him the look of a hauntingly beautiful angel, though his eyes were dark and devilish, always seeming to hold only the most malicious of intentions. While he was awake, his countenance was usually twisted into a smirk or a sneer- which didn't exactly make him more attractive, but definitely did not take away from it, either. However, as he was asleep, you couldn't help but notice how strikingly bewitching he looked without the usual grimace. His long, white eyelashes brushed against his cheekbones, colored pale pink with his fever. Though you hadn't noticed it previously, it was almost unnerving how captivating Ben was. With his sleek, graceful features relaxed, you almost wouldn't have been able to guess that he was such a cunning gremlin while he was awake. You couldn't stop your eyes from wandering to his lips, which were slightly parted with his steady inhales and exhales. Just like the rest of his body, his lips were deathly pale, and slightly chapped- though they still looked inviting. You blushed and averted your eyes upon realizing how inappropriate your thoughts were. Ben was horribly sick and helpless, yet here you were, daydreaming about... A kiss... You covered your face, feeling humiliation wash over you in waves. Ben would probably laugh himself to death if he knew what you were thinking. The mere thought of being with Ben was impractical within itself, since there was no way monsters like him were even capable of feelings, right...? Your train of thought was halted when you heard the silverette groan lowly from across you. You peered out from your hands with questioning eyes, wondering if you had woken him up with the intensity of your staring. (Was that even possible, though?) He wasn't awake. His eyes were still sealed shut, but his mouth was twitching, as if he were trying to say something. You leaned in closer, watching attentively. Did he want water? A colder towel? More pillows? Suddenly, much to your shock, your name erupted from his lips, sounding like a cross between a groan of irritation and a plea. Then, he was silent again. You felt a warmness in your body emitting from the center of your stomach, and before long, you found yourself smiling at Ben. He was asleep, so it wouldn't hurt too much, right...? Slowly, you leaned forward and brushed back some of his soft locks, marveling at how pretty his face was. With such a small distance between you two, you could smell his scent- a distinct smell of static and coconut. Gently, you pressed your lips to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his soft, feverish skin on your own mouth. As you pulled away, you found a hand on the back of your head, pulling you back in. Wide eyes registered as Ben tilted his head, and his lips met yours, watching your bewildered expression with groggy, half-lidded eyes before he closed them, pressing his lips harder against your own. His mouth was burning hot, no doubt it was because of the fever, but it made the kiss even harder to resist. With flushed cheeks, you allowed your eyes to slip shut as well, returning the gentle pressure lightly. You noted that Ben was being unusually careful as he cupped your face, as if you were made of fragile glass that would shatter at any moment. You smiled at this, and brushed the side of his cheek with the back of your hand endearingly. He pulled away and you opened your mouth to speak, but before you could get a word in, his lips descended upon yours again, his tongue sweeping over your already open lips and tickling the roof of your mouth. You squeaked a bit at this, and he pulled back, his hand still on your cheek, opening his eyes to take in your reddened face and light panting. And then you saw it. It surprised you more than the kiss did- and perhaps more than his first appearance did. Ben smiled. It was a genuine smile, albeit small, unlike the smirks and half-grins he gave you all the time. This time, his lips curled naturally, softening his scarlet eyes a twinge. The hues of twilight poured in from the window and washed over both of you, bathing both of you in a beautiful gradient of a fading pink, yellow and orange. You should have scolded him for kissing you while he was sick, but you couldn't find the heart to ruin the mood. Instead, you smiled back at him, leaning into the hand that remained on your cheek. There, in the wake of the lingering sun, you discovered that what once was your greatest fear was also your greatest treasure.

[nyxy-o7]

Okay so it's getting kinda late here which means I am not in the mood to turn on my computer so I can show you guys the sides looks so that will be a different post. I also want to make clear that this is the first time I'm playing things and am actually aware of what the fuck is going on and so the begging was a bit of a mess and so is the house. Now let's get into what's happened so far:

First | Previous | Next

TW: s*x mention, kinks mention, caps, swearing

First of all lemme tell ya, controlling six (6) fucking people is harddd 😣

Ya girl got a little too excited with the money cheat code so naturally I made a big house, only problem is that I am not a good architect so this 3 floor house shows my progress at decorating and designing, which means that the 1st floor (the common area) looks like absolute shit and I do not have the energy to change it. The 2nd floor (3 bedrooms, 1 bathroom and a balcony that nO ONE EVER USES AND I AM PISSED) is a little better and the last floor (3 more bedrooms and another bathroom) is probably the one that looks the best

I also made a pool and a tiny game room that nO ONE EVER USES EITHER UNLESS TOLD TO

I saw a cupcake machine and with all that money I immediatly went "shit I need that"

Worst. Decision. Ever.

Every time these dumbasses are hungry they go make a cupcake eVEN THOUGH THERE'S SO MUCH FOOD LAYING AROUND

I have now sold the cupcake machine

Literally the first thing that happened was a fire after Remus tried to make some burgers or something

WHY THE FUCK IS EVERYTHING ALWAYS BREAKING

The amount of times the toilets, sinks, washing machine and coffee machine have broken 🤦‍♀️

Moceit was the first ship to go on a date but I'm a dumbass and sent them while Janus reeeaaalllyyyyy had to pee, sleep and eat but did nothing about it until after the date bc "oh shit there's goals??? I must complete all of them and make them boyfriends by the end of it"

How the fuck do I make the sims have a "deep conversation" or whatever it was while on a date?

