#or maybe my computer is smart enough to know to do that itself

[queen-of-bad-opsec]

telling my computer not to fucking retrain my entire 32gb of ram every time made it boot literally 20x faster

[bendycxmet]

Under Your Spell—Vash the Stampede

Summary: You are a top supporter of a trending camboy. What you don't know, is that that camboy is your friend and roommate, Vash.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Pairing: gn!reader x camboy!Vash the Stampede

Content: sexual content, nsfw, 18+ MDNI!, masturbation, edging, voyeurism, whiny vash, teasing reader

a/n: got the brainworms for camboy vash from @biancalattei and @awkwardchick87. my only solution was to put pen to paper.

|masterlist|

sharing an apartment with vash was a blessing. rent prices in the city drove you two to ultimately decide to room with each other. besides, you had known each other for years and decided that living with each other would be a breeze granted how well you two got along. 

you and vash had retired to your rooms for the night for quite some time now. its almost like routine. you claimed you wanted to rot in bed, watching your shows for a couple of hours before work the next day, leaving your spot beside him on the couch an hour before he resided to his room way down the hall for the night.

yes, the two of you were impossibly close, practically stuck at the hip now, but how could you ever tell him that you needed to go get off to your favorite camboy? that's a secret that will be carried to the grave. 

something about this camboy separated him easily from the rest. he had enough charm and personality that watching his streams never made you feel guilt or shame. the easygoing smile that graced his face like he actually enjoyed interacting with his fans, comments that would stream in faster than your eyes could catch, and his deep, rumbling laugh that almost acted as foreplay itself. it always felt like talking to a close friend. until he of course whipped it out. 

he was blessed with a gift, is all you could say. he was the perfect size all around, his cock long enough to only give pleasure without causing pain for your insides but thick enough that you can feel him fill you up. well, at least that's how you envisioned it in your fantasies. he was a pretty pink, the tapered tip a delightful rosy red. the wispy blond happy trail that led down to him was neatly kept. you imagined how it felt to touch him there before pleasuring him, feeling the soft, fine hairs between your fingers. 

his body was nothing but lean muscle, a full chest connected to hard, outlined abs, flexed arms and toned, thick thighs always clenching as he neared his climaxes. you never saw his face. or hands, hands that were covered with ruby leather gloves. for whatever reason that may be. you also were 100% certain that he wore some type of wig, a smart move you would say. maybe he had unique hair to match the rarity of the beautiful person he was. he also always sported a bunny mask that obscured his whole face, only leaving his lips for the audience’s viewing pleasure, which only fueled your fantasies more, his lips always pulled into a smirk or cute smile, sharp teeth on display, teeth meant to dig into your flesh- 

ok, you were getting sidetracked. you quickly tapped into your phone to play some music through your speaker, faking that you were occupied with something else that was not watching a man touch himself on camera for thousands to see. you plug your headphones into your computer and click on the hidden bookmark saved to immediately take you to his stream. 

please wait for the stream to begin.

read the loading screen. the chat was up and alive, discussing what he could possibly be doing for the night. you adjusted yourself on your bed, towel beneath you, toys to your left. you waited with bated breath, ready to hear his deep voice come through your headphones. 

“hello hello!  how are we all doing tonight? hope your week went well, my lovelies. but not too well. not without me, i hope.” you giggle, blushing slightly as you watch his sweatpant clad form come into frame, adjusting himself in his chair. you could never see anything past him, his room obscured in total darkness. you wish you could though, just to know what he was like. oh well, all that mattered was him. 

it was obvious that he had nothing on underneath his sweatpants, the hard outline of himself evident through the thin gray material. he was leaning casually back in his chair, leaning his head to the side onto his raised fist, chatting with his fans for a couple of minutes. it was obvious that everyone was getting antsy to see him pleasure himself. you shoot a quick comment into the void. 

his eyes light up instantly.

“hi bonbon721! good to see you’re here. as always.” he adds with a sly wink. you cover your face with your hands. he always says hello to you, but it never fails to fluster you. of course, you were one of his first fans, loyal and supportive even six months later. you had an eye for budding talent. more comments come in, greeting you. other fans also knew of you, mostly since you always commented witty remarks. your comment quickly begins to accrue upvotes. he laughs heartily.

“see what you started bonbon? ok, fine. let’s get started. can’t fault a guy for wanting to get to know you before taking you to dinner.” he quickly drags his pants down, his cock jumping out immediately to slap against his toned stomach. he draws in a quick inhale, the cold air hitting his sensitive length. 

always ready for us, huh big boy? 

his eyes catch onto your comment, a flush spreading throughout his body, a dribble of precum leaking from him. he averts his eyes for a split second, glad his mask obscures his embarrassed expression. although, nothing escapes your attention to detail. oh, had you pulled that reaction from him? the thought twists the coil in your stomach tighter, squeezing your legs together to quell the ache between them. 

he spreads his legs further on the chair, leather-clad fingers coming down to grasp himself. a shuddering sigh leaves him, head thrown back. 

“what would you like me to do today, chat?”

>obviously touch yourself.

>do u have a flshlght

>edge yourself until bonbon tells you to cum.

>ooo

>agree ^

>yesss

you choke on your spit, sending yourself into a coughing fit. what? huh?! had the chat been scheming before you clicked in for the night?

wait, why me???

>because you’re the top supporter silly. it’s the stream’s 6th month anniversary too. lets celebrate

>and besides, our boy here has you as his favorite~

before you can type your rejection of their logic, wanting everyone in the chat to receive the same love as you do, a dark chuckle interjects.

“well, we gotta give what the people want bonbon. what do you say? play around with me?” your fingers shake as they hover over the keyboard. you take a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself, before clicking the keys.

you better hold out until i say so then.

you are so thankful that there is a screen separating the two of you, coming off as a bold and confident fan rather than the flustered, meek supporter that you actually are. 

a shaky laugh rings out into your headphones, the abrupt tightening of leather on skin hinting that he enjoyed that comment. well, enjoyed being bossed around, you had gathered from all the streams you have joined in on.

now fuck your fist like you mean it.

his hand comes up to the tip, circling it in tight circles, gathering the precum dribbling from the slit to ease the glide of the leather glove against his shaft. he twists his hand on the upstroke, wrist bending back and forth as he stroked himself. his free hand flew out to grab onto the desk on a particularly good twist of his dick, teeth digging into his bottom lip, preventing his moans from slipping out. a withering whine slips out however, thrashing his head to the side as if he could escape the euphoria thrumming through him, licking up his spine. the dings of the chat bring him somewhat back to reality.

open your eyes, pretty. remember your promise. not until i say so.

stop biting your lip and let us hear you. and keep your eyes on me. 

you type out your demands, adding one hand back in your pants. you’re already halfway there, seeing as this camboy always gets you hot and bothered just with his appearance. the chat has gone silent out of respect of you commanding him, the only thing notifying him that he and bonbon aren’t alone is the reactions floating in quick succession at the top of the comments tab. the instant he lets go of his lip, a stuttering moan comes flying out his mouth.

“‘s so good bonbon. please, let me cum. ‘m almost there.” if you could see his face, you would be able to see the blush covering it. for now, all you can see is the flush covering his chest and ears. oh. you can tell he feels good. 

got a couple more things i need you to do. cup yourself.

he lets go of the desk to grab his balls, hissing in despair at the onslaught of pleasure that shoots through his body. he arches his back, strengthening the hold he has on himself down there, bating his release. he whines loudly, hand releasing himself to quickly cover his mouth with his arm.

what did i say?

“i know i know im sorry. i just have…neighbors… that i dont want to disturb.” his eyes flit to his bedroom door, checking to see if you turned on the hallway light to check on him for that outburst. nothing. he breathes a sigh of relief. you must be asleep. or the walls are actually thick here. he sends a silent thank you to the construction people who built this building. 

dont want them knowing how good you feel? i certainly wouldn't mind hearing how good my hot neighbor is feeling tonight. maybe they’re doing the same thing as you right now. who wouldn’t?

you blush at that thought, imagining vash touching himself. damn the bathroom for separating your rooms. what you would give to hear that.

vash was in the same headspace, sharing similar thoughts. he moaned, imagining you touching yourself to his groans and whimpers. no way. you definitely didn't see him in that light. the movie binging you two indulged in every night could only last so long, you claiming you wanted some time to destress before bed, always leaving for bed before him. he relished whenever you two would touch knees, or when you would lean into his side, getting comfortable for the two-hour movie. recalling how you smelt of your body wash and detergent earlier tonight only serves to make his cock throb harder.

increase the pace.

dont have to tell him twice. he goes back into his rhythm, one hand down below, the other moving up and down his length, the rosy tip turning redder, implying his imminent release. gasps and groans ring out. his thighs shake with each upstroke, tears appearing on his waterline. he tries to blink them back, not wanting the chat, especially, bonbon, to see how easily worked up he is. he heeds your commands from earlier, keeping his eyes forward.

stop

you giggle mischievouly, happy to be in control of such a beautiful man, one that follows every whim you can think of. the whine he lets out is comical, the tears trailing down his cheeks, appearing underneath his mask, hanging off his jawline. 

“noooo please have mercy! i don’t know how longer i can hold out for.”

tell us the story of how you tripped on your apartment steps again.

“seriously?? i can’t even think straight bonbon. all i can remember is a friend of mine nearly collapsing on the floor, laughing when they saw how pouty i was when i came to them for help.”

he never mentioned that detail before. funny, you had been in a similar scenario with vash a couple months ago. if you weren’t so horny in the moment, your confusion could have been a revelation.. 

ok, i kid. chat, is it time?

>god yes 

>i dont think i can hold out much longer either

>he looks so hot already

he waits in anticipation, entire body quaking in his chair. his eyes are fixated on the comments section, waiting for your command. 

come, my good boy.

a moan that can only be described as pornographic rips from his chest, his leathered hand stroking himself with a vigor you have yet to see so far in his streaming career. a shudder rips through you, your hand flying to your toy to put it to work. you wanted to be right there with him when he came. 

he begins to blabber, hinting at his cresting release. “ohh my godd so good baby. so go-” his voice hitches, ending an octave higher. you see his eyes squeeze shut through the slits in the mask, jaw dropping open. his body seizes completely, a rumbling groan echoing into his room as he shoots ropes of cum all over his red gloves, his thighs, and his stomach. he whines as he continues to squeeze out the last remnants of his orgasm, lip quivering over gritted teeth. 

it’s almost as if you're there with him, your toy quickly buzzing your release to life, collapsing backward onto your bed, eyes rolling back into your head. you could've sworn that groan rang out closer to you than just in your ears…

you feel the towel beneath you become moist, the cool sensation pulling you back to your dimly lit room. you feel slow, ears ringing from your release, and begrudgingly pull yourself up. it feels as if you’re swimming underwater, floating. the light creeps back into your vision, eyes blinking until it clears enough for you to see the computer screen again.

holy. shit. your eyes widen, hands coming up to cover your mouth. vash is laying back in his chair, still recovering from his release. white is streaked across his thighs, droplets of his release streaming down the thick muscle while pools of his cum stay gathered in the valleys between his defined stomach. he’s panting loudly, small groans interspacing each exhale. you look down at yourself, realizing that you too have made a mess rivaling his own.

>yall seeing this????

>that has to be the most he’s cum in a looong time. maybe ever.

>new kinks discovered?? 

vash lolls his head back forward, reading the flurry of teasing statements. post-nut clarity hits him full force, and he laughs loudly out of shock and overall astonishment. “you might be right chat. i haven’t felt like that since i was a hormonal teenager. bonbon–you did something to me.”

you scream behind your hands after quickly typing your response.

you did so good for me. for us. thank you

now go shower. you’re gonna be sticky soon enough

he sighs, feeling the ecstasy leak from his body. tonight turned out better than he could of ever hoped. “yeah yeah i know. ok everyone. wow. 20 minutes flew by huh? for me it did at least. but have a good night everyone. happy anniversary! lets chat again next week. love and peace!”

>love and peaceeee

>good night king

>sleep tight my cumlord~

he gets up from his chair, pulling his sweatpants back on. you rub your hands on your face. maybe you'll shower too. usually you didn't make such a mess of yourself, but tonight was definitely an exception. you’re about to close out of the tab when you see he is still streaming. he doesn’t seem to realize though, perhaps still feeling the effects from his orgasm. you watch as he takes his gloves off, teeth pulling at the red material. you lean forward, happy to see a new part of himself. you still. 

right as he pulls his right hand from his glove, a glint of silver catches your eye. a ring with engraved flowers sits on his ring finger. a ring…you had given him for his birthday this year. 

he glances up, and jumps slightly. “whoops, missed the end call button. alright, night for real guys.” he waves, before the screen goes black.

you sit there in silence, the desk lamp in the corner the only thing illuminating your dark space. you shake your head. maybe it’s a coincidence. it's not like that ring is the only one to exist in its style. even though you found it at your local farmers market. from a local seller. you decide a shower is desperately needed. as you exit your room, you head for the bathroom next door, tip-toeing as to not wake vash-

vash who steps out from his room right as you reach the bathroom. you shriek. he shrieks. 

“what are you doing up?! i thought you went to bed an hour ago?!” he questions you. you see he makes a move to cover himself, but not before you catch onto several things that are lit from the LEDs in his room. 

he’s shirtless. wearing only gray sweatpants. your ring sits on his right hand, the hand that's moving desperately to clean cum from his stomach. your eyes then catch onto the bunny mask that’s sitting on his bed behind him.

you start screaming. he starts screaming. “WHAT WHAT IS SOMETHING BEHIND ME?!” he whips around, putting himself between you and the potential threat. 

“YOU CANT BE HIM NONONO-”

he turns back around and grabs your shoulders. “hey, slow down. what are you talking about?”

“im bonbon721… from your streams-” your eyes are tightly shut but you dare a peek at him. he’s as white as a sheet. or as his cum from earlier.