Janus has passed out from energy failure so much the poor thing

Intrulogical was the next ship to happen

I wanted prinxiety to be more of a slow burn bc they're my otp which means I made @captainpatton-thewinterdad suffer a bit from it >:3

Speaking of prinxiety, Roman kissed Virgil twice and Virgil kissed him once before they even went on a date and I did not make then do that (I also didn't try to stop them though)

Initially Remus job was a criminal but his and Logan's schedules never matched so I thought "okay either Remus changes jobs or intrulogical will never happen" so I made him quit and become an artist

Later on (after their first date where they started dating) Logan got a promotion making it so their schedules didn't match again and I wanted to scream

Today was everyone's birthday but Roman was the first one so I threw him a birthday party. Everyone was absolutely exhausted bc my dumbass thought that the party would be scheduled by me but no so it was like midnight on a work night, everyone just wanted to go to bed, the caterer didn't do shit, I achieved basically none of the goals for the party which got rated as really bad or something and Roman is still feeling sad and embarrassed for throwing such a bad party even days after

None of the others got a birthday party and boi were they upset that everyone had forgotten their birthday

Roman lit himself on fire by accident when he was trying to warm himself by the fireplace and I've had so many fires like wtf

Everything's always either broken, dirty or on fire

It's like a wheel of misfortune

Prinxiety finally had their first date and became boyfriends bc after their birthdays I was hit with the realization that sims age fast and I want them to get married and have kids 🥺

Patton asked Janus out on a date (the place of their first one 🥺💖) and proposed to him

They got home and did it

I love that bc the sims is a game that can and is played by kids it has to be family friendly so instead of the action being called "have sex with [blank]" or "sleep with [blank]" it's called "woohoo with [blank]"

Logan and Remus also did it if any of you horny bitches are interested bc Logan was kinda mad I think bc of work?? maybe?? And let's be honest one of Remus' many kinks would definitely be angry sex and honestly I can see Logan also being into it

I laughed a lot when the couples slept together bc for some reason my fucked up brain thought the animations for it were absolutely hilarious (@captainpatton-thewinterdad could you hear me laughing in the videos? 😂)

Virgil and Roman are the only pure virgins in this household

Just realized I didn't say what the others jobs were so

Logan: astronaut

Patton: babysitter

Roman: entertainer

Virgil: style influencer (I love the stylist Virgil hc okay)

Janus: businessman

Remus (former) criminal, (current) artist

I think that's pretty much it so far. If you have any questions you can reblog this post or send an ask. I am thinking of taking some requests for things to do with the sides in the game so if you have any suggestions reblog, send an ask or leave a comment in the notes

Thank you for hearing this long ass rambling and I hope that I at least made you chuckle a little :)

(@captainpatton-thewinterdad if I forget anything you remember please reblog with it or send me a msg, you and I both know my memory sucks lol)

[firebrands]

your pillow feels so soft now (but still you must advance) | ironbat

Bruce Wayne/Tony Stark, T, 5.3k of Tony & Bruce in boarding school together (Note: underage drinking and kissing) | on ao3 | for @talktonytome hehehe enjoy!

***

Bruce has the misfortune of meeting Tony Stark upon his arrival in Roxbury. Bruce is moving into his room, and Tony opens the door of his room to watch. He looks a bit younger than Bruce, hair wild and eyes bright. Bruce has never seen a boy like him before—handsome and confident.

Bruce doesn’t like it.

 “I agree that it would be beneficial to you to be educated among peers of your—or close to your caliber,” Alfred intoned, as Bruce browsed through brochures of private boarding schools.

“Not that your tutelage has been in any way inadequate,” Bruce said. “But I think I need to learn how to interact with these… people.”

There was a small smile on Alfred’s lips, and he nodded.

 The same knowing smile is on Alfred’s lips now as he places the last of Bruce’s bags in his room.

Bruce takes a deep breath before turning to face the boy who inhabits the room across his. “I’m Bruce Wayne,” he says, trying to smile.

Tony reaches out and shakes Bruce’s hand.

“This is Alfred,” Bruce says.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.”

Tony laughs. “Are all butlers like, required to be British?”

Bruce almost asks, oh, you have one too? Because it’s a relief to know that he shares that with someone. But it strikes him as gauche to ask. His mother would not have approved.

So instead, Bruce stares at Tony for a moment, then looks to Alfred helplessly.

“Well, I shall be off, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, disregarding Bruce’s silent plea. “Don’t forget to write.”

“I shan’t,” Bruce says, frowning. “Of course not.”

Alfred squeezes Bruce’s shoulder briefly, then walks out of Bruce’s room and down the hall.

Bruce purses his lips.

“So where are you from?” Tony asks, walking towards Bruce’s room. Bruce has to fight back the urge to block his entrance, instead standing stiffly in the doorway.

Tony slips past him easily and begins to walk around Bruce’s room, bare save for the three bags he’s brought. The boarding school didn’t allow for extravagance, and all Bruce thought to bring were clothes and some of his favorite fountain pens. Alfred had insisted on packing beddings (and he was right to do so; the sheets looked itchy).

“Gotham,” Bruce answers, watching Tony warily as he sits down on Bruce’s bed. Bruce sits on the chair by the desk.

“Never been,” Tony says, inspecting his nails. “Nice there?”

“Nice enough,” Bruce says, thinking of the country club and the large greenhouse his mother had commissioned, in the middle of the city. The yearning feeling that rises out of him takes him by surprise.

“Well,” Bruce says, casting his gaze around the room helplessly. “Where are you from?”

“New York,” Tony says. “My dad’s Howard Stark.”

Bruce has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at how gauche Tony sounds. Of course. Now it all makes sense: Tony’s ostentatious watch, the polo, the way he just reeks wealth. How nouveau riche.

“Ah,” Bruce says, because he’s met people like Tony before. “Stark Industries, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, excitement causing him to lean forward towards Bruce. “He builds the coolest stuff.”

“And you, too,” Bruce says, remembering a Popular Mechanics magazine that his father’s secretary had laid out on his father’s desk. He remembers now, a much younger Tony Stark, holding up some kind of circuitry. Bruce looks at Tony’s hands, notices how he has some fingers bandaged up. Inexplicably, Bruce wants to reach out and inspect them closely. Wants to hold Tony’s hand.

Bruce’s words have the opposite effect on Tony, who shrinks back a little. “Yeah, I guess.”

Bruce furrows his brow. “Are you building anything now?”

“Yeah!” Tony says, jumping up. “Wanna see?”

“Sure,” Bruce says. “But I’d like to unpack first.”

Tony tuts. “Your bags will unpack themselves. Come on!”

He takes Bruce’s hand in his and Bruce tries not to flinch at the contact. He lets Tony drag him to his room and Bruce stops at the door.

“A bit of a mess, sorry,” Tony says, not sounding apologetic at the least. Bruce takes everything in: the computers, the tangles of wiring, the explosion of clothes on Tony’s bed.

“I thought we were only allowed to move in today,” Bruce says.

“Yeah but who cares about rules,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “I came in last week.”

“Why?” Bruce asks—it explodes out of him, really. He can’t fathom why anyone would choose to move out of their homes into such a solitary space.

Tony shrugs, and Bruce can already tell from how Tony avoids his eyes, that there’s more to it. It sparks something in him, a deep curiosity.

“So I’ve been thinking of how to build a robot,” Tony says, holding up a circuit board and some sketches.

The math makes Bruce’s vision swim as he takes it in.

“I’m still figuring out the code,” Tony adds, more to himself than to Bruce. “Do you like robots?”

“Not really,” Bruce says. “But I want to know more.” He’s surprised by how much he means it. It’s interesting, and he can’t place if he means it because he wants to spend more time with Tony or learn mechanical engineering from a fourteen year old.

***

Bruce wakes up with a start. Someone’s knocking on his door, soft, urgent raps, belying the fear of getting caught as well as the need to be heard.

Bruce rubs his eyes as he cracks open the door, and yelps as it’s pushed open. Tony claps his hand over Bruce’s mouth.

“Shh,” Tony whispers, shutting the door behind him. “Just me.”

“What are you doing?” Bruce tries to say, but it’s muffled by Tony’s palm.

Bruce frowns and sticks out his tongue.

“Ugh!” Tony squawks, wrenching his hand away. “Gross!”

“What are you doing here?” Bruce hisses.

“Look at the moon!” Tony says, oblivious to Bruce’s ire. His palms are pressed flat against Bruce’s desk as he leans forward, face pressed against Bruce’s window.

The sight makes the confusion melt away into fondness. It’s horrifying.

Bruce huffs out a breath and checks the clock. “It’s two in the morning.”

“It’s a harvest moon,” Tony says, looking over his shoulder at Bruce. “It’s pretty.”

Bruce fights down the urge to say, you’re prettier.

“Have you slept at all or have you been gazing at the moon all this time?” He asks, instead.

Tony laughs, and turns to look back outside. “Sleep is for the weak.”

Bruce walks toward him tentatively. “I resent that,” he murmurs. “I’m offended on behalf of the sleeping public.”

Tony shifts and makes space for Bruce, and Bruce hefts himself up to sit on the desk, leaning against the window as he looks at the moon.

“Okay. I guess it looks nice.” The moon is high in the sky, so bright that Bruce can see the campus in full. Tony tilts his head up some more, the roof of the building obscuring it a bit. He moves again, rests his hand on top of Bruce’s thigh.

It sends a shiver up Bruce’s spine. He looks down at Tony’s hand, warmth seeping through his pajamas.

Tony seems to notice, then looks down at his hand as well.

Their gazes meet.

Bruce can distinctly feel the moment his pace picks up speed.

Tony doesn’t look particularly handsome, not right now; there are circles under his eyes and his hair's a mess without the usual product.

Tony smiles, then seems to catch himself and bites his lip.

Bruce feels his face heat, then he looks away, down back at the quad.

“Hey,” he breathes out, and he can’t figure out why he’s whispering, but he knows too, that he’s ruining it by speaking. “I think someone’s sneaking out of the dorm.”

Tony’s gaze snaps to the window, and he presses himself up against it to follow Bruce’s line of sight.

***

A year later, it still makes no sense that they’re friends. Jacob Astor had greeted him when they’d seen each other in class—he’d formed his own group with Oliver Queen and Matthew Vanderbilt.

Bruce had met all of them before, back when they had parties in the Manor. He’d stayed in communication with Ollie, at the very least, who did ask him, “Bruce, why don’t you sit with us for lunch?” But Bruce had looked at Tony, seated at their usual table, and it wasn’t pity that made him say, “oh, I said I’d eat with Tony today.”

Tony, who had his own set of friends, too—sons of self-made men who spent their money sending their children to exclusive and private boarding schools like Roxbury, who tried to hide the stench of their beginnings by perfuming their offspring.

Tony isn’t any different, he’s pretentious and loud and gauche to a degree that makes Bruce laugh instead of sneer. “You’re ridiculous,” Bruce says, every time, and he’s explained why one shouldn’t have to talk about how much their father makes in polite company that Tony’s gotten a bit of a handle on himself.

In turn, Tony’s taught Bruce to “let loose,” which is a very thinly-veiled way of saying that Tony breaks all possible school rules and drags Bruce along with him.

When they’re called to the headmaster’s office, Bruce has his hands folded behind his back as he explains exactly why they were caught sneaking around the restricted books section. He very pointedly does not say “my father will hear about this,” which is a line Tony had used the first time they were caught (they had organized a betting game for the annual intramurals). Instead, Bruce says, “We apologize, sir. We shall not do it again.”

“But why did you do it in the first place, Mr. Wayne?” the headmaster asks, sighing. Bruce can’t say that someone in class had dared Tony to steal a copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Tony very subtly kicks Bruce’s foot, as if in reminder.

“I lost my pen,” Bruce says.

“In the restricted area of the library,” the headmaster states, rather than asks.

“Oh, no, sir. Not at all. But I know I did lose it in the library, and I had to check every corner for it.”

“At midnight?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“And Mr. Stark?”

Tony straightens up at the mention of his name. “I—two pairs of eyes are better than one?” He hazards. “And I couldn’t bear to see Bruce suffering any longer.”

Bruce glances at Tony, but keeps his face neutral. Tony, completely useless as he is in these situations, is visibility biting back a smile.

The headmaster sighs. “Take better care of your possessions, Mr. Wayne,” he says. “And Mr. Stark, take better care to advise your peers against breaking curfew, rather than encouraging it.”

“On my honor,” Tony says, laying it on thick. Bruce closes his eyes, unable to stop himself from rolling them.

“I hope I don’t need to summon you here again. Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

“Thank you sir,” Bruce says, bowing slightly. “We’ll be better.”

Bruce just shuts the door to the headmaster’s office before Tony erupts into laughter. “We’ll be better,” he repeats, clapping Bruce on the back. He knows Bruce meant, better at not getting caught.

***

“Brucie,” Tony sings, as he throws the door to Bruce’s room open. “I have a surprise for you!”

Bruce slowly lowers his head to rest on the psychology book he’s reading. “I’m busy,” he says, voice muffled by the pages.

“Well stop being busy and mind me,” Tony says imperiously. He rests his hip against Bruce’s desk, and Bruce shuts his eyes when he realizes that Tony’s—Tony’s general crotch area is right in front of him.

Tony takes Bruce’s chin in his hands and tilts Bruce’s head up. “Come on Bruce,” he says, and the movement does something funny to Bruce’s insides that makes him keep his eyes shut. At the same time, he can’t help but feel that Tony knows this; Tony’s always so tactile, and Bruce is pretty sure he’s shown his hand on how he isn’t.