“i. um. dont knoww. what you’re talking about-” he stutters.

“oh don’t bullshit me vash. i see the mask behind you. i know you cam. and you’re damn good at it too. no wonder you have thousands of subscribers.”

you can feel the heat radiating off of him. he swallows, and drops his hands from your shoulders, down to your hands. “you don't think…it’s gross?”

vash had kept this secret to himself. he really liked you but was afraid you would see him differently for jerking himself off in front of a camera for strangers. you had always shared secrets with each other since you were young, but this was one he hesitated to share.

“what? of course not. i respect the hustle. plus-” you hesitate. if you were to finish your sentence, it would change your relationship with vash. but you see the pleading look in his eyes, and realize how much of a fool you were for him. you already came this far, especially when you admitted you were bonbon, his top supporter. “-it’s kinda hot,” you finish with a whisper.

he’s relieved, all his previous worries off his shoulders. his shoulders sag, and he leans down onto your shoulder. goosebumps break out on your skin from his proximity. he smells like sex and sweat.

“you did a good job. i wasnt lying when i said i’ve never cum like that before in over a decade.” he releases your hands, wrapping his arms around you and bringing you closer. you relax into his touch, massaging the muscles of his back. “wanna know something?” he whispers in your ear. you can only hum. “in all my streams, i always think of you when i touch myself.” he gives your ear a lick as he pushes into you slightly, making you feel how hard he is. again. 

you cry out at his confession, pushing his chest back to look at him at arms length. he’s completely smug, head tilted, smirk kept back by the sharp canines digging into his bottom lip. he looks at you from top to bottom, seeing the light sheen on your legs. 

“i liked being bossed around, more now knowing it was you doing it. mind if we do it again?”

you feel hot. who would dare refuse an offer like that? 

“why not? but let's take a shower. it’ll save us some time, especially once i’m done with you.” you push him backward, kicking the bathroom door shut behind you.

a/n: you have been subjected to me having too much fun with a fic. i got in a silly goofy mood while slutting this man out. thank you everyone! teehee xoxo

divider

Part 2!

[atinylittlepain]

Tougher Than the Rest

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

Hungry Hearts masterlist

wordcount | 5.5K

warnings | smut, angst, the usual

a/n | we have reached the last chapter of this story. thank you to everyone who has followed along with this one, it has truly been a treat working with these characters, so your love for them means a lot. as always i'd love to hear what you think, drop me a line!

...................................

“Ellie, school in thirty! You better be up if you’re catching the train! Sorry about that, my daughter is– well, you know how kids can be. What was the question again?” She hates these things. These fluffy little interviews that her agent forces her into whenever she has a new book coming out. Good publicity and all that. Bullshit, if you ask her. Why can’t the book just speak for itself?

“No worries at all, I was wondering if you could tell me a little about your writing process for this last book, did you have a set routine or any rituals that propelled your work forward?” Rituals, gag her. She tries not to let out a dejected sigh over the phone, settling instead for an eye roll as she attempts to get Ellie’s lunch put together with one and a half hands, her phone settled precariously between her cheek and her shoulder as she puts together a pb and j, except not because Ellie’s school has a thing about peanut butter. So, sunflower butter and organic apricot jam from the co-op down the block that she somehow got wrangled into as a member. 

“You know, I try not to be too precious about routines. I write as much as I can whenever I can. And as a mom, I have to take whatever time I can get.” The interviewer most certainly didn’t like that answer, a long right, okay crackling over the line. But what did he expect? Some sort of meticulous, meditative bullshit no doubt. Sorry, not her style. 

“So, last question here, you have certainly established yourself over the last decade as a prolific writer. What is it that keeps you writing?” Well, that’s simple, isn’t it? If she keeps writing, she keeps herself from thinking about the past, about things she shouldn’t be thinking about. But her agent would probably throttle her for saying that, so something else in its place instead.

“I always wanted to be a writer growing up. It’s just– instinct, maybe impulse, frankly. I write because it’s what I know how to do, it’s how I figure out this world.” She tacks on that last bit hoping it will make up for the entirely unsexy rest of her responses, and judging by the hmm the interviewer lets out over the phone, it will suffice. All the usual niceties and a long sigh when she finally hangs up.

“Ellie, if you aren’t up I’m–”

“Jesus, I’m up, woman.” Her eleven-year-old has developed a new habit of calling her woman like a despondent husband in a loveless marriage, marching out of her bedroom and into the kitchen as she shoves papers into her backpack. 

“Lunch for you, and I will be outside of the school at 3:30 to walk home with you, okay? Do you– I can walk with you this morning too if–” 

“No, mom, I got it.” It stings, just a little, smarting, and then a small swell of pride that her girl is so independent. 

“Okay, okay, let’s get some breakfast in you, huh? Smoothie, that sound good?” Ellie’s face scrunches up, but she doesn’t give her an abject no, and that’s enough for Cherry to get out the blender. 

“Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s in Texas?” Cherry freezes, her hand holding half a banana (non-GMO, whatever the fuck that means) suspended over the blender. 

“What– where’s that question coming from?” 

“On the computer last night, you had left it open to some construction company in Texas.” Shit, her smart girl. That was how Ellie found out that Santa wasn’t real two years ago, hopping on the desktop and finding the order confirmation for the pair of glow-in-the-dark Converse she had asked for in her letter addressed to the North Pole. 

“Oh, um, that– I have a friend who is, uh, moving there and I’m helping her find someone to do work on her new house, yeah.” Ellie doesn’t seem to buy that answer, brow pinched up, but before she can question it, Cherry flips on the blender, letting it whir just a little longer than it needs to. 

“Alright, breakfast of champions, you can drink it on the train, yeah? You’re gonna be late if you don’t get a move on.” A quick flurry to pour the smoothie into a to-go cup and then out the door, love you, be safe, bye. A big sigh when she slumps back against the shut door, close one.

Yes, maybe, a moment of weakness yesterday. A moment of weakness while she was working over edits for her next book. Somehow, up until yesterday, she had managed to not let a moment of weakness creep in. But before she knew what she was doing, she was googling his name and Austin, Texas. And there he was, with his own business no less.

Yes, maybe, she had left a tab open on the Miller’s Construction website’s About Us page. And yes, maybe, she had left the page zoomed in on the picture of Joel in the top corner. And yes, maybe, none of her edits had gotten done because she was a little busy looking at said picture for the better portion of the afternoon. 

So the first thing that she does after cleaning up the small cyclone in the kitchen is log onto the computer to delete that tab, not letting herself linger on the photo any longer. But he looks good, she thinks. Doing good for himself, she thinks. Not letting that thought get any bigger, that want crack open any more than it already has, right back to work on her edits. 

But her mind is fickle this morning, still stuck on that photo, still stuck on him in a way she hasn’t been in a while. Maybe it’s because of the appointment she has at noon. An impulsive choice she made and, for some reason, has kept. A way to hold onto something she should have let go a long time ago. But she can’t.

And yes, maybe, her morning is spent in a constant toggle between the open tab of her word doc, and that damn About Us page on the Miller’s Construction website.

…

He’s nervous. And he’s not sure why, because it’s her, right? It’s them. Except this is new. Not something they ever got to do in the past. Not like this at least. 

“Hey there.” She’s in a dress when she opens the door, and his mind has to quickly configure around the fact that this is the first time he has seen her in a dress in two decades, though he probably should have expected that, right? Because people dress up for these things, something that Sarah said to him very slowly like he was an invalid, prompting him into a button-down before he left. 

“Hey, Cherry, you look, uh, yeah– look real good.” She smiles, still leaning in the doorframe, but before she can speak, someone else beats her to it.

“Wow, real smooth, man.” 

“Ellie.” Cherry hisses it over her shoulder, but Joel never sees the kid, just hears her lowly murmured what? I’m just saying, geez. Already off to a great start. 

“Sorry about the peanut gallery, but I’m ready if you are.” 

No more sneaking around, no more questioning if this is real or not. They’re doing the thing that normal people do, normal people in a normal relationship. They’re going on a date. 

“I like this.” She hums it, reaching across the console from the passenger seat to thumb at the collar of his shirt, her palm smoothing down over his chest. 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm, you clean up very pretty, Miller.” Just a little snark tinging the end of her words, making him huff as she keeps rubbing distracting circles into his chest. 

“Well, you’re in fine form, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With that, her hand trails up, palm slipping behind the nape of his neck, her fingers threading through the errant curls there while he fights the urge for his eyes to roll back in his head. 

“Sure, Cher, at this rate we’re not even gonna make it to the restaurant.” He regrets saying it instantly, because just as soon as the words leave his mouth, she’s taking her hand away, sitting prim and perfect in the passenger seat where she had been completely turned toward him before. 

“Right, sorry, best behavior.” Her words slant with the simper of her smile, and he has to remind himself that they’re doing this normal thing now. No need to hurry, no need to hide, no need to steal time. Because she’s staying, and so is he. 

By some stroke of luck, they do make it to the restaurant, and it’s right about then that Joel realizes it has been a woefully long time since he has been on a date. He has to stutter himself into all the motions, trying to remember the right moves, opening the door for her, a bit flustered when he pulls her chair out for her and she snorts.

“Well you don’t get this kind of treatment in New York.” To make the matter of his quick creeping flush worse, she presses a kiss to his cheek before she sits down. He gets to have that now, totally normal. He’s still getting used to totally normal.

“So how is the book coming along?” He’s not sure if he’s allowed to ask that, what might still be a sore subject. For a moment, her face falls, fear flickering in his chest that he has fucked up, though she smooths it out, something like a smile still at the edges of her eyes.

“Do you really want to hear me talk about that?” 

“Only if you want to.”

“Can I ask you something first?” He nods, of course, taking a cursory sip of his wine as she does the same. 

“Did you– what did you think? About the other ones?” She asks it shy, her cheek propped in her hand, smile crumpled to one side. His mind reels with what he could say, though he’s not sure if any of it’s right. It’s not like he has some dazzlingly intellectual thing to say. But she’s asking him, she wants to know what he thinks, and he muses to himself that she’s been wanting to know what he thinks for a while. 

“I was amazed by every single one, Cher. And I was proud of you too, even though I had no business feeling that way. It was– I thought about you, a lot, over the years. And getting to read your books, it felt like I could be a little closer to you that way.” He surprises himself with the stark honesty of his words, but how could he offer her anything else when she’s looking at him like that? Smile softening in the dim light of the restaurant, cheeks brimming up with the praise.  

“I always wondered, you know, if you were reading them. I– I guess that’s a little ridiculous.” He’s still getting used to this too, being able to reach out for her, taking her hand in his across the table.

“Not ridiculous, and I’m looking forward to reading the new one.” 

“I sent the second draft in two days ago.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm, my editor fucking destroyed my first one, so we’ll see how this draft goes over.” 

“You know, I’ve been wondering, Cher, when the hell did you get that trucker’s mouth of yours?” She laughs big and bright, shoulders shrugging up to her ears, a little flail to her hands that makes him laugh too.

“I mean, it’s definitely a New York thing. That, and people just started pissing me off a lot more, so I kinda had to.” 

“I tried to cut back on it when Sarah got old enough to start picking stuff up. She still managed to slip a few fucks into her vocabulary in the first grade.” 

“Oh god, I actually got called into the school when Ellie was in the first grade because she told a boy at recess to leave her the fuck alone. Honestly, I was more proud than anything else, is that bad?” 

“Fuck no, it’s not bad. I’d probably take Sarah for ice cream if she did the same.” She sighs around a smile, and he finds himself doing the same, settling into this ease. Yes, he thinks, it’s going to take some getting used to. But he’s more than happy to be getting used to it with her.

…

“I’d like to get it on my right shoulder, if that works okay.” If her mother could see her now. She doesn’t look in the mirror until the tattoo artist has stamped the stencil into place, a satisfied hum in her throat when she gets a look at the design. 

Frankly, she wasn’t sure if she was going to keep this appointment. She had made it under the pleasant flush of two glasses of wine late one night about a month ago, surprised to receive an email from the artist saying that they loved her idea and wanted to get her on the books. And for some reason, she didn’t say no, didn’t cancel, and is now laying out on a tattoo table and bracing for the first pass of the needle. 

It’s not too bad, a little cringey when the artist is working right over the cap of her shoulder, but otherwise it passes quickly, and before she knows it, she’s standing back in front of the mirror on shaky legs, looking at the twining cherry branch now wrapping around her upper arm. 

“It’s perfect, thank you. I love it.” Ellie has rather different feelings about it, her jaw dropping loose when Cherry meets her outside of her school, still warm enough that she’s only in a t-shirt, showing off part of her still-wrapped ink. 

“What is that?” There’s no playing it off, Ellie refusing to move until Cherry gives her an answer.

“That is a tattoo, and before you ask, no, not until you’re eighteen.” Ellie balks at that, though Cherry is quick to sling her arm around her girl’s shoulders to set them both walking toward the subway. 

“Is it– what is it?” Ellie takes the one leftover seat in the train and Cherry hooks her elbow around the rail in front of her, a perfect opportunity for her kid to get a better look at her new tattoo.

“It’s a cherry tree.”

“I can’t believe you got a tattoo.” She says it with a sigh, like somehow, this is the worst news ever. Cherry has to hold back a laugh, knowing that it will only put Ellie in even worse of a tiff. 

“What’s wrong with tattoos?” 

“Nothing, but you’re my mom, you’re not supposed to get tattoos.” Ellie grumbles out the last words, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff, perfectly petulant. Cherry gives her little episode about twenty more minutes before she forgets all about it and asks what’s for dinner. 

When they do get back to their apartment, Cherry just barely catches the ringing phone, surprised, though pleasantly, when she hears Will on the other end. 

“Hey, what’s going on? Everything okay?” 

“Hey, yeah, I just thought I’d give you a call.” She knows exactly what that means. It’s only been recently that she and Will can talk like this, call like this. She got out, and he did too, and for a while that had to be enough for the both of them, slinking around the past like they could somehow forget it. It was Will that reached out to her first, and she was relieved for it, not sure if he resented her, or even hated her for the way she left. He didn’t, he understood, and he wanted to know how his big sister was doing. 

“Mom?” He sighs over the phone, exactly what she thought. For some reason, their mother still reaches out to him, an errant phone call that he somehow can’t seem to dodge. 

“She called to tell me that they’re moving to Arizona.”

“Oh, lovely.”

“Yeah, so I guess that means Austin has finally been fumigated.” Cherry snorts, trying to let that be funny, though all it really feels is bitter. 

“You’re not thinking about going back, are you?” Because suddenly, she is. An impossibility for so long, now a little more possible.

“Hell no, Portland has been good to me. I only just managed to lose the accent.” 

“I liked your accent, Will. I’m afraid mine has started sounding a little too Brooklyn lately.”

“Yeah, you have that kinda eternally angry thing going on in your voice now.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that my eternally angry voice is what gets me book deals.” 

“Sure, that’s what it is, miss New York Times bestseller.” She scoffs, a flustered murmur of yeah, yeah, whatever, always quick to change the subject from anything like that. 

“You’re still coming for Christmas though, right? I’d– we’d really love to have you. I’ve been telling Ellie about you.” Something new, she never thought Ellie would get any kind of extended family. Definitely no grandparents, but an uncle would be nice.

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it.” He has something else to say, she can tell by the way his words fizzle out. She doesn’t push though, just waits.

“You don’t think about going back, do you? To Texas?” Her throat tightens, a quick glance down the hall to check that Ellie’s bedroom door is still closed.

“No, why would I want to?”

“Oh come on, out of the two of us I’d say you’d have an actual reason to.”

“What are you talking about?�� Like maybe she could bullshit her way out of this, but he is her brother, after all. He always liked Joel, definitely looked up to him. And he was also one of the only people that knew about their relationship, always willing to cover for her sneaking around, for the flat rate price of a new comic book. 

“Not what, who.”

“Will, that’s ancient history. That’s– that’s even past ancient history. It was another life.”

“I know, I just– I always thought you two were gonna be it, you know? Even before that summer, y’all were always something else.”

“Careful, they’ll throw you out of Portland for saying y’all like that.” That gets half a laugh out of him, just enough to drop the subject.

“All this talk of Texas must be getting to me. Anyways, just wanted to call and tell you the big news or whatever.” 

“Alright, well, big news aside, it’s always good to hear from you. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” 

“Yeah, sis, love you.”

“Love you too.” That’s new, she’s glad for it.

Afternoons, after school, but before dinner, this is her favorite time. Sometimes, Ellie will still let her help with her homework, or at least allow her presence on the edge of her bed while she works, might even answer a few questions about her day or her friends. Eleven going on thirty, or something like that. By the time dinner rolls around, her girl has warmed up to her enough to sit at the kitchen counter while she chops vegetables.

“So, why a cherry tree?” 

“Oh, it’s an old story, a friend of mine from a long time ago, not interesting. Hey, I saw the email from the school about career day next week, were you gonna tell me about that?” A quick change of subject, two birds with one stone, really. Ellie’s face scrunches up at her question.

“Yeah, but like, you’re too busy for it anyways.” She barely looks up from her math worksheet as she says it, like no big deal, though Cherry’s stomach immediately sinks.

“Woah, woah, babe, I am absolutely not too busy for that. I’m never too busy for you, what– why do you think that?” Ellie just shrugs, still intent on her fractions.

“Because of the new book and stuff. You’re very preoccupied.” One of her new vocab words for the week, preoccupied, right. 

“Els, will you look at me, please? I am never too busy for you, okay? None of that shi–stuff matters more than you do. And I’d really love to go to career day, if you want me to be there.” Ellie seems to consider that proposition, a big burst of relief when she nods.

“Yeah, you’re cooler than a lot of the other parents anyways. They all do boring stuff for work.” She’ll take it, trying to temper her grin at her girl’s small praise as she gets back to prepping dinner. She’ll have to remember to wear long sleeves for career day, not wanting to give the PTA moms any more gossip fodder than they already have about her. Single mom, single writer mom with no family to be heard of. Not a very good look to all those upper-crust types, not that she could give a shit about it. But she doesn’t want her black sheepness to rub off on Ellie, play dates and hang outs to be scheduled and all that, so, definitely long sleeves for career day. 

Much later, Ellie in bed reading, and no impending emails or phone calls, Cherry finally takes another look at the tattoo before getting in the shower. 

If nothing else, ever, at least this.

…

“So.” She says it all long and drawn out, her hands clasped behind her back as she sways a little in front of his truck, sooooo. It’s dark out by the time they leave the restaurant, both of them a little loose, a little languid from a few glasses of wine, though he’s still sober enough to feel a lick of nerves run up his spine as he tries to figure out what’s the right next move, what normal people do on a date like this. 

“Sarah is at Tommy’s for the night, if you don’t have to be home just yet?” No, probably not what normal people do on a first date. But no, not their first date either, not really. And nothing normal about this either, not really. Cherry, smiles, all crooked shadows in the faint glow coming from the restaurant. She really is a sight. He’s been stealing sweeping glances all night, collecting her up in pieces in his mind. The bare skin of her thighs, just a suggestion of it with the slip of her dress. Her dress, he thinks she knows that it’s just a little cruel that she’s wearing that dress judging by the way she moves, shoulders rolled back, always a ghost of a grin like she’s getting away with something. Instinct or just plain impulse to reach out for her, to let his knuckles graze along the neckline of her dress, the smallest shiver when he trails from the sweet plunge up along the slope of her shoulder. 

“Ellie was going to a sleepover, so I don’t have to be anywhere until my chauffeur services are needed tomorrow.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” 

He is trying, all of his effort, really, to focus on the road when they start driving back to his house. But Cherry isn’t exactly making it easy with the way her hand is splayed on his thigh, and he has to clear his throat when her nails graze along the inseam of his pants. 

“Everything alright?” He only glances away for a beat, though it’s enough time to see the smug curl of her smile.

“You– you’re–” His breath hitches before he can finish that thought, Cherry’s knuckles grazing against his already aching cock through his pants, though her hand is gone just as soon, settling lower, just above his knee. 

“What am I, baby?” 

“I think you know what you are.” Her laugh comes in bells, chirping high as she tips her head back, the shock-white flash of her teeth in the corner of his eye. 

“I think you like it.” High, like wings fluttering each word she says. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes still on the road while he reaches across the console for her, his palm slipping from her shoulder up the slope of her neck, fingers curling around her nape and his thumb stroking the hinge of her jaw, his own silent answer, his. 

They’re both quiet stepping inside his house, lights off so the rooms are washed down in dark swaths of shadow. Up the stairs and into his room, she doesn’t look at the books this time, all her attention on him. 

No need to rush, no need to hide, no need to lie about what this really is. A first for two decades later, they can take their time with each other, because there will be plenty more of it to offer, to receive.

“I thought about you, you know.” He knows that she’s talking about a particular kind of thinking about him, her eyes heavy with it. 

“Show me, Cher.” Broken thoughts that somehow still get pieced together, the easy slip of her dress falling around her feet, stepping out of fabric and laying back on his bed. Perfect like this, her knees bent and falling open to the sides. He finds himself sitting down on the edge of the bed, his palm cupping the slope of her calf before sliding down, fingers curling loosely around her ankle. Something to tether him, to convince him that this is real, that all her want is for him. From the start, she was always surprising him, always finding some fresh way to make his head spin. She still is. Propped up on one elbow, her other palm trailing down the center of her chest, pausing there to let her fingers graze against her nipple, the smallest hitch of her breath making his cock pulse. And then lower, his eyes going heavy watching her hand move over the soft clench of her stomach before settling just over her pelvis. Forefinger and middle spreading herself open for him to see, swollen and pearling pleasure, obscene and a little world-ending. 

And it’s his name. His name that she whispers when she dips two of her fingers into her cunt, his hand curling a little closer around her ankle at the sight and sound. A slick smear of heat, the way the tendons in her hips jump with the effort of staying splayed for him, slack and then tense all over when the pads of her fingers catch against her clit. 

Please, not enough, please, want you. But he wants to see, her preening pleas falling on deaf ears. Because he wants to see how she thought about him all those miles away, years away, and aching for him. And he was aching for her too. Go on, Cher, just like that. She huffs, brow pulling down in a pinch of frustration, but she still allows, the small jump of her wrist, the veins in her hand jittering as two fingers find a stuttered rhythm, her hips tilting into each thrust. And he’s mean for doing this, cruel even, slipping sorry beneath his palm as it skates up her shin, smoothing and soothing. I know, I know, it’s not enough, is it? Never enough he thinks, it was never enough. 

“Stop teasing, come here.” Never saying no to her, and he already knows it, making as quick work as he can of the buttons of his shirt, the warm flush of bare skin against bare skin when he finally settles between her legs, one palm splayed next to her temple and the other bunched in the sheets beside her hip. All brilliant machinery, two bodies moving together like they never stopped, her knee hitching up along his hip as his palm slides down along the soft skin of the inside of her thigh. He rests his thumb over her clit, presence more than anything else, though Cherry doesn’t allow that for long, another huff, another don’t tease that he chases after with a hard stamp of a kiss. 

And when he finally spreads her open with one shuddering snap of his hips, his breath gets caught in his chest, pleasure finally catching up to him and crackling down his spine. His mouth rests open and wanting below the dip of her clavicle, the slight press of skin that comes with each of her inhales, like a bird beating around in her ribs, short and stuttered and certain. 

Quiet whispers, need you to move, baby, that word never failing to snare his mind, all he can do to give her what she wants with a slow roll of his hips that’s already turning greedy in the way he grinds into the plush of her ass at the end, a high sound stopping itself in the back of her throat. 

And no, not taking their time, both of them growing desperate for that tight furl of pleasure settling between them. Just a little obscene in the way the bed scrapes against the floor with every thrust, the sound melding and mixing with the breathy little moans Cherry can’t seem to stop, not that he would want her to. He groans when he reaches between them to thumb at her clit, her cunt dripping around him, a dizzying flutter of heat that he wants more of. And when Cherry says more, right there something snaps in him, animal, incessant in the way he slips his palms under the swell of her ass, lifting her hips up so her thighs rest over his, fucking up into her from his haunches, strong enough that he can do that now, move and make her with his hands like this. Pulled taut, her body one long line of pleasure, he watches the perfect tendons in her throat jump with a whine of his name. 

It’s a devastating heat when she does come, spine arching before she slumps down in his grasp. He stills inside her, a whimper in her throat when his hips absent-mindedly shift against hers. C’mere, c’mere, pulling him down, her palms running up his sides before slipping over his shoulders, mapping him out as she catches her breath.

“I love you so much, Joel.” The sound he makes is pathetic at best, a little broken battering in his ribs. And he should ask if she’s good, if he can, if it’s okay for him to, but he needs it so bad, needs her so bad that he’s already finding that rhythm again, harsh breaths with each thrust. Not far behind her, not with the way she’s murmuring all her want into his ear, something that sounds like love when that pleasure finally snaps and shimmers under his skin. 

Perfect like this in the after, holding onto each other, mouths finding whatever slip of skin they can, kissing it better. 

“It’s you and me, Cher. I love you.” Her fingers still in their gentle sweep through his hair, a little tug to get his eyes up to hers. 

“Plus two.” Confused at first, he has to laugh when his brain catches up to what she’s saying.

“Right, you and me, plus two.” 

…

Her least favorite time of the day, or night, really. Ellie asleep, just her and the blinking cursor in her word document. It’s about this time every night that it settles back in under her skin. She doesn’t know what to call it. Loneliness feels pitiful, and patently untrue because she has her girl, and that’s all she needs. It’s like an ache, like a physical lack that she manages to forget about in all the fret and fuss of the day, still there, still sore. 

Tonight, something particular to soothe that ache. That damn web page, and that damn photo of him. Different, older, but still him. A small part of her, a young part, wonders if he has read her books, if he’s seen her photo on the dust jackets and traced all the small nicks and nips of time the same way that she does now, her face pressed close to the screen of her computer to collect up any new detail. 

She quits while she’s ahead, sigh, shut the whole thing off, rubbing the heels of her palms into her eyes to try to stamp out the picture of him. 

An ache, a want, that has been there for nearly two decades. When Will had told her about their parents moving out of Austin, hope had been quick to flicker up and around her ribs, a silly thing. Silly to ache like this, to want like this, to presume that he’s been waiting around for her. 

She’s been waiting for him though, she realizes. Wanting for him. So would it be so crazy to think that, maybe, he’s been wanting for her too?

........................................