“What is it,” Bruce says, opening his eyes and looking at Tony.

Tony has a mischievous grin on his face, so Bruce knows it’s trouble. For the past two years, it’s always this face that preceded it. Bruce searches Tony’s face, then sees that he has his other hand behind his back.

“Reinforcements,” Tony says, and extends his arm with a flourish. In hand is a bottle of whisky.

“What are you talking about?” Bruce asks, already turning to look back at his book. At this point, they both know Bruce will fold, but this courtship is part of the process.

“Fun, Bruce,” Tony says, kneeling down beside him so he can rest his chin on the desk and look up at Bruce imploringly. “Have you heard of it?”

“Sounds dangerous,” Bruce says, frowning.

Tony tuts. “I know you like it,” he says, and pushes Bruce’s hip. “Besides. You’ve been brooding.”

“I have not,” Bruce snaps, affronted.

Tony rolls his eyes, pushes the bottle against Bruce’s book. “It’s the weekend and you’re broody and I’m bored, let’s get drunk,” he says, pouting.

“Go lift some weights then,” Bruce says, pushing the bottle away. So maybe he’s afraid to get drunk around Tony, or to get drunk at all. Before—before, he’d had a sip of wine on New Year’s, with his parents. But he’s never trusted anyone enough to try more of it, and it would be mortifying to get drunk and have Alfred pick up after him. It’s with this train of thought that Bruce realizes that he may have finally found someone he trusts.

Now it’s a question of if he trusts himself around him.

“No,” Tony whines, drawing out the vowel. “I wanna get drunk with you.”

“Why?” Bruce asks, and it comes out sharper than he intended.

Tony shrinks away from him.

“Fine,” Tony says, standing.

“No, Tony,” Bruce says, his resolve crumbling immediately as he reaches over and catches Tony’s wrist. “Okay, come on.” He doesn’t want to dwell on the strange power Tony has over him. He doesn’t want to think about what will happen, when they graduate, when he finally goes down the path he promised himself after all this.

Instead, he focuses on Tony’s wrist in his hand.

Tony turns his wrist, takes Bruce’s hand in his. “You’re too easy,” he says, sitting back on Bruce’s bed, a triumphant grin on his face.

Bruce doesn’t say, only for you.

Tony opens the bottle and Bruce reaches over to his bedside table and hands him an empty glass.

“No glasses,” Tony says, taking a swig. “We drink like men.”

“I regret this already,” Bruce murmurs, but sets the glass aside before he takes the bottle from Tony.

“Regret is for future you,” Tony says.

Bruce shakes his head and takes a pull. The whisky tastes the way it smells, and it burns down his throat. It makes his stomach feel warm.

Again, the fear bubbles up inside him. He worries about what he’ll do when he’s drunk. He worries about what Tony will do, too.

“Stop thinking,” Tony says. He takes the bottle in one hand and takes a sip. Then he stands, takes a step towards Bruce. He takes Bruce’s chin in his hand again and tilts Bruce’s chin up. “Keep drinking.”

Bruce parts his lips open, entranced by the sight of Tony. His cheeks are already a little pink. Bruce wonders how he looks, like this, mouth open and waiting. He looks up at Tony, meets his eyes.

Tony lets out a shaky breath before he tips some whisky into Bruce’s mouth, murmuring an apology as some of it spills down Bruce’s chin. He wipes it off with his thumb, and Bruce licks his lips. He blinks when he sees Tony follow the movement.

Tony steps away, sits back on Bruce’s bed.

Bruce observes him for a moment, puzzling out that look on Tony’s face, then decides to sit beside Tony.

They pass the bottle between them in silence for a while, and then Tony starts talking about the wall he’s hit while building.

Bruce listens and half-heartedly tries to offer solutions. He knows that if he gets it right, Tony’ll be out of his room and building again, and he wants Tony to stay. It’s a funny thing to admit to himself.

“What were you reading?” Tony asks, apparently giving up on finding a solution.

“A book,” Bruce slurs, and realizes with a start that he’s there. He’s tipsy. This is what it must be. “I think,” he adds, blinking. “I think I’m drunk.”

Tony bursts out laughing. “Oh sweetheart,” he says. “I think you’re fucking adorable.”

 Bruce can’t say when or why they stopped drinking, but he wakes up with his face pressed against Tony’s hair.

“Tony,” he rasps out, because there’s a bottle of water across the room but he can’t move.

“Stop shouting,” Tony says, burrowing even closer against Bruce’s chest. “Sleep time.”

Bruce makes a sad, pitiful sound. His head is pounding. He wants to die. Nothing, not even Tony in his arms, makes him feel better. (He really doesn’t want to focus on the last thought. He can’t.)

This makes Tony sigh, roll over, and feel around the side of the bed. He makes a pained sound as he lifts Bruce’s Hydroflask.

“Go drown in it,” he says darkly, handing it over to Bruce before he grabs the pillow from under them and uses it to cover his head.

***

They’re seventeen when Tony finally works up the nerve to ask him: “do you want to come over for the holidays?”

Bruce has known for a while now that Tony’s wanted to. He’s really gotten much better at reading people, which is why he deigned to come in the first place. He’s noticed the way Tony’s tried to start a conversation about it, especially when the holidays come up in class.

“Sure,” Bruce answers, smiling. “Your parents won’t mind?”

Tony snorts. “As long as you won’t mind them,” he mutters. “Anyway, it’ll be fun! Christmas in New York!”

Bruce rolls his eyes fondly. “Cold and full of tourists,” he says.

“Better than dark and depressing!”

“How dare you,” Bruce gasps, mock-offended.

Tony laughs. “Will Alfred be okay?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll have a ball. Probably have too much eggnog with Leslie.”

Tony nods, as if he’s content with this outcome. “I can’t wait,” he says, smiling.

“To spend even more time with me?” Bruce teases. He’s noticed too, now that he’s a bit older, that he might not be alone in how he feels. He’s rewarded immediately by Tony sputtering.

“Well away from all this, which makes it different,” Tony says defensively.

Bruce laughs. “I’m kidding,” he says, and doesn’t hesitate when he rests his hand on Tony’s arm and squeezes it quickly.