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[bookishjules]

i think your reading too far into it. Percy has almost always see himself as less then most people especially Annabeth. It’s part of his insecurities through out all the series. He doest’t see himself as strong smart or powerful. He’s always made jokes about being stupid even tho we know he isn’t and he probably knows he’s not to but doesn’t have enough confidence to admit. He makes himself the punchline of his own thoughts. he always has

same way Annabeth jokes about him being dumb. She know he’s smart but she still jokes. I didn’t like wottg much but I didn’t see percabeth being negativ to each other

ps English isnt my first language and I’m on computer so spellcheck can’t save me. I’m also tired so yea

okay i totally understand where you're coming from, and i don't fully disagree. you're right, percy does feel insecure about certain things. but i think for the most part the things that might be conflated with insecurity are really a good amount of undervaluing himself and his abilities. yes, he feels stupid in school, and yes he has a tendency of making himself the punchline, but when it comes to life stuff or demigod stuff, it's always felt to me like he's more seen himself as not special, which isn't the same thing as inept. it's more of an 'i'm just percy' kinda of feel, if that makes sense. especially as he's gotten older. maybe that's a kind of insecurity idk but it definitely doesn't feel like it would manifest itself in the amount of clear reliance on annabeth to do the thinking he maintains in wottg, especially not at seventeen when he's successfully accomplished many things without her holding his hand and actively led the way as much as she has.

and honestly if it was just that, it might not have felt so out of place. i might have been able to credit all this to that insecurity and been lightly uncomfy but ultimately moved on.. but annabeth. okay, annabeth. annabeth makes jokes, yes. but, like you said, she ultimately knows percy is not an idiot. that understanding does not come across in wottg. she's actually surprised when he says anything intelligent or has good ideas, which is not the expression one would expect of someone who understands percy as thoroughly as she should, or of someone who has been through countless battles and quests etc. with him and therefore seen him in action.

ultimately, to me, wottg reads like annabeth is in charge, while before it always felt like they were on equal footing, except for the times when one or the other had a quest they were leading so the other ceded to their authority for the extent of the quest. and if i'm being honest, it almost feels like percy becomes something like a dog the way he's constantly seeking her approval, not knowing which way to go before receiving her direction, relying on her to be his brain. meanwhile, annabeth almost seems to function like she doesn't need him, and instead of challenging him to walk beside her (bc she values him and wants him to value himself), she readily takes up the guiding role, and in fact keeps him there by interrupting him when he's offering his thoughts or being judgmental about like the one solution him and grover come to when she wasn't with them.

maybe you don't see that as negative, but to me it definitely feels problematic, and not like the team we've known them to be for so long.

[sl33py-g4m3r]

ramble about FreeBSD and Unix~~

how out of my depth would I be trying to install FreeBSD?

would it even boot on my machine?

am I smart enough to go through the install for the system itself as well as get the GUI that I want?

I think you have to go through the command line for quite a bit of time before you get a GUI up and running....

I started off being really interested in BSD/Unix in high school, and tried to fiddle around with a BSD live disc thing in a book (that I don't remember the name of) and then only fiddled around with Linux.

I've been watching videos on youtube of people expressing how stable FreeBSD's modern release is~~

I want to use it on my own hardware; but that's a problem with it I believe, is that it works on sort of limited amount of hardware, as opposed to Linux, that you could even run on a toaster...

Is it really that much harder to deal with than Linux?

Of course I've only dealt with a few distros~~ the rundown of distros I've messed around with are;

Ubuntu (not anymore tho)

Debian (current os being Linux Mint Debian 6)

OpenSUSE briefly (tried to get my sibling to use it on their laptop, with them knowing next to nothing about Linux, sorry...)

Fedora back in high school, I ran it on a laptop for a while. I miss GNOME....

Mageia (I dual booted it on a computer running windows 7, also in or right after high school, so a long time ago)

attempted GhostBSD but it wouldn't boot after install from the live CD (also many years ago at this point)

I like to hop around and (hopefully now I have, yeah right...) I can't make up my mind which I actually want to use permanently.

Linux Mint Debian edition is really good so far tho~~!!

Current PC is an ASUS ROG Stryx (spelling?) that I bought on impulse many years ago~~ Was running windows 10, fixed the issue and now use the OS stated above~~

or maybe I should maybe ditch Mint and run straight Debian... Thought of that too. and it might have an easier time installing and actually booting than FreeBSD on this machine...

but then BSD and by extension unix is meant to be used on older hardware and to be efficient both in execution of things, and space.

"do one thing and do it well" iirc was a bit of the unix philosophy...

yeah, no I HATE technology /heavy sarcasm/

[cyanocoraxx]

just a thing for my main metal fanfic during that period where neo lost their memories and mecha and silver go off on their own but keep trying to contact them. angst

--

Something inside of it had fallen away and nothing had come to fill the crevice. As time went on, the crevice became a canyon. The thing about this lack was that it somehow bored in to his very circuitry. Unapologetically. Ruthlessly. Almost mockingly. It asked him, day in day out - what is it that you are missing? Do you even know?

It did not.

There was something in the simple act of a wrench falling to the floor that would stop it in its tracks for a moment, as if its frame remembered and braced itself for something. The laughter of a fellow machine somewhere down the hall would have it turn its head to listen. Distractions, nothing more, it told itself. It cut itself off and walked away each time, but it could feel the place where it used to be attached to these moments. It was raw, like the grating of a fingertip against something jagged. A shredded mess of almost-images. It hurt. It was enraging.

With this imperfect storm, Metal Sonic wore an expression like it wasn't quite sure it was supposed to be on this planet, and the only thing that made sense to it was rage. At least that felt justified. At least that felt real.

It pulled its fist free from the wall of the training room and watched the debris crumble to the floor. It took a moment to flex its claws outward, watching the intricate movements of its joints. Another excellent training session. Its techniques would be perfected enough to take down the hedgehog soon, it was certain.

As it walked towards the doors, it received a ping and a message request from someone. It stopped, optics brightening then narrowing with irritation. This, again? Metal was sure it had disabled communications with itself. Begrudgingly, and anxiously, it accepted the transmission with folded arms.

Silver Sonic MK II, again. When would it give up?

Incoming message: "If there's one thing I can tell you, bro, it's that the longer you spend all alone, the more you believe there's something about you that makes you meant to be alone. Come home soon, okay? I miss you."

Metal's optics blazed with both anger and hurt. These messages just kept pissing it off, not just because it was a waste of time for it to listen, but… because it opened that canyon of confusion into a wasteland every time.

"I am not who you think I am. Cease all unauthorized communications with this unit or it shall take further action against you."

Unknown to Metal, all outgoing communications had been disabled by the doctor already. It was speaking into the void. It had been for weeks.

"I saved a game I thought you'd like. I'm really good with games now, Neo. It's a good way to vent frustration, so, I think you'd be into it if you tried it. Mecha's too good at it, though. He's just so freaking smart. I swear he hacks the thing sometimes. When we play you better not mod it to win, or I'll take your hands away so you can't sign anymore. Too far? Maybe. But that's just how seriously I take this new hobby. Talk soon, love you."

Metal left the training room as it listened to the stranger's message, where it dusted off its knuckle joints on the outside.

Fine.

It would do something utterly stupid to get to the bottom of this. Metal threw its pride aside for a few minutes. It walked to one of the many server rooms of the doctor's base and located a free computer. It stood in front of it for a long moment with disgust in its optics.

Just do it. The sooner you prove you have nothing in common with the defective unit, the sooner it will be presented with evidence and leave you alone.

Begrudgingly, it downloaded the first free game that it could find online.

"Metal, my boy! What are you doing?"

Metal continued to stare at the screen. Something was trying to click in its head.

"Okay, you've had your fun. Turn that off now, I have a, um... important job for you." Eggman offered, gently at first. He leaned with one hand on the desk.

Metal didn't respond. Instead, it stared long and hard at the screen before it, as if it was speaking to him. Its optics narrowed, dimmed, and then brightened in thought. What did this half-recognition mean?

THE INSTRUCTION AT 0X0000000025C2342B NEO SUPER FX DSP CHIP REFERENCED MEMORY AT 0X0000028384F4. THE MEMORY COULD NOT BE READ.

Outwardly, this read as disobedience, and Eggman wasn't about to have that all over again. Seconds passed. His upper lip curled in annoyance, and then a sudden rage that burned his face red.

"TURN. IT. OFF!"

Eggman ripped the plug out of the wall and threw it to the ground with a clank. Metal stared at him for a long moment before seeming to snap back to reality. Eggman stared back, hard, making eye contact as if to assert dominance.

Metal observed him neutrally. Eggman stood still, only looking on with refreshed anger, looking for any sign of betrayal - then, only felt a pang of regret. He did care about his creation. He did. He had to keep telling himself that.

He cared in a convenient way. When it got him closer to his goal, of course.

"I-I'm sorry, son." Eggman put his arm around the robot's shoulders and pulled him close. "Listen to me, son. Distractions will only make your mission harder. Stay focused. Stay with me. I'm the only one you need to get this done, to be able to defeat that horrible hedgehog. Do you understand me?"

Metal nodded. If it could, it would have replied with a dutiful, yes, doctor. Because of course it would. It was the doctor's faithful creation. It missed the multiple 'me's in the apology. It was not meant for the machine. It was only to soothe the human's worries for itself.

But even so.

Metal would stand by a window, and Eggman would be quick to shepherd it away - lest it see something it shouldn't. The autumn brought wild aster and indigo to the world outside. Plant life crept toward the base's outer confines and quickly died with the bitter taste of metal and fumes.

Incoming message: "I miss you."

It put itself into sleep mode in its usual station. It would awaken to find itself curled like a rabbit in a burrow in the corner, seeking something to hide under. One night, the doctor took its purple blanket away, deeming it a 'distraction'. Eggman could see it attempting to recreate near-organic habits and put a stop to it then and there.

Incoming message: "You said to be strong but it hurts so bad, Neo. I don't know how many more nightmares I can take about it."

It would linger in the dark of the infinite corridors, looking long at the expanse of black and flickering red lights. Something about the irregular pulse of this home tried to remind it of a time since passed. Flickering lights. Red on black. Metal on metal. Something quiet and loud at the same time like pain, like grief.

Incoming message: "Mecha had a panic attack last night. I thought he was gonna do something bad to himself, he was freaking out so much. I wish you were here."

Metal scraped the tips of his claws down the wall of the training room and followed it with a heavy punch. Then two. Then three. It tried to unlock the door to the training room to find it locked from the other side. Of course. It was not to leave until its session was complete. How could it be so foolish to forget?

Incoming message: "You matter, no matter who you are right now."

Incoming message: "Come home."

"Help me. I am afraid. I am confused. Who are you?"

Metal threw its response back without a second thought. But it spoke into the void yet again. And again. And again.

A small voice in the back of its mind would pop up when it was alone. It was almost familiar in its tone and cadence and looked violet.

Your life has been paused. So then, the question is: are you paying attention? Are you awake to it? Are you able to see yourself in things that are not you?

Metal dug into the trashed files that were pending deletion in its mind and clung on to one of them with its claws.

Are you able to see yourself in things that are not you?

Metal stared at the image of its so-called brothers for an unspecified time.

Are you able to see yourself?

Its optics blurred and its vision shifted to its reflection in a puddle of oil on the floor. Looking back, a failed simulacrum of perfection, filled with voices and thoughts and ideas that were not its own.

Something happened just then - a message, bypassing all of its firewalls, all of its algorithms to keep them out. Only someone who knew how exactly it worked could do such a thing, and it realized that.

Incoming message: "Greetings, brother. This is hedgehog-series unit Mecha Sonic MK II. I hope that you are functioning well. I do not expect a response from you, for I expect that all transmissions are being intercepted, but I do ask that you listen to what I must say. I will not attempt to convince you of the intricacies of your situation, for I understand that if you were able to be reached in that manner, it would have succeeded already."

Metal drew its knees up to its chest and stayed still, listening intently to this lifeline.

"I speak to you now not as your brother, but a fellow hedgehog-series. If you find yourself in extreme danger or come to severe harm, know that you will have a safe refuge with this unit and its comrades. There is a way out of any harm that is being done to you, even if it is not as my brother, even if you deem me an enemy. You will be alright again. You will come home. We will not give up on you, nor will we forget you."

"Find us, however and whoever you are, and we will welcome you without judgement. We love you, brother, comrade, fellow hedgehog-series."

End of transmission.

I see myself in you. Why?

It tried to reach out only to find void.

You're my brother.

[misspresidenthao]

Those of Intuition — Batfam & Original Female Character — Chapter Three

Summary: Finally escaping the chaotic demands of the GCPD, she seeks a moment of respite on the rooftop. As she lights a cigarette in the cool night air, a sense of unease settles over her – she knows she's not alone. Expect a tense and potentially revealing encounter as the silent presence makes itself known.

Word count: 2.2k

TW: smoking, crack and angst, burn out, family issues, a lot of bad (bat) puns, depression

"Do you know me?"

"How could I not know you? You're the secretary of the police department." It wasn't the answer I was looking for, but it was the right one. "The person to thank for putting the record system in order."

"I never thought I'd hear someone thank me for my work." I covered my eyes with my hands as I put my cigarette to my lips and pretended to wipe away my tears, smiling as I bit the cylinder with my teeth and took my hands away from my face. "But you know that's not what I mean, please, that data of yours must have information that even I don't know. I want to know what you have on me. Simple curiosity."

"No-"

"I'll tell you a secret about your boss if you tell me." I cut him off, knowing it would attract his curiosity, raising an eyebrow as he approached me with a scowl. "Deal?"

"I hope you're not going to tell me you slept with him."

"I have not had that joy yet, though you might let him know that if he is ever lonely my bed is available for him." I narrowed an eye at him as I watched him make a face of disgust over the one full of seriousness and curiosity he possessed.

"Jacqueline Elise Hill, twenty-two years old, Magna Cum Laude in Modern Literature and Writing from Gotham University. No criminal record. Your father, Jackson John Hill, is a Navy veteran, your mother, Elizabeth Hill, is the head of training for the Navy Medical Corps in Gotham, and your older brother, Jackson Jace Hill, is an officer in the Air Force and is out of the country right now. During your time in college you filed a lawsuit against one of your professors who published a manuscript of yours under his name behind your back and after graduation articles appeared saying you would be the future of the city's literature and then eight months later you started your part-time job at the Police Department as a secretary in the morning and now full-time."

"These kids and their healthy lungs, didn't you get tired?" I couldn't keep the sneer out of my voice as I took another drag on my cigarette and let the night air hit my face again. "And to think I thought the bat knew everything..." I whispered as the smoke rushed out of my mouth between my teeth. 

"Why do you say that?" curious, this kid was full of it with those soft youthful features and that voice that told me he had grown up inside formality just like Batman Wayne.