Tony smiles, looking a little shy. It’s these little tells that have cemented his theory. For now, he’s puzzling out why Tony hasn’t done anything about it; he’s pretty sure he’s telegraphed his desire just as loudly. He might as well have printed it out and decorated his room with signs that read: Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

 The Stark Mansion on Fifth Avenue is, in a word, grandiose. Bruce doesn’t wrinkle his nose at it, but it’s a close thing. There are too many decorations in the foyer alone, and as Bruce surveys it all, he wonders who their interior designer is.

“I know,” Tony says, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to their butler. Bruce takes off his own coat. “This is Jarvis, by the way.”

“Good afternoon,” Tony’s butler says.

Bruce laughs. “I see what you mean, now,” he says.

“Huh?” Tony asks. Then, “Oh. About them all being British.”

Bruce smiles, nods at Jarvis, and follows as Jarvis leads them inside.

“You remember that? That was what, four years ago?” Tony asks, catching up to them.

“Yeah, when we first met,” Bruce says. They have a Picasso. Has no one told them that he’s fallen out of favor?

Tony follows Bruce’s gaze. “I tried to tell them,” Tony groans. “Anyway, that’s sweet of you,” he adds.

Bruce almost stops in his tracks. Tony’s always had a knack for that, throwing such meaningful things around like it was nothing. It’s something he’s been trying to learn.

“I try,” Bruce replies, and winks at Tony.

Tony looks away, a slight blush on his cheeks.

Bruce feels triumphant.

“This is your room, sir,” Jarvis says, opening a door and setting Bruce’s bags down. “Please let us know if you’d like anything and we can pick it up for you.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says.

“My room’s down the hall,” Tony says. “Come on, I’ll show you before I introduce you to mom and dad.”

 Dinner is a strange affair.

“Tony has said so much about you,” Maria says. She’s a beautiful woman, and the way she’s coiffed her hair reminds Bruce of his mother.

“Oh, good things, I hope,” Bruce says, smiling.

“Of course, he says you’ve kept him on the straight and narrow,” Maria says.

Tony grins at him, pleased by the exchange.

“Because he seems incapable of doing it himself,” Howard says, and the smile is wiped off Tony’s face.

“Not at all, Mr. Stark,” Bruce says, and he’s not really thinking about why he’s doing this on his first dinner with them, but he also just can’t abide by this kind of talk. It’s not right. “Tony’s been helping me with math, and after that time a few years ago, I think we’ve both matured significantly.”

Tony stares at Bruce for a second before he shoves a heapful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“How are your parents,” Howard says gruffly, doing a poor job of changing the topic. It’s likely because Maria was glaring at him.

“Oh dad,” Tony says through a mouthful of food.

“Howard,” Maria hisses.

“It’s fine,” Bruce says with false cheer. Tony turns to Bruce, eyebrows raised and eyes wide, because at this point he knows what comes next. “They’re dead,” Bruce adds, really hammering it in, and also because he knows this is the kind of behavior that has Tony in stitches.

Tony chokes on his food.

Howard looks at Bruce and arches his eyebrow. “Ah, yes. Wayne,” he says. “Condolences.”

Bruce wants to punch him in the face. But then again, it’s not as if Tony didn’t warn him.

“Dessert?” Maria says brightly, clapping her hands together. “Jarvis makes a fantastic pavlova.”

“Sounds lovely,” Bruce says, and Tony finally catches his breath enough to kick Bruce under the table.

***

The next two weeks in New York pass fairly quickly. On his first official day in New York, Bruce had breakfast alone while Tony slept in. Jarvis made him pancakes.

“It’s ten,” Tony said accusingly, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s late,” Bruce corrects him.

“I concur,” Jarvis said as he handed Tony a cup of coffee.

“Traitor.” Tony said, but perked up after his first sip. “So, want to go anywhere in particular?” Tony took another sip and sat down beside Bruce. He picked up a slice of Bruce’s pancake with his fingers.

“Or do you trust me?” He asked, while chewing. He punctuated his question by licking the syrup off his fingers.

Bruce stared.

First of all, Tony had pulled it off again, gone to the heart of the matter with casual disregard. And his mouth. Good lord, his tongue.

Bruce cleared his throat and drank some orange juice.

“I trust you,” he said, voice still a little raspy. He tried to smile, as if the phrase wasn’t laden with baggage for him.

“I know,” Tony says, smiling. He leaned over and parted his lips.

Bruce glanced around, and once sure that they weren’t in Jarvis’ line of sight—he still hadn’t ascertained what their relationship was like, if they were as close as Bruce was to Alfred—he fed Tony a bit of the pancake.

“So I’m thinking, skating, hot chocolate, Central Park.” Tony said, grinning.

Bruce wrinkled his nose. “Sounds touristy.”

“What would you describe yourself as?” Tony asked, resting his chin on his hand.

“Not a tourist,” Bruce groused.

“But are you not visiting this place for pleasure?” Tony asked. “That’s the Cambridge definition.”

Bruce sighed. “To go to Central Park during winter does not sound pleasurable.”

“I thought you said you trusted me,” Tony pouted.

So they ended up going to Central Park. Bruce would choose death rather than ever admit he enjoyed it. He should’ve known better—frowning was impossible when he was spending time with Tony.

***

Bruce is wearing the sweater Tony bought him. It’s comfortable, cable-knit and thick. They have a few days left before they have to head back to school, and Tony’s chosen mourning activity is imbibing hard liquor.

They have glasses, now, at least.

Bruce is trying not to think about how this is his last normal Christmas. Not that any Christmas since his parents have died have been normal—at home it was usually an austere affair, an exchange of gifts and some roast belly and cake. Bruce has never felt like celebrating. He knows, too, that when he’s done training—when he’s achieved his goals, he can never have anything like this. He won’t.

“Broody,” Tony says, as he tops up Bruce’s drink.

“Not,” Bruce says just as quickly. He continues to stare into the fire crackling merrily in front of them. He’s a little drunk, and everyone in the household has retired.

Tony’s put on a record, and he sways a little to the music as he drinks.

Bruce knows he’s trying to get his attention, so he blinks himself out of his thoughts.

“Thank you for having me,” he says, and means it more than Tony could possibly ever know.

Tony smiles, easy and loose only in the way that drunkenness can make it. “You’re welcome any time.”

Bruce grins, shakes his head.

“What?” Tony asks, sauntering over to Bruce and sitting down. They’re close enough that their thighs are flush against each other.

Bruce wonders if Tony’s done it on purpose. (Very likely.)

“Nothing,” Bruce says.

“Liar,” Tony murmurs. He leans close, rests his head on Bruce’s shoulder, and sips from his glass. “What’s on your mind?”

Bruce can’t have this—can’t have anyone that reads him as well as Tony around, if he plans on doing what he needs to. But it’s not like he ever expected to meet Tony, or get close to him. It’s frightening, how much of a mistake this all is.

“Bruce,” Tony whispers. “Tell me.”

Bruce downs his drink.

“You’re trouble, Tony Stark,” he says. He tries to keep his tone light, but he feels Tony flinch, so it means he failed at his attempt.

Tony takes a deep breath and relaxes against him.

“Not like that’s news to you,” he says.

“No,” Bruce agrees. “Suppose not.” He turns and looks at Tony, fondness swelling inside him so quickly it might burst out of him.

Tony turns to look up at him.

“Could be a bit more trouble for you,” he offers. His cheeks are flushed from the drink, and the firelight illuminates half his face, dancing and flickering and making him look impossibly beautiful.

Bruce knows he should turn away, should stand up and head to bed, shouldn’t say anything. But he’s seventeen years old and he’s never had anything of his own. So maybe this is it, his chance, even if he knows too that he’ll be the one to take it away from himself.

“Yeah?” Bruce asks, shifting a little to cup Tony’s cheek in his hand.

Tony turns his head, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles into Bruce’s touch.

“A kiss, maybe,” he whispers.

Bruce lets out a shaky breath. “Sounds about right,” he says, and thumbs Tony’s cheek to get his attention. He smiles when Tony opens his eyes, and pulls him close to kiss him.

Bruce has never kissed anyone before, and Tony seems to sense that. He leans closer, slides his hand into Bruce’s hair, angling his head properly. Bruce lets himself be led, his mouth parting open without thought when Tony swipes his tongue against his bottom lip.

Kissing Tony feels electric, and in the back of his mind, through the haze of alcohol and desire, he wonders how having Tony’s mouth pressed against his feels so good, why Tony’s tongue sliding against his makes his pulse jump.

Tony pulls away with a gasp, then raps his knuckles against Bruce’s head.

“I felt you thinking,” he scolds.

Bruce frowns at the loss, and at the accusation. “Stop me from thinking then,” he snaps.

Tony seems to that as a challenge. He grabs Bruce by the collar of his sweater and kisses him fiercely, and Bruce gets lost in it. He lets Tony push him down onto the couch, lets Tony’s hand slip under his shirt, fingertips cold and calloused as they map the planes of Bruce’s chest. Bruce tangles his hand in Tony’s hair, then down Tony’s back, pulling him close. He needs Tony as close as possible, wants to melt into him, wants to consume, or be consumed.

Bruce pulls away and tries to catch his breath. “Tony,” he says.

“Yes,” Tony answers, because he knows Bruce, knows what he needs, and it’s too exhilarating to be known for it to be frightening.

They stumble out of the living room, pausing every few moments to pull each other close and kiss again; first against the bookshelf, then against the bannister of the stairs, then against the wall, by the painting Bruce hates—then they’re in Bruce’s room and it’s like a switch is flicked.

“God,” Tony groans, kissing Bruce again and pushing him towards the bed. They fall into a messy pile of limbs but Bruce can’t be bothered to right himself, instead choosing to slide along to whatever makes sense as Tony writhes on top of him, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him.

“I’ve wanted—” Tony breathes out, and then he moves and kisses Bruce’s neck.

“Oh, god,” Bruce moans, because he didn’t know that you could do that. He drags Tony back up and kisses him again, and he’ll never get enough of this, he can’t.

The phrase hits him like a ton of bricks. He can’t.

“Tony,” Bruce says, gently holding Tony away.

Tony blinks. He looks gorgeous and mussed up, and Bruce looks away because he knows he can’t say what he needs to say when Tony looks like that.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asks.

“Let’s… let’s not do that,” Bruce says, because he can’t and he shouldn’t, and those two phrases keep flashing in his brain like a sick mantra.

“Okay,” Tony says, sounding confused. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Bruce says, cupping Tony’s cheek. “Of course not.”

Tony takes a deep breath, and it looks like he’s getting ready for a blow.

Bruce knows he needs to learn to be heartless. But not now.

“Tony,” Bruce says, sitting up and wrapping his arms around him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Tony whispers, digging his face into Bruce’s neck.

“I don’t think I can do that yet,” Bruce lies. At least in that aspect, he’s got it covered.

Tony nods. “I wasn’t saying we should,” he says, his breath hot against Bruce’s chest.

“I know. But I wanted to say so, too.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Bruce whispers, and turns to kiss Tony’s cheek. “But could we just lie down together?”

“Yeah,” Tony says.

Bruce gently lifts Tony’s head and kisses him chastely.

They shift around a little until they’re lying down, facing each other.

“We’re okay, right?” Tony asks, looking at Bruce’s chest.

“More than okay,” Bruce says. He takes Tony’s chin in his hands and tilts his head up. “I’m really glad we kissed,” he says, smiling at Tony.

“That’s my move,” Tony says, looking up at Bruce and then away.

“Hm?”

“The hand on chin thing,” Tony says, and looks up at Bruce snorts..

“I knew it!” Bruce says, feeling triumphant. “I knew you were doing that on purpose.”

Tony smiles, looking a little embarrassed. “Like you said. Trouble,” he murmurs.

Bruce huffs out a laugh.

“Just the trouble I was looking for,” he says, before pulling Tony close and kissing him.

[nomanwalksalone]

RULES OF THE HAT

by Alexander Freeling

This year I broke a rule I didn’t know I’d made: no hats at home. It wasn’t intentional, I realized, but over the years hats, like shorts, had become things to wear only in warmer climes (which is to say: not Britain). There were a couple of practical reasons for the change. One was my aforementioned DIY haircutting woes; another was the travel restrictions which made longer-distance trips distinctly more complicated.

A day or two after breaking my accidental covenant, with a navy blue baseball cap in wool flannel (as I said, British weather), I realized the error of my ways. It was versatile, unfussy, and soon began to feel necessary. Why had I ever deprived myself? It’s not like I now had to catch outfield balls (is that right?) But maybe I shouldn’t be surprised: rules on headwear run deep in Anglo culture.