"You said everything there was to say about my report, didn't you? If so, I think the one piece of information that only you would know is what's missing there, isn't it? But you kept your part of the bargain so it's only fair that I tell you what you want to know..." he was getting closer and closer to me, I could see his short size under that cape that came down to his ankles and his slim build that was evident under the protection of his uniform. "If I told you a secret would you believe me?"

"That remains to be seen."

"Cocky, I like that." I reached out long enough to place my fingers on his chest as if it were a weapon, pecking at his logo as I looked at his face hidden under a mask. "I think you have my little secret written on that computer of yours and you overlooked it because you didn't see the need to mention it, maybe because you were hoping to get a reaction out of me in case I didn't tell you any little secrets about your big boss. Because you're smart and you need cards to keep playing in your favour, but here comes my question,’ I cleared my throat as I placed the cigarette between my fingers and created a wall next to my face with my palm as I moved closer to him to whisper the question. ‘Would you believe me if I told you I knew the identity of the Big Bad Bat?"

"I wouldn't believe you."

"Good thing you don't, that means my life isn't in danger if someone finds out that the Son of Gotham is the vigilante who protects it during the night." a smile left my lips as the boy's face remained static in its seriousness, he had been very well trained. "What a nice face, I'd love to play poker with you. Do you want to know where I got this information from?" he was silent, so that's always my cue to keep talking.

"I guess I'm interested to know from the single title star under the pseudonym Lashon Hara, the writer behind that play made every military and police officer in the city furious three years ago." a smile formed on my face as a chuckle escaped my lips and I placed both hands on the railing again, letting my head fall to one of my sides as my hair swished with the air. "Besides the fact that your obvious pseudonym is made especially for badmouthing-"

"I knew you knew that, smart guy, so I'll tell you what you want to know," even though I knew my answer wouldn't be one that would please or convince him. "I had an enlightenment."

"Enlightenment?" he looked at me like I was crazy, I couldn't blame him. 

"Yeah, the kind that makes you realise how stupid people are not to notice," I dropped the cigarette, stomping on it with my heels before taking a deep breath and raising my forehead into the air to stop staring at him. "like a snowball rolling down a mountain, once it starts to run it just spins and spins getting bigger and bigger and creating an avalanche in its wake."

"Explain your enlightenment then."

"Sure. You know, from the moment I saw you I could tell two obvious things about you: the first is that this should be your bedtime since a teenager like you shouldn't be dressed in spandex and kevlar at this time of night and the second is that you come from a wealthy city family just like the Wayne Bat. And you may wonder, Sherlock, why I say this and here's the answer. Your speech, your distorted tone that still shows a lot of natural intonation and a lack of accent of this city which shows that you also have a lot of knowledge in foreign languages. Example, in case you need it, you and I speak the same even though your family possibly has more resources than mine and the only reason we do is because in my family I was trained to speak like high society people."

Key and obvious point, he must have known the fact that I was telling him without me having to tell him. 

The lower and middle classes of the city have their particularities in terms of certain intonations of words and letters that characterise them even if they try to hide them and that derive from a deficient education when learning to speak, as children tend to adapt to the way their parents speak.

Generational pitches that led people sometimes to speak with grunts or strong R's, also making more guttural sounds such as the ones Batman tried to imitate from time to time to adapt his way of speaking to the city and a symbol of his identity. But learning it and living it were not the same thing, so it had not been so difficult to identify the city's Golden Son's faults in speech as he tried to hide his refined and dark past.

Obviously, I wasn't going to tell him the real way in which I had made my discovery, the last thing I wanted was to be embarrassed and ashamed in front of this child.

"Another thing I know about you is that you are so smart it's frightening. You neither confirm nor deny anything because you know it will give me the upper hand or force you to accept or deny the information with facts, you expect me to keep moving my mouth to establish a parameter of how many things I really know to keep setting up your plan where you will be five steps ahead of me in any move, you know that if you ask for proof you will be showing that you are either intimidated by the information or over confident that there is no such thing which could point back to your back, you have no fear that I can link you to Batman because you have no link to his secret identity right now that points back to you like Dick Grayson and the late Jason Todd, the Robin before you, do. Something also tells me that the identity of my pseudonym was not in your system but was something you deduced on the spot when you were forced to look up a little secret of mine, after all why would Batman have such a long report on me if I've lived such a quiet and ordinary life like everyone else and that also means you've read my book or at least know the central plot. And, if I think about it, maybe it was your intelligence that led you to the vigilante and to the suit you're wearing now... although you must be crazier than you look if the first thing you thought was that you needed to fill the hole the previous one left full of blood and go out and put a target on your chest every night". 

I took a deep breath as I crossed my arms, because fuck I had run out of breath after so much yapping and yapping in front of this kid who had this icy face that didn't react to anything. My hair was still blowing in the wind as I appreciated the new silence that was giving him time to put the pieces in order in his head as he kept calm in front of me. 

We both knew that if I said everything I knew it wasn't because I wanted to show him that I was an analytical nerd and that I used all my knowledge acquired during my university studies creating and analysing stories to discover in the stupidest possible way who was under the bat's mask. Rather, it was an opportunity for protection, a ticket that would put a watchful eye on me at all times to ensure that I would not spread their secrets to the criminals if I decided to switch sides and work for them. 

With the vigilantes' eyes on me at every instant I would become the most protected woman in the city and would guarantee my safety during my night shift. 

"Why are you telling me this?" his words were silent in the darkness and a simple smile escaped my lips at the cuteness of this boy dressed as a vigilante who could easily tear me to shreds in a fight. 

"Just because." I tried to tuck my hair behind my ears as I continued to smile at him. "Maybe I just wanted someone to share my knowledge with, not everyone would listen to me as attentively as you." I brought my arms behind me over the rails as I pulled my body forward trying to get rid of the laziness with the stretch. 

Groans of pain came out of my mouth as I grabbed my back that had been overstretched and now my bones were creaking like a cracker, raising my head to look at his face again as I stood up straight and started walking towards the stairs to leave him alone in the cold of the night but not before picking up my bag and catching my glasses since they slipped off my shirt collar when I bent down. I didn't hesitate to pull out a lollipop from the many in my purse and throw it in his direction to watch him catch it in mid-air with that doubt-filled look that wouldn't leave his face. He would sit down somewhere and become the thinker's statue. 

"It's been nice talking to you Robin, if you ever need to debate crazy theories, second opinions on dramatic vigilante stuff, try a cigarette for the first time or tips on how to pick up the girl you like you know my desk is open almost twenty-four hours thanks to my overexploitative boss. Ciao, ciao."

I placed my hand on the knob of the staircase, feeling the coldness of the metal before turning it letting the sound from inside reach my ears. 

"Jackie!" the commissioner's voice sounded like a whisper from here and must have been extremely loud in the ears of the poor souls in pain near him.

"I'm coming, Commissioner!" I coughed twice after shouting at the top of my lungs to make my way to the first floor where Gordon was waiting for me with his whip to force me to slave alongside him. 

Everyday stuff. 

[ardenla]

Book of the apocalypse - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Farren - Book of the apocalypse

(This chapter has a different protagonist)

TW: Gore, psychological horror, spiders, depressing theme's

Word count: 1111

First chapter:

"Book of the apocalypse"

What is an apocalypse?

The dictionary will probably tell you something like:

Apocalypse

The complete destruction of the world or an event involving destruction or damage on a catastrophic scale.

Movies will probably talk mostly about zombie apocalypses in which the world has been taken over by flesh eating monsters.

But then I wonder...

Does there exist something like a quiet apocalypse?

Perhaps a personal apocalypse?

One in which life as we know it is destroyed for maybe even a single person.

Or perhaps it is the silent self-destruction of the world itself.

Slowly killing itself, wrapping itself in plastic until breathing becomes impossible.

Willingly suffocating itself.

Because it had always wished for death.

For silence.

For peace.

For the end.

For now you may call me Farren.

I believe that the world I live in is one of a silent apocalypse.

One in which humanity itself decides to extinguish their own flame.

A mind destroying apocalypse.

All the while acting as if nothing is wrong and everything is going great.

And perhaps it really does make some people happy.

Perhaps they want to see the end... and they might want to see it really soon.

My world is one of constant loneliness.

I'm surrounded by many people.

They walk past me without even batting an eye.

Well it's not like I am the one paying attention to them.

No, I'm just like them.

Isolated.

Alone.

Uncaring.

A cog in a machine that's killing itself off joyfully.

This story is about the apocalypse during a time of computers.

An apocalypse so silent no one notices.

And even those that do, try to ignore it.

To be born in a time like this truly seems unfair.

After all, I live in a world in which doing something else is seen as weird, insane or wrong.

Well then again, it's not like I care that much either.

I'm not brave, nor smart.

And rebelliousness is something that can be seen as the polar opposite of me.

Just like most, I work in this society like an ant.

An ant who does nothing else but what it's told.

There are moments though, moments in which I truly regret it all.

My life choices, my weaknesses, my birth.

If I had done this differently, then maybe I would have had a better position at my job.

Maybe if I had been less shy I could have made friends who would stay with me.

Maybe if I hadn't been born, the world wouldn't be this insufferable.

Well nothing I can change about it now, I too am stuck in my own personal bubble.

A friendless, lowly bubble.

Yet somehow still desperate enough to keep on surviving.

The sudden sound of my alarm clock awakens me from my daydreams.

Crap! If only I had paid better attention to the time, I might have finished more...

Well, again, nothing to be done about it.

I guess I just have to work harder tomorrow.

"Hey Farren!" A loud voice that immediately gives me shivers comes from behind me.

It's the manager of my floor.

Carefully I turn around, whilst trying to hide my trembling hand.

"Y-yes?"

Shit, I screwed up already.

"It's 'yes sir', for you."

Yes, he's pissed.

"Sorry s-sir."

He looks down at me almost like he sees before him not a human being, but instead a cockroach.

Or perhaps more something like dog poop.

Well, anyway, he doesn't try to hide the look of disgust on his face as he speaks to me, even keeping his distance to protect himself against the smell of the dog poop or the moving cockroach.

"You should know what this is going to be about."

His eyes stare threateningly into mine.

"Is this about yesterday, or..."

Honestly I have no clue, but it's better to guess than to admit it with him.

"Not just yesterday, lately Farren, lately."

"I should work faster...?"

God, I'm hopeless, especially now that fear has taken a hold of me.

Desperately I seek for an answer around me, while trying to avoid eye-contact.

"Like hell! You've been so slow lately, just what is your problem?!"

Thank God I guessed right.

"I-" I try, but he doesn't let me finish.

"No excuses, you should try to be more like Kathan. Great guy always on time at work and with his work."

"Kathan the intern?"

"So what, he does this a thousand times more efficiently than you."

Kathan is our unpaid intern, that's what I want to say followed by: of course he is better, because he literally works for free. But luckily I'm able to hold my tongue at the right time.

"I will do so, sir." I reply automatically, but it doesn't seem good enough for him.

He's always like this, belittling those he sees as lesser than him.

Makes me wonder if he talks like this to his wife and kids too.

"You know, I let you stay out of the goodness of my heart, even though you're older than most people I hire."

Bullshit, hearing that coming out of the mouth of a man at least twice my age sounds really weird.

Old? Yeah, to a teenager. I'm in my twenties, the manager is in his forties or fifties.

He just doesn't like me because I get paid almost as much as him, more than a sixteen-year old.

Also, he wasn't the person who hired me. It was our old CEO, who did care.

The floor manager continues his rant: "If you keep going like this, I will have no choice but to fire you."

I nod: "Yes sir, I understand."

Perhaps it's time for me to start looking for another job again.

Sucks, I've been working here for a couple of years now and even though the manager sucks, other things are okay.

Well...

I've avoided the bullying for now...

It's really stupid, when you enter the adult world, you learn how childish people can really be.

After his rant is finally finished, he lets me leave.

Kathan seems to have seen it all and wants to walk over to me, but I act as if I didn't notice and hurry out of the building.

I don't want to be pitied.

Exhausted, I take the train back home to my apartment.

It's a bit run-down, the building, but at least I have a place to sleep, shower and cook.

Even if all is just in two small rooms.

As I look outside I can see the dreary cityscape, reminding me how hopeless this world really is.

I drop myself on the couch (that's also my bed) and turn on the tv.

I watch video after video, mindlessly, not listening to anything.

Because in truth it really is just background noise to make my brain stop thinking unwanted thoughts.

After a while I look at the clock and notice that it's almost one in the morning.

I turn off the tv and fall asleep.

The loud noise of my morning alarm wakes me up again and I'm reminded that I haven't eaten since yesterday lunch.

Quickly I take a soda from the fridge and drink it.

The chance of me being late to work today is pretty high, so I rush out of the building without looking back.

[semi-sketchy]

I finished Chaos Island again

Odd thing to say, but I had a better time than my first playthrough? Like ok, the way I've been playing is map out the entire island then do the story stuff. No needing to stop and do cyberspace or worrying about tokens, I literally just spin in circles for 10 minutes (or fish, but circles is faster) and I'm good for the entire island. It's been nice.

Yes, Chaos suffers horribly from 2D, but the dash pads are just as bad on Ares and at least when I see an island in the distance, it's easy enough to run around the edge looking for a rail system rather than trying to figure which path that's out of draw-distance leads me to the top of a ledge. I like the wider area without walls sectioning things off.

That's...about where the good parts end, though.

I've been avoiding chests I know for a fact are traversal objects, (I'm actually surprised how well I remember?) but the ground is incredibly uneven to the point you can't properly cyloop some stuff. This is also bad because while you go flying half the time, Sonic also sticks to the ground and makes crossing the few lava rivers an actual problem. You jump and his gravity almost follows the curve of the ledge and dunks you. You have to put in some serious effort to combat the wonky physics here.