You’re probably thinking that I mean social conventions, but sometimes the law gets involved. Collectors of unusual laws like to cite various state codes making it “unlawful to wear a hat or any other covering of the head which obstructs the view of other persons in any theater,” but most hat laws are more about commerce than fashion. The Hat Act of 1732 was a piece of colonial British legislation intended to protect domestic hatmakers from competition from their North American counterparts by restricting their rights to export products and take on apprentices. (Not to be confused with the Hatch Act, which concerns unfair advantages of a different kind.) On a happier and less monopolistic note, in 1879 a Michigan public health law created an obligation for railroad corporations to “provide a uniform hat or cap” for employees (though it also provided for fines if they didn’t wear it).

Then we come to the etiquette manuals. The high-toned De Benneville Randolph Keim wrote in 1889 that “under all circumstances of private life or public occasion the greatest courtesy is for a gentleman to raise his hat or to remove it entirely if the occasion be appropriate.” And when is that, you ask? Primarily when encountering ladies, but also “a civil officer of very high rank.”

Fellow manners expert Eliza Bisbee Duffey concurs. “A gentleman never sits in the house with his hat on in the presence of ladies. Indeed, a gentleman instinctively removes his hat as soon as he enters a room the habitual resort of ladies.” On the other hand, EBD also advises with great seriousness: “never lean your head against the wall as you may disgust your wife or hostess by soiling the paper of her room,” so you might want to take that with a pinch of salt.

Hat anxieties are surprisingly long-lived. A century later in Clothes and the Man, Alan Flusser declares gravely that “hat wearing, with its Old World flavor, carries with it a body of etiquette that should be respected. This is both the pleasure and the responsibility it gives the wearer.”

Hat etiquette easily becomes hat prejudice. This passage appears in a 2004 guide for graduate students, which I won’t name for the sake of the authors: “Baseball caps are very useful to supervisors since they are usually a good indicator of a student whose dissertation should be supervised by somebody else (preferably a loathed colleague).” One problem with baseball cap kids, we learn, is that they favor “any research topic involving the internet.” The authors are, perhaps to their misfortune, professors of computer science.

But these haughty complaints pale in comparison to the obsession—verging on madness—around the close of the nineteenth century concerning straw hats. Specifically, when in late summer to stop wearing them. Many American towns and workplaces declared a straw hat (or white hat) day each year, after which their use was punished with mockery and sometimes destruction. By the afternoon on white hat day 1877 at the New York Stock Exchange, “at least one-third of the brokers doing business on the floor were bareheaded, and dozens of crushed white hats were whirling in the air or ornamenting the gas brackets,” one newspaper reported. Local papers around the North East and Midwest observe heated arguments, mayoral interventions, and on occasions, riots.

In 1895, the Autumnal Straw Hat Association formed in Boston to defend victimized headwear. Thankfully, we have little need of their services and every reason to indulge on a sunny afternoon all year round. Now I just need to see about the shorts.

[spinnin-burnice]

Watch Dogs: Legion x AmRev

@burgoyned Chapter 4 out! Feedback if you wish ^^

Chapter 4: One Of Us, Many Of You!

Burgoyne browsed through the mask shop in the Safehouse, per requested by Bagley. “Welcome to DedSec, Johnny! Now, how about you make yourself a team player and purchase a mask?” There is so much to choose from. Browsing through various choices of masks gave the playwriter a migraine. I don’t know which is good. He finally settled on a mask that is a modern “knight” helmet with a holographic golden “Lōng” teeth glowing. The entire front was a black visor encased by gold lining. “Knight of Avalon” the description read. Fancy, fancy! Burgoyne scanned 200 ETO and the mask was instantly dropped from the machine. He picked it up and placed it over his head. The visor obscured 90% of his vision, but he can still make out the room. This is pretty neat! Hearing the front door opened, Burgoyne removed his helmet and saw both André and Clinton arrive, dropping their gear on the table.

Bagley spoke up. “Welcome back Operators! Are you ready for your next mission?” “NOW HOLD ON!” Burgoyne quickly rushed downstairs to greet his friends. He spun Clinton around and began shaking his hand. “It is an honor to meet you, sir. What brings you here on this fine day?” Clinton gave him a fake glare. “Do you know how to address your superiors?” “I don’t need to. You are NOT my superior and I don’t HAVE to address you as anything,” smirked Burgoyne. A smirk also crept across Clinton’s face. “Pleasure seeing you here, Burgoyne.” “Indeed. Such a friendly reunion that I forgot to add you don’t have permission to be accessing DedSec technology until you are fully recruited,” the playwriter taunted, showing off his new mask. “I don’t believe in holding an initiation ceremony unless you want a repeat of what happened before,” chided Bagley sarcastically. “Hey, hey, that was once a lifetime thing,” Burgoyne retorted.

“Regardless, André has already informed me that Clinton was able to access all of Clan Kelley’s information regarding the human organ harvesting as well as an auction. Some of them are victims of the bombings. This one piece of information is vital, however, there is more,” Bagley said, pulling up the data. The three men read through Kelley’s documents, each growing more disgusted with the paper detailing everything. “That bitch. Always kissing up to some higher up,” growled André. “Those poor victims. How are we going to find them? We need to rescue them from those bloody bastards!” Clinton added. “Perhaps. I can’t quite pinpoint where Clan Kelley is operating right now, but I do know we need to find more information about those victims starting from one of the bomb sites.”

“How would that give us any information?” André asked curiously. “Perhaps the bombs were set off internally. It’s best if you try recovering a clue first then we can proceed with the next step,” Bagley said, opening up a map of London and marked one of the bomb sites. It was located in the City of London. “You’ll need to sneak in with caution. Albion secured the location to make sure no one gets in.” André pouts his face. “This will be rough.” “Quite certainly. Although there is a way of tackling this,” Bagley said. The Operators looked at him with a confused expression. He continued. “I propose one of you stay behind and monitor the site through the cameras. The rest of you travel to the site and recover the evidence.” “I’ll stay. I know the ins and outs of every part of the location,” André said, sitting down in front of the computer.

Clinton and Burgoyne looked at each other. “I guess that’ll be us. Alrighty, let’s head out,” Clinton said as he headed for the entrance upstairs. “Now hang on a second, have you picked out a mask yet? You can’t be going out somewhere with your face exposed,” Bagley stated matter of factly. The Operator raised his gasmask. “Already have one,” he chirped. “Oh well, fantastic then. Looks better than the others ones I’ve seen.” “HEY!” André and Burgoyne protested together. “Alright, alright. Now time is running short. Do hurry.” Burgoyne and Clinton climbed up the staircase and left the Safehouse. André began accessing connections to the bomb site. “I’ve never imagined it to be this horrendous,” he said, scanning the whole site through different camera angles. “You can’t imagine being this horrendous? I wonder if it is any worse than the plays you write.” “Those ideas are scraped, my dear Bagley,” retorted André. The AI chuckled, remaining silent for the remainder of the mission.

Clinton’s eye widened when the men approached their destination. Half of the stadium was blown to smithereens. A construction fence was set up all around where the incident took place, some heavily constructed by Albion to prevent outsiders from looking in. A memorial to those who lost their lives was placed at the front entrance, covered with flowers and candles. Burgoyne let out a sob. “This is heartbreaking. I feel for the victims of this tragedy.” “You weep for the civilians while Clan Kelley and the others laugh at our misfortune,” Clinton softly replied. As they approached the heavily barricaded walls, a small ctOS drone can be heard buzzing above them. Burgoyne quickly put his helmet on as Clinton strapped his gas mask on. Both men quickly slipped behind a small barricade and watched the small drone look around before entering the site.

“That’s odd. That drone would usually chase outsiders out. I wonder who is controlling that?” Burgoyne wondered. He felt a tug from Clinton who motioned towards a small opening. Nodding, the two men crawled through the hole and found themselves standing in front of a large crater where the explosion took place. Debris covered every part of the broken stadium; chunks of metal, concrete, as well as aluminum, splayed across the ground. The interior of the stadium was exposed, so the men can see Albion guards patrolling the inside of the building. ctOS drones flew everywhere amid large cargo drones occasionally flying in and out to drop off necessary materials. Burgoyne stared in disbelief at the amount of damaged caused. Adjusting his mask, Clinton began quietly prodding his way towards the epicenter. A few guards walked by, but one of them spotted the men. “HEY, YOU! STOP RIGHT THERE!” he yelled, raising his gun. “OH SHIT! RUN” Burgoyne pushed Clinton and the two began the run.

The site became alerted and all Albion guards began pursuing the intruders. Spotting a small opening, Clinton grabbed Burgoyne by the arm and they slipped into the crater. They hid behind a massive concrete building, away from their pursuers. The ctOS drone that they saw earlier slipped into the crack and hovered next to Burgoyne. He tapped the little drone. “You could’ve helped us drive those bastards away, you know.” “I don’t think that’s André. He doesn’t know how to operate a drone yet,” Clinton whispered. “Wait, if this isn’t André then…” Sweat began to break out as Burgoyne nervously checks the drone. Whizzing past the men, the ctOS drone began scanning the nearby area. It shone its light on a small object lying on the floor. A small sigh escaped Burgoyne but with his helmet is made it sound suffocating. Clinton emerged from his spot and approached the object. From the drone’s flight, he can tell it was part of a Spiderbot.

Bagley pinged the earpiece. “That’s it. You’ve recovered the first clue. It looks like a Spiderbot. I’m sending out an AR replicant so we can have a detailed visual of what exactly happened here.” “Great. But just a question, is André piloting this drone? There is a drone that has been following us around and I wonder if it’s André.” André spoke up. “No sir, it’s not me!” Clinton froze. Bagley took over again. “You’ll need to proceed with caution. I’ll track the user of this drone for the time being. For now, take a look at this AR video and tell me what you think.”

As Bagley pinged off, a holographic display began to play. It showed three people walking down the tunnel as one of them carried a suitcase. Hiding within the small vent above Clinton was a Spiderbot. Both Clinton and Burgoyne observed the holographic Spiderbot proceed down the vent, entered a room adjacent to the main tunnel and the AR stopped. Bagley pinged again. “So it appears that one of the people has access to the explosion that attached itself to the Spiderbot. You’ll need to bring the bot back to have more data processed.”

“And this drone?” “I’ve traced it back to a user not far from the site.” “Great. We’ll head out there now. Much appreciated.” Tapping his earpiece, Clinton turned to Burgoyne who was still hiding behind the concrete. “We got what we came for let’s head out.” Picking up the bot, Clinton put it inside his bag then dragged the somewhat frightened playwriter out of hiding. The ctOS drone followed them, buzzing softly in the sky. Making their way back to the entrance, Clinton and Burgoyne ran until they’re out of range of suspecting Albion guards. Removing his gas mask, the hacker looked around. Burgoyne, upon removing his helmet, began combing his brown hair which was sticking up from the static of the helmet. “Damn, that was a close one. I guess we now know what happened?” “Yes. This Spiderbot might still hold some key data on how the bomb was processed. We’ll need to head back now.” The ctOS drone buzzed towards a man approaching them. He was wearing a hacker-esque jacket with black leather pants covered with binary code and grey low-cut boots. The man took off his hood, revealing a surprising face that both Clinton and Burgoyne stopped then burst out laughing.

“Ara-ara, if it isn’t SIR William Howe,” snickered Burgoyne as punched his friend on the arm. “What are you doing here on this fine evening hmm?” questioned Clinton in a mocking manner. Howe rolled his eyes. “Same as you. Trying to find information about what has happened here.” “Ah, I see. Did André recruit you to help or you’re just on your own?” Burgoyne inquired. “André? I’m on my own. The two of you are with DedSec I presume?” Howe said, pointing towards the DedSec fox logo on the men’s jacket. “Yes we are,” Clinton said. Their friend narrowed his eyes a tad bit and Clinton could tell this wasn’t going to be good. “Siding with a terrorist organization? I’d rather leave this country than to join a terrorist organi-“ Clinton cut him off. “How about you follow us and we’ll show you what DedSec is.”

Howe bit his lip before shrugging his shoulders. “Alright.” And followed the men back to the Safehouse.

After arriving at the Earl’s Fortune, Clinton dragged Burgoyne and Howe into the Safehouse where they saw André sitting on the couch looking at the London Tube system while discussing transportation with Bagley. Bagley closed the map and said, “Oh hello there Operators. I see we have a recruit. Is he a playwriter? How sexual is his mind?” “No and my brain is NOT sexual”, Sir William retorted at the AI. Burgoyne and Clinton looked at each other before bursting out laughing. “Oh haha, very funny. VERY funny,” the drone flyer rolled his eyes. André hid his face behind his hands to hide his snicker but was nevertheless happy to have another close friend recruited into DedSec. Recruitment Complete.