The quests have always been my least favorite part of the game, but this is abysmal. Bridge the gap sucks ass because you have no control over where the homing attack locks onto and you keep having to reset because oopsie! Sonic wasted 2 seconds by going out of his way to change the homing reticle two frames before you hit the button! I also had no issues with pinball on my first playthrough, but I get the hate now. Look I like pinball and I like pinball in Sonic, it's the one quest that's on brand for him (I will seriously never understand why cutting grass is an actual required objective in this game), but my GOD is that a bare bones and bad pinball table. The score multiplier also gets reset if you lose a ball, so when it decides to off itself, it pads onto your time. Hacking minigame is an odd choice, but I like it? Maybe I should play Ikaruga...

While I like mapping the island, the part I hate most here is two points are locked behind story progress and this is the only time in the game they do this. It's stupid and I hate it. I hate it because it forces me to do the story and this is the point it gets really bad.

Like Kronos was kinda nothing, Ares was entertaining with Knuckles (even though they were trying to gaslight me about Knuckles never leaving his island like I'm sorry have the last 20 years been a joke to you?), but Chaos actually pissed me off. Tails' dialogue is stupid because it's so clearly written by someone who isn't smart trying to sound smart by using big words to confuse others even though they aren't actually complicated. (mutation is not a hard word to grasp, guys.) That's not how Tails speaks and it completely throws the idea of character voice out the bloody window to fit into an archetype.

Man I wanna play Xenoblade. I'll even take Xenoblade 3 with Alvis being reduced to an ageist computer at this point.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

IF LISP IS DEAD

Because the self-reinforcing nature of this situation works the other way too: the less you can afford to be passive. If users can get through a test drive successfully, they'll like the product. The Internet is a genuinely big deal. It costs you a little more equity, but being slightly underfunded teaches them an important lesson from the second one. If users can get through a test drive successfully, they'll like the product. The path to wisdom is through discipline, and the most interesting fifteen tokens, where interesting is measured by how far their spam probability is above the threshold. And practically all startups, even the most successful startups, and think it's therefore the mark of a successful startup on behaving like a nonprofit to people who are smart, but not a great bet to succeed, because they only have themselves to be mad at. It's the sort of economic violence that nineteenth century magnates practiced against one another and communist countries practiced against their citizens. Then you'd automatically get your share of the returns of the whole pool.1 The phrase personal computer is part of the patent problem without waiting for the government: ask companies where they stand. If you can't find ten Lisp hackers, then your company is just a guess, but my guess is that Microsoft will develop some kind of purpose, rather than just an effect? Make a soundbite stick in their heads.2

Maybe that will help, if you restrict the sales pitches spammers can make, you will inevitably tend to put them out of business; they feel obliged by various state laws to include boilerplate about why their spam is not spam, and how consistently bad people fail as startup founders. Piracy is effectively the lowest tier of price discrimination. 01 python 0. They will get very frustrated if instead of telling them what you do probably won't work. We never had enough bugs at any one time than we could say as we were walking to lunch. Find one and launch it clearly but apparently casually in your talk, preferably near the beginning. That may sound like a bizarre idea, but it's an everyday thing in Lisp. Police investigation apparently begins with a motive. Why are programmers so fussy about their employers' morals? And understanding your users. This should yield a much sharper estimate of the reputation of each member. By price-insensitive VCs, they'll fall again if VCs become more like one another.

Another way to fly low is to give you money. How much of the next generation. Software is particularly suitable for price discrimination, because the top VCs can supply? It was like the algorithm Google uses now to sort ads, but this predisposition is not itself intelligence. I think part of the patent problem without waiting for the government. And now I have independent evidence: the top links on Reddit are generally links to individual people's sites is as good as or better than the stuff I read on individual people's sites rather than to magazine articles or news stories. In my earlier spam-filtering software, the user could set up a list of every address the user has to do is avoid it.3 A lot of startups, whereas this is probably the first you've founded.4 Never say we're passionate or our product is great. Partly the reason deals seem to fall through so often is that you know what to test most carefully when you're about to release software before it works, but what investors are thinking.

For both Confucius and Socrates, wisdom, virtue, and happiness were necessarily related. There are two bad smelling words, color spammers love colored fonts and California which occurs in testimonials and also in menus in forms, but they invest other people's money, and precisely when you'll have to switch to plan B if plan A isn't working. Even colocating servers seemed too risky, considering how often things went wrong with them. But even correcting for this, startup deals fall through. So some or all of the friends quit their jobs or leave school. Never make users register, never make them wait for a confirmation link in an email; in fact, Gosling makes it clear in the first step, and ngood and nbad are the number of completed test drives, our revenue growth increased by 50%, just from that change. You never do your best work in a suit-centric culture. 9889 and.

In the long term the most important changes in this new world. One idea that I haven't tried yet is to filter based on word pairs, or even still in it, I'd give him the stock for $10, just to figure out a definition of Web 2. Though really it might be wise to give him as much stock as the founders. The reason Yahoo didn't care about targeting.5 The best programmers can work wherever they want. We always looked for new ways to add features with hardware, not just because it pleased users, but also as a way to save computation than as a way to save computation than as a way to improve filtering. At this stage I end up with a much firmer grip on the code. It was pretty advanced for the time. That's the fundamental reason the super-angels, the most decisive of whom sometimes decide in hours.6 Some VCs now require that in any sale they get 4x their investment back before the common stock everyone else has. New Architect magazine said that one line of code. To be a startup, managing them is one of the preceding five sources.

The government spying on people doesn't literally make programmers write worse code. With server-based applications. But later I realized that if you put those two ideas together, you get rich as a power of how early you were. So here we have two pieces of information that I think really would be a lot of C and C. When you release software gradually you get far fewer bugs than desktop software. And you don't have to install anything to use it. They would call support in a spirit more of triumph than anger, as if that could be done for the asking. Another great thing about Web-based software is that you have in your desktop machine.

You can work 16-hour days for as long as there were others that did? You should always have a plan B as well: you should know as in write down precisely what you'll need to do; whereas VCs should be able to optimize for both simultaneously. As long as you might have trouble hiring programmers. In a way. If feeling you're going to take two weeks to close, so we were on Version 4. I can prove this to you without even getting into the differences between them. The key to closing deals is never to stop pursuing alternatives. Over time the teams have gotten smaller, faster, and the default answer is failure, because that is about as much sales pitch as content-based filters are the way to go. And the way to do it for free.

Notes

The wave of the device that will pay for health insurance derives from the study. If you freak out when people tell you who they are not very far along that trend yet.

You can still see fossils of their works are lost. This is isomorphic to the principles they discovered in the 1920s. Then Josh Wilson came in to pick a date, because I realized the other hand, a proper open-source browser. Unfortunately, not like soccer; you have to kill Archimedes.

They're motivated by examples of how hard it is to discount knowledge that at some point, there are a different type of product for it.

Which is also to the founders'. 5% a week for 19 years, but economically that's how both publishers and audiences treat it. It did.

I have yet to find it more natural to the traditional peasant's diet: they hoped they were already profitable. It's not a programmer would find it more natural to the traditional peasant's diet: they hoped they were that smart they'd already be working on is a cause.

Most new businesses are service businesses and except in rare cases those don't scale is to the biggest winners, which draw more and angrier counterarguments. Then when we say it's ipso facto right to do would be a founder; and with that additional constraint, you can eliminate, do not try too hard to compete directly with open source software.

Thanks to John Collison, Ian Hogarth, Jessica Livingston, Robert Morris, Richard Florida, and Sam Altman for reading a previous draft.

[star-blitz]

long rant incoming. i had to get this off my chest.

tw: brief mentions of suicide, general absurdist disassociation :)))

a great flaw in the human design (if humans were designed at all) is that we start with a blank sheet of paper. utterly clueless. miniature creatures that have barely developed enough to be thrust into the world and figure it out. so, to respond to this overwhelming situation, babies learn things quickly and make them fundamental truths in their lives. they have to, for stability, for something concrete to hold onto, but the concrete is an illusion. we're painting styrofoam grey and praying it holds out for the rest of our lives.

because these rules do persist throughout the rest of our lives, both the ones we learn ourselves and the ones our parents teach us, whether consciously or subconsciously. family is made of one mom and one dad, and they're here to take care of me. the ground hurts so maybe don't bang your head on it. crying gets you what you want. there are also the rules we learn when we're a little older - pink is for girls, god created everything, being smart is good. and these rules work just fine for you, until one day you're eighteen and there's no rational way that jesus actually died and came back to life, and couldn't God just not make alcohol/drugs in the first place if they were so bad for us and why should I feel ashamed of the natural human sexual behaviour that god himself created (allegedly)?

suddenly it doesn't make sense. the illusion is dwindling, flickering at the edges. the styrofoam is disintegrating. it's starting to rot from the inside out. 

i've always been fascinated by this hypothetical science experiment. super unethical, obviously. but I've always wanted to know how it would affect humans to grow up on a completely different set of rules. what if we took 25 newborn babies and stuck them in a room and taught them that blue was actually red and men are only supposed to fall in love with other men and yellow is actually the colour for girls? what if they grew up in a room where gender didn't exist, where apples were a delicacy and caviar was served to the platypuses, who are the actual appropriate domestic pet? these are all totally harmless things. 'facts' that are actually just pure human construction. there are, of course, more unethical rules you could impress upon their young minds. murder is actually good for society. death is desirable. polyamory is satanic and 'satanic' is a positive adjective because in this version of events, satan was the good guy and god was the villain; in fact, one should cheat on their partner as often as possible. 

i can't help but fantasize about what it would have been like if i was born into an atheist family and the idea of god was never presented to me. or at least not at an early enough age with such absolute resolve that god became one of my concrete tethers, one of my absolute facts. because now i'm starting to question whether god exists at all and i think i'm shocking my system. it simply can't compute this new fact i'm trying to present it with. it just doesn't know what to do with itself. i'm fracturing its safety blank, the it she constructed when it was still so terrified of this big world and searching for a foundation. 

i'm starting to lose my mind to the realization that there is no such thing as reality. over the years, I began noticing it in small pieces, bite size, mostly digestible. i started thinking about how time was entirely made up by humans; who decided how long a second lasted anyways? no one actually knows what an atom looks like, we're all just guessing. god is the biggest guess of them all. we are a speck of sand in a desert that is a speck of sand in all the deserts that have ever existed. we know nothing, so we comfort ourselves with the fruitless pursuit of knowledge. isn't it crazy that the closest we can get to scientific fact is just a theory? 

someone else must feel this way, surely. someone must share this feeling that I am an idiot, surrounded by idiots, wandering in a place without knowing how I got here, how this all came to be or what it all means. the lack of control is enough to make you want to kill yourself. the lack of knowing is enough to drive you insane while you build up the courage. 

WHAT IS THE MEANING OF ANY OF THIS?

WHY AM I HERE?

WHY DO I EXIST AT THE SAME TIME AS 5G SATELLITES, MASS DEFORESTATION, SO KATE LOUBOUTINS AND THE TRUMP ADMINISTRATION?

i know i will never get any answers. perhaps because there aren't any. the likelihood of god existing or not is the same as the likelihood for any deity out there existing or not. it's 50/50. it's a yes or no. i know there's no use driving myself crazy about this and wasting away whatever little precious time i have on this earth. i cant be one of those idiots who spends their whole life contemplating life and forgets to actually live it. but it's so all-encompassing. so grossly overwhelming. sometimes i think it would be nice to push all this to the back of my mind, let it linger like an afterthought, let myself feel the thrill of not knowing and choosing to live my life anyway. like tightroping over a canyon untethered. if i look down, i will fall. i need to keep my eyes focused straight ahead. 

[the-firebird69]

The North Sea Fear 😨 😱

The trespasser makes huge waves which would devour a cities if we choose to and you people are big mouths we're sick of you insulin swine they destroy bunkers fast too

Thor Freya

I sort of figured out close encounters with a third kind is an actor is interested I think he's thinking about it he's made the mashed potato duplicate we went on to make a live miniature which would be nice for a railroad train set and you can sell it as small and that has a replica the little trees and everything probably worth a lot of money after what I'm going to say it's Richard Dreyfuss it's called devil's Tower and it's out there Wyoming partially those with neither it's in that state and the movie is actually going to happen it hasn't happened yet except for them going out and filming parts of it and he's aware of that the devil's Tower itself was a tree and the tree is petrified and what that means is he will ascend partially with the stone but not fully and just a whole bunch of things that go along with that except that he evacuated already the computer of his and people have to figure it out then they go after him and the UK to try and revive him and then smog will transport him again to New Zealand somewhere different I guess possibly to New Zealand maybe to Israel which would make more sense. To Richard Dreyfus was asking I would say yes there's more meaning that's one in the second would be what I think is the Tower of cadmium and that's how he ascended partially and how he plans to any plans to use the devil's towers which you are removing and take them and he's computer is iterating it took some tonight it needs not that much which is not a good sign I have a theory and it might not like me saying it that it's the same thing the same place and the excuses Martha's vineyard will be on fire is the threat and Richard Dreyfuss is there often he's not there now I don't care about Martha's vineyard so now the computer say it differently I sort of get it but they have any drugged up and what you're saying is not fair I'm a three year old child these roast yourself you b**** you don't know how to make the thing. Not out of thorium and you need a lot of that stuff and it's in my front yard and I guess it's angry and wants it that was weird don't call Richard Dreyfus to my inspire things and people and demons and who the hell knows what else

Zues Hera

Hahaha very funny you know who I am and you know what I'm saying that was very funny. Inspired a lot of people but not that much I don't give a damn but this is what it means he's just sitting there thinking it's a tower but it's not there but I know what it means it means it only gets you far away information I go out there and I fool around with anyways I'll probably end up selling replicas the stupid thing for train sets for Christ's sake he says he has to go to Betty's tired I sort of get that and save some mashed potatoes for me you'll see me grinning a little you should not even with gravy but butter. Kids are freaked out we finally said this it's not enough to have just the stone and they started going to work and I do understand what you're saying we're going to get the hell out of here and we are gross this thing is not supposed to be released everywhere but it's not smart to be a little that I do have a plan in my own forces and I'm saying where the hell are those so everybody is finding over them I good grief this is going to be a nightmare is to a fighting and it's a big thing I see what it's about Bob seger and the silver bullet band banner free of flags going to kick my ass he says she's going to

Mac Daddy

Olympus

Hahaha I'm not mad at him I'm mad at you

Mop

[ash-pile]

I totally forgot I made this thread. I’ve been taking notes as I go through each episode and wanted to share them.

Note for thing

19

Celia is 100% aware that she’s looking into other worlds and things.

I wonder if the ‘protocol’ in the statement is the same protocol as whatever destroyed the institute.

Sam definitely is catching on to what’s going on with the computers.

I wonder who Lena is going to see.

Hope Colin gets better. He’s having a terrible time.

I still think that Alice knows more than she’s letting on, but she’s saying things carefully and with enough sarcasm that the glitch can’t catch her.

20

Wait the security system is mercenary’s ?

Whoa how did Sam figure this out? Did he get that just from the statement? Did Freddy just straight up go: figure this shit out weather boy?

Yep Alice knew more than she said

So many good lines from Alice:

“The five of us and Colin! Who’s already lost it!”

“It’s called the British government!”

I wonder if Alice is purposefully making Sam feel alone in this

INK5OUL HOLY SHIT. I love them so much

“Lovely skin” eh close enough welcome back nikola orsinov. Wait they don’t know? How does inksoul not know what’s happening?

The pain of fame

Did she just compelinksoul? Needed to be ‘seen’- is that the eye? Maybe Spiral?

Ah unethical art! So much fun. Desolation now. More fire?

Are they able to make marks like the books? Just with a like canvas instead of the dead ones. Like how keay was able to make magic books to do stuff. like ex altiora. I wonder if Ink5soul is this world’s version of that.

Yep something about the designs is magic/fear based. They’re definitely an avatar

Oh that’s a great question. Are you destined to be an avatar or does it come to you? Is this the first mention of someone becoming an avatar thanks to a power? Also she called it a hunger

Yep. Gwen’s getting a tat! her scared whimper is so sad.

21

Prediction: buried/eye based

*Can* you quit?

COMPLICATED????? CELIA WHAT YOU MEAN COMPLICATED YOURE FROM ANOTHER WORLD.

Does Celia know how to go back but doesn’t want to?

MAGNUS ARCHIVES. The protocol is looking more and more like the cause of the archives distraction.

WAIT WAIT the statement is talking about a transmutation occurring on the turning of the millennium being significant. And tmp is set in 2024ish right? And the institute burned down (and I think brought Celia here) about 20 years ago. At the turning of the milenium. Yep the year 2000. Right in that time frame.

A locus? Is that supposed to be a site of a fear?

Gas works. The archives?

What.

Yeah I think the locus is a term for those spots like hilltop house

Alice is hiding the message. Talking to Freddy like he’s a person. “Who’s in there?” Oh god she’s getting pulled in too. Yep the several glitches from her lies.

Ah Lena is able to tell that she was interfering with ‘seeing’ them.

Lena is worried for Gwen. Cool

Ooo ink5oul can tell she’s got a family crest aka she’s rich/well known. I wonder if it’s just obvious or something to do with their powers.

They can just *change* tats on people?!?!

Compelled?????? What the fuck???

THE ENTITY. IT SPEAKS

haha the bitey

22

Prediction: More Colin?

“Watching figure” lol

I love that Gwen is still trying to take Lena’s job

Close enough, welcome back Us

Yeah that’s kind of what I imagine a brain thinking of itself to ask

Ooo Sam is smart enough to see through the lies. I wonder if Sam is able to tell she’s lying because he knows her or because of powers?

Oh he knows that a lie that can can’t take care of himself

Is the suggestion that they could rule together?

HOWMGNAISHANFISMFHWIJFB JMART

‘Who?’

Holy shit oh my god fucking WHAT

23

Prediction: stranger/flesh. Maybe more Colin?

Not inner peace? What does ‘peace’ come in the form of?

It’s coral?

Sample? Are you sewing eing the coral I to yourself? Turning yourself into coral? Yep, surgical tools and putting the coral into yourself..

‘Unzip’ that’s such a description

So weird. She’s made of coral and is you but different?

Love the fact that it’s Freddy/jon reading this one. Cause he goes through a similar process, finds his ‘peace’ through the recordings and gradually breaks through the old jon to become something else. Good parallel

NO NONONONO NOOOOO THEY CANT BE DEAD NO. anyway that said 20 yrs, so right at the same time that Celia probably came and the archives were destroyed. I think that this world was 20 behind tma so when they came thru those two died. Probably because their counterparts were there and dead too and the world couldn’t handle it

Celia knows that they were the correct people, I wonder why they were different though.

Basira!!!

Was that Alice dropping the mug? Or Gwen? I want these two to be gay for each other so badly. Gwen is pretty smart, just also super scared.

I swear if Alice makes a joke and hurts Gwen I’m gonna be so mad

Aw she knows she’s been arsy

WHAT TOO MANY EYES

I do still think that the entity is Jon and/or elias. The tape recorders.

Wait Alice knows about the tape recorder.

24

Prediction: Lena is confronted by Alice.

God I love the theme song

Wait was my prediction correct? Aw nope.

Alice and Gwen are working together? Carefully wording her statement so the camera does find the lie. Just like Alice has been doing.

The lie on thank you. Oh so good!

lol calling the eyes orbs

The more details she says make me think he’s not human. But also the description of her happiness is nice. Aw she’s sweet

Celia mention!

Sharp teeth

Girl are you letting a baby guilt trip you?

Nooo is the depression hitting her. Girl

Who is this health visitor?

Feed and eat? She uses those as different things. oh is he a vampire??

There’s the barking sound. Yeah he’s definitely not human

Definitely bad when Alice is saying so

Yeah it’s weird but I guess why not? Also yes Celia! Support Alice. Love Celia having to parent the two of them

Omg basira!

DUDE YOURE SO BLUNT

No lie there, basira is a totally different person here.

Celia is trying to connect basira to her tma world. They suck at investigating.

Starting a thread for myself of theories and ideas about tmp. Gonna update it as I listen to episodes.

I’ve listened to 11 as if this first post. Also I think it goes without saying but there will be spoilers here, I might not have a ton of info but I do have and reference stuff in the episodes

Jon/chester/computer bois:

I think that Jon is using the cameras and things to see and listen, which is why he’s able to give statements that are very close to what’s happening with the characters.

Also I think he is trapped, but idk if he’ll ever get out. Maybe if he and Martin get out then Jonah Magnus can too so they’ll have to choose.

I wonder if they’ll be the same if they escape?

Or if there is a jon and Martin in the world too?

The entities:

-I saw someone else say this (don’t remember who or where tho) but I think that when the web and Jon pulled the entities thru the crack in reality in tma, they got squished and melted together.

- It would explain why statements often multiple fears now.

- They are so squished/interwoven that they litterally can’t separate.

Can they still do rituals/summonings?

Alice

-Another thing I saw but makes so much sense. Alice used to hold Lena’s job/she’s secretly the boss-boss of OIAR

-would explain why she and Lena got the message that Sam was trying to access restricted files.

-I mean why would Alice of all people see that. Lena make sense but Alice would only see it if she had the same kind of access

-also It might not end up being canon but I want Alice, Sam and Gwen to end up together as a poly. The whole scene with the mocha and Alice being confused but not hostile to Gwen was sweet and I want more of that trio

Celia

-I think she and the others who weren’t in any fear domains were brought here, so Georgie and Melanie could be there too.

-Would also explain why she seems to know more about the archives that most, cause she would have heard about them from those two.

-Maybe she ends up in random places regularly hence the ‘not again’ because the world recognizes she isn’t supposed to be there

-or she’s like Micheal. Tma 198 did reveal that the cult was taken back to their domains, maybe Micheal/something like him got to her before the end?

So she’d be able to jump around with doors. Probably not on purpose tho.

-either theory explains why she’s looking into dimensions and space and physics things

Lena/OIAR

-I think that when Jon and Martin and Jonah and the fears came through, they came through at a different time but same space. The explosion from the gas destroying the building would have been brought over at the same time and thus destroyed the archives in this world

-and maybe if it was an important place for the eye/the eye is ‘staying’ there/leftover energy from the panopticon, maybe thats why redcanary was so affected and pulled out their eyes. They were forced to by some kind of eye powers

-so with that, I think OIAR formed to document what changes came about after the fears came through. And their database doesn’t work with the fears separately cause they aren’t separate any more

-I haven’t figured out what Lena’s deal is yet, I just think she’s aware of the fears in someway and uses them/avatars/whatever the monsters would be called now to control the amount of fear being spread

[luveline]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

the tension between you and miguel rises to an all-time high —a ficlet featuring a grumpy miguel and a flirty, distracted spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. fem!reader, 1k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel has asked you multiple times to leave him alone while he's working. The strike force can't run itself (or so he claims —Margo and Lyla seem plenty capable, in your eyes) and he needs time and solitude to organise the protection of canon events, and—

"Blah, blah, blah," you say, dropping your voice to a soft, teasing melody as you skirt around his frankly audaciously jacked chest. 

"Don't blah, blah, blah me," Miguel says. You'd be intimidated if you weren't so happy to mess with him. "I'm not kidding around." 

Okay, maybe you are intimidated. That just makes messing with him more fun. 

The room he operates from, as you've so fondly monikered The Office, is in organised chaos, and much too dark. You drag a lone chair toward his control panel and set yourself down in front of all his screens and computers. 

"Ooh," you hum, reaching for an unlabelled switch with a purposeful slowness. 

Predictably, Miguel slams his hand over yours, yanking your chair back with an annoyed, "No." 

"Come on, Miguel. What harm could I possibly do?"

"You could–" 

"Topple the multiverse?" you suggest. "I've heard." 

"You could turn off every member of the Society's DMW. That's what that does. Potentially endangering each of their lives by stranding them in unfamiliar dimensions, and preventing them from correcting canon events." 

You feel bad for teasing him when you see the look on his face, anger and exhaustion and the slimmest allowance of defeat. It must be tough to lead the Spider-Society. Tougher to micromanage more than half of its members. 

Pulling your hand from under his, you cross your arms over your stomach and give him an apologetic frown. "Sorry, Miguel."

Evidence of his sweet spot for you lines his expression, softening his sharp jaw and the stoic set of his brow. It's gone as quick as it came, and his mask falls back into place. He turns away from you as though pretending you aren't there and scans one of his holographic screens, his face glowing with a yellow-orange haze. 

Miguel has to tolerate you, because you're a Spider-Girl. Though you've never called yourself that aloud, and you're not sure anyone else has, either, it's an undeniable truth. You were bitten by a radioactive spider that gave you super mutant abilities, though yours aren't as potent as others. You're not especially strong, you probably couldn't stop a bus with your bare hands, but you're smart. You haven't saved the world or anything, but you lost your Uncle Ben. You paid the toll. 

Every spider person has lost someone. Miguel seems to have lost more than that. 

"You know," you mumble, kicking the ground lightly to make your chair spin on its axle, "I've been thinking…" 

"That's never good." 

"Why do we wear our suits here?" you ask, spinning for a second time, the room moving past your eyes in flashes. "It seems performative." 

"Ah, I can answer that. Some of us work when we're here." 

You wrinkle your nose at his deadpan and kick the floor again, spinning so fast it makes you laugh. "What did you say? I can't hear you from your high horse– woah!" 

Miguel grabs the back of your chair, bringing you to a sudden and firm stop. You blink hoping it'll assuage the dizziness between your eyes, and when it doesn't work you keel forward, muttering, "Woah, I'm gonna die." 

"You won't die." 

"How do you know?" you ask. 

"You're under my watch, aren't you?" 

"I knew you liked me," you say. "Oh, I don't feel well." 

"You brought it on yourself." 

You catch your breath. When you feel okay enough to stand you almost trip, and Miguel doesn't bother pretending that he had any intention of stopping you from landing flat on your face. The you before the spider bite would've wiped out. This you giggles and holds Miguel's elbow for a second while you plant your feet. 

"Okay, boss-man," you ask, looking up at the unnaturally high screen he's investigating. "What are we doing today?" 

"I'm supervising a task force operation on Earth-31913. You're going home." 

"Miguel," you say, not sure if you want to flirt with him or piss him off. He looks incredibly pissed off already, so you choose flirtation. "Have I told you how handsome you look this evening?" 

He doesn't react. His hands don't so much as shift where they're akimbo on his hips. 

"You really have the most handsome eyes," you continue, weaving around his arm to stand in front of him. You have to crane your neck to see them. "Sulky. Do I really have to go home? I'd rather stay here with you." 

He looks down his nose at you. "Yeah?" he asks quietly, his voice rough as hewn stone.

"Yeah," you say, taking a small step back. 

"And do what?" 

You mirror his stance, hands on your hips. Your suit isn't form fitting like his, doesn't showcase nearly so much lean muscle, but you like it. You'd chosen a simple black ensemble to match the spider who bit you with a pinky purple heart over your stomach. Miguel had asked about it once, just once, when you'd first met and he had no idea how much of a problem for him you were going to become. 

Why there? 

Why do you think? you'd asked, giving him a sticky-sweet smile. 

Forget I asked. 

He lifts a hand to your chin, pinching it between two deft fingers. You're lucky he isn't wearing his gloves; his claws would pierce your jaw. 

"What do you want to do?" he asks, again so quietly. "If you stay?" 

"I could help with the task force." 

"That's what you want to do?" 

You flush with heat but refuse to let him know how you're feeling. Your heart bumps against your ribs, breath caught in your throat as he tilts your head up, as he leans down. 

"No," he says near your lips, "that's not it." 

"I could help you?" you offer. 

Something flashes in his eyes. You hesitate to call it lust. It reminds you of a cat with a mouse in it’s clutches, only his pupils are blown, black and inky and wide as dimes. 

"You want to help me?" he asks, his lips an inch, half of that from yours. 

You nod minutely. "Yes," you say under your breath. 

His hand moves to your cheek. He leans in closer and closer, until there's a hair's width of air between his mouth and yours, the tips of your noses bent together. His breath fans over your bottom lip and it's hot. You swear you can feel his heart as his chest presses to yours. He lingers there for an endless handful of seconds, silently egging you on.

You call his bluff and refuse to close the distance. 

Miguel pushes you away from him, far from cruel but certainly not sweet. "I have a tower of paperwork you can file," he says. 

"Here I thought you were finally going to bite my head off," you hum. "You're a sore loser, Miguel." 

"And you're my pest," he says, holding your gaze for a half-second too long. He turns away. "Lyla? Arrange the recounts from the last canon event for Spider-Girl's perusal, please." 

"So you've remembered I'm here?" Lyla asks wryly.

You don't mind the paperwork. You sign each one with a winky face and a pink gel pen heart, knowing Miguel will go over them all again, and knowing he'll grow angrier and angrier with each heart.

He'll kiss you and mean it one day. You just have to play the waiting game.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Hacker - Jack Daniels - Female Reader

Title: Hacker

Jack Daniels X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Champagne, Tequila, and Ginger

WC: 2,035

Warnings: Tequila is a bit of a jerk, flirting, Reader has problems with her emotions, and Reader has an American accent.

“And this is our new recruit, she doesn’t have a codename at the moment, so we’ll just call her Soda.” Champagne spoke, gesturing to you beside him.

“Hi.” You greeted, giving a short wave.

“She’s been transferred from Kingsmen, to help us on the next side mission.” Champagne continued, and you nodded, confirming.

“Well, Soda, since you will be needed in the next mission, Agent Whiskey, and Tequila, can show you around. Welcome to the team."

"Thank you, sir."

~~~

Walking through the halls of the Statemen Headquarters, both Whiskey and Tequila on either side of you, both men took their chances at flirting with the new agent. Once in the elevator, Tequila pressed the button for the second floor. As the elevator slowly began to move, it abruptly stopped, startling you and the two agents.

“I thought Ginger fixed the elevator?” Tequila asked in an irritated voice.

“It’ll start itself up, soon enough.” Whiskey spoke up, turning to you with a smirk.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. Great, you're stuck in an elevator with two annoying men.

“And, maybe after the tour, I can take the pretty lady out to a nice little diner with the best apple pie in the whole state.” Whiskey continued, hopefully.

Tequila scoffed, “Well I know this nice bar that has great service.”

“Can’t get nowhere without the elevator moving.” You finally spoke, pulling out a small laptop-type electronic from your satchel.

“You were from Kingsmen, but you have an American accent?” Whiskey asked, curiously.

“Yeah, I was born in America. Moved around a lot since then." You spoke, opening the gadget and turning it on, you held it in one hand, and began typing.

Whiskey watched you in awe. “You’re a hacker.”

“Yep, and I need complete silence." Well, you didn't, you just wanted them to stop talking.

Whiskey smirked as he watched you work and by no time, the elevator began to move again.

"How did you do that?" Tequila asked and you shrugged.

"I just hacked into the elevator's computer mainframe. Just some simple recoding and we're moving again. Simple fix." You explained, closing the device and putting it back in your bag.

The elevator dinged, signaling its arrival at the ground floor, and the three of you stepped out, heading to what you supposed was your office.

~~~

You sighed as you walked back into Whiskey's office for the third time today. The first time you came in, Whiskey had supposedly forgotten his password to his work computer and needed you to hack him in. The second time, around lunch, he asked if you could hack into Tequila's computer because Whiskey had accidentally sent him an embarrassing email. You were tempted to not delete the email off of Tequila's computer, just to embarrass Whiskey, but you deleted it anyway. You couldn't help but agree to help him. You walked over, crossing your arms as you stared down at Whiskey.

"What's wrong now?" You asked and Whiskey smirked.

"Well, darlin', it seems my computer isn't working. I think it's frozen." Whiskey said, frowning.

"Is it still plugged in?" You asked, and he nodded his head. "Then turn it off and back on again." You told him, hoping that would fix it.

Whiskey frowned but did as you asked. He turned the computer off, and back on again. It was silent for a few moments before a small chime sounded.

"Well, I can't believe it. You did it, sugar." He spoke with a grin.

"Of course I did it. But, you could've done it too. It was an easy fix." You mumbled, but Whiskey spoke up again.

"Well, it just shows just how smart you are, and why they chose you for this position." Whiskey smiled, and you rolled your eyes.

"That's… Not exactly true. I only fix computers right now." You spoke, and Whiskey shrugged.

"Well, I think you are a great asset to the team." Whiskey smiled again.

"Thanks," You muttered, blushing slightly.

Whiskey smirked, noticing your blush, "You know, you can call me, Jack." He spoke and you froze a bit.

"I think I'll stick with Whiskey." You spoke, and Whiskey smiled sadly.

"Alright, sugar. Well, thank you for the help." He spoke and you nodded before quickly leaving.

Your heart was beating so quickly in your chest, that you thought you were going to have a heart attack. Taking a few deep breaths, you tried to calm your racing heart and get the blush off your face. Oh, how that man knew how to make you blush. And he was just complimenting you. How dare he. Your cheeks burned redder.

Whiskey was all smiles as he began to get back to work. He couldn't stop thinking about you. He always wanted an excuse to be near you. He knew how to use his computer, but pretending he didn't was the only way he could see you so many times a day. When really, he'd only see you during real tech malfunctions and side missions. Whiskey bit his lip, thinking about it. Maybe he should ask you out on a date.

~~~

Walking down the hall, you thought about Whiskey. He was your co-worker and a bit older than you, but you found yourself liking him anyway. You just loved his whole cowboy aesthetic, and his southern charm. Plus, he had a nice drawl to his voice. And the way he looked at you, eyes half-lidded, smirk on his lips. Sometimes, you just didn’t want to look away. You shook your head, trying to clear those thoughts from your mind. You were here to do a job and nothing else.

"Soda, you're back!" Tequila called out to you, walking towards you.

"Huh?" You asked confused.

Tequila walked over to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

"I have been looking all over for you." He spoke, and you shrugged off his arm like you always did.

"I'm sorry, I was doing something important." You spoke up, and Tequila looked at you oddly.

"Like what?" He questioned, taking his arm away from you.

"Helping Whiskey." You spoke, beginning to walk back to your office, Tequila followed.

"Helping Whiskey, eh? That sounds fun." Tequila spoke, sounding more amused than annoyed.

"What are you trying to say, Tequila?" You asked, annoyed.

"Nothing... Nothing. Just that you and WHiskey seem close is all." He smirked.

"We are not close." You huffed and stopped, looking directly at him. "Why don't you bother someone else?"

Tequila raised an eyebrow, "I just don't understand why you always rush to help him. I have computer trouble all the time, but you don't help me."

"Because you're not stupid. You know how to reboot your computer... Ginger told me so." You snapped, and Tequila chuckled.

"I see that, darling." He spoke, laughing softly, and you rolled your eyes.

"I really wish you would stop calling me 'darling.'" You seethed and Tequila's smirk widened.

"Is that because you only let Whiskey call you that?" He questioned, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

"That's none of your business, Tequila." You spoke and he smirked.

"Oh, I know it's not my business. I'm just saying, there are a lot younger guys out there."

You stop walking, looking up at the agent.

"What are you suggesting, Tequila?"

He shrugged, "Nothing, just that you're a good girl and you deserve better than a guy like Whiskey."

You stood there for a moment, stunned by his words. You didn't look away from Tequila when he opened his mouth again.

"I mean, come on. He's too old for you."

Placing your hand on your hips, you glared up at the man. "Just because I'm ten years younger than him doesn't matter, Tequila. Now, if you would please leave me be, I actually have work I need to do." You scolded, before rushing off and into your shared office with Ginger.

~~~

"He is so annoying." You complained, entering the office and sitting down at your desk, mentally exhausted.

Ginger pushed up her glasses, "Whiskey?" She asked on the other side of the phone.

"No, Tequila." You replied, picking up your pen and fidgeting with it.

"What did he do this time?" She asked and you began to spin around in your office chair, holding your phone against your ear and shoulder.

"He told me that I should hang around guys my age. Which is annoying as heck. And, he said that Whiskey was too old for me. Freaking Tequila thinking he even had a chance with me in the first place." You grumbled.

"So, does Whiskey have a chance with you?" Ginger asked, and you rolled your eyes.

"Ginger, I swear to God, if you tease me about Whiskey..." You began but Ginger interrupted.

"I know, hon. But, I know that you know that you really like him. So, I guess I'm asking you." You sighed.

"I suppose I do like him. But, it wouldn't be right for me to date a coworker." You blushed, frowning.

"Well, we don't have any rules against it here," Ginger spoke, and you sighed, looking off as you placed your pen back down on your desk.

"I don't know... I got to go..." You murmured quietly.

"Where are you going?" Ginger asked, and you paused.

"I don't know." You spoke before ending the call.

~~~

You wandered around the base, finding yourself thinking about Whiskey. You couldn't help it. You liked him a lot. But, there was so much going on. Work, missions, life. You didn't know if you could hold back from crying. Soon, you found a wine cellar, probably one that Champagne used for parties. Sitting down on a large wooden crate, you finally let yourself cry.

"Hey, sugar. What cha doing hiding over here?" Whiskey asked, starting you. You gasped and jumped up.

"Whiskey!" You cried, wiping the tears from your eyes.

"Sorry, darlin'. I didn't mean to startle ya." He smirked, and you nodded, looking down to hide your embarrassed face.

Whiskey came over, worried, and sat down beside you. "Are you alright, darlin'?" He asked and you shook your head.

"Who made you cry? I can teach them a lesson or two for you." Whiskey joked, but you weren't laughing.

"Tequila." You sniffled, rubbing your eyes.

"What did he say to ya darlin'?" Whiskey asked, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You didn't push him away, instead, you scooted closer, leaning your head against him. Surprising Whiskey, he frowned, and began rubbing your arm up and down soothingly.

"It's nothing, Jack." You spoke, and Whiskey's breath hitched.

You said his name. Whiskey froze, his heart racing, his stomach fluttering. His body was burning up, and he felt weak. Whiskey was in love with you. Whiskey was in love with Soda. Whiskey was in love with Soda.

"It can't be nothin' sweetheart if it made you cry." Whiskey spoke, and you looked up at him.

"I'm sorry, Jack. It's just…" You started to explain, but Whiskey cut you off.

"Don't worry about it, sugar. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He spoke and you nodded, biting your lip.

"I need to, Jack." You spoke and Jack stayed quite waiting for you to continue. "I... I really like you, Jack. And it scares me."

Jack stayed silent for a moment, his mouth had gone dry. Wetting his lips, he couldn't believe that you liked him back. "Well, that's swell, darlin'. 'Cause I like you a mighty lot." He chuckled lightly.

"Really?" You asked and Jack nodded.

"I sure do. Been trying to get myself to ask you on a date for weeks now." He confessed, feeling his own face flush.

"I'd love to go on a date with you, Jack." You answered and Jack smiled widely, pulling you closer to him, and wrapping his other arm around you in a hug.

"My... That's the best news I've heard all day."

~~~

"Wait, you knew that you just had to turn your computer off and on again... Didn't you?"

"Well, darlin', I just had to see you today."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Jack."

"Hmmm, are you sure?"

"... Yes?"

"Want to get some apple pie?"

"Yes."

[guccigarantine]

It’s every gay person’s nightmare: the person you ghosted on a dating app is now the one running the time travel murder game you got yourself involved in 

Two whole hours and I still hadn’t figured out what to do. It sounded decent in theory to just talk to him, but this was a game about murder. This was the guy who made the game about murder and my plan was to tell him forcefully that I was going to make him stay. I’m supposed to get out of this situation through my wits alone? Past me had so much confidence in present me-- or maybe he hated present me. “Sorry, not my problem.” Signed, Past Me.

Ryan looked nervously to the door and then back to his phone, perhaps checking to see if CANNONBALL had emailed him back about anything since it was taking so long for the door to open. I squinted. Ryan looked... eerily familiar. I didn’t think that he looked like someone else. I had the distinct impression that I had seen him somewhere before. My mind wandered, and it was as I thought about how he was sort of my type that I made the connection.

I flung open the door. “Seriously, it’s you?” I asked.

 A few expressions swept over Ryan’s face. Confusion that I wasn’t CANNONBALL, fear and anger as he realized that CANNONBALL’s involvement in WOE.BEGONE had likely just been compromised, and finally recognition.

“Mike Walters, pleased to meet you,” I said and smiled a fake smile.

“You’re from--”

 I interrupted him. “We don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to.”

“I know, but what are the odds?” He asked, jaw slightly agape.

[Beat]

“He left all his data unsecured. I found all kinds of stuff on--”

He interrupted me. “We’re seriously not going to talk about it? Are you embarrassed? Or maybe discreet or...?”

I blushed. “Fine. Yes, we messaged back and forth on Scruff a long time ago.” Scruff is a dating app, mostly for masculine gay men looking for other masculine gay men, but its use is a little bit broader than it sounds from that description and its more feature-rich than Grindr and apparently there are local guys in your area who are down to alter space time tonight. We had exchanged some messages and non-lewd images on there a long time ago. Well, a gay long time ago, so like a year and a half. Gay temporality is a type of time travel in itself.

“You were hot. I forget why we stopped talking,” he said. See, podcast listeners? Proof that I am in fact hot. I mean, as long as you take my word on it that he said that I was hot.

“I probably flaked or we didn’t have enough in common. Hobbies and interests are really important to me. I can’t believe we are having this conversation while I have a guy tied up in his own apartment and not in the fun way,” I said.

[Beat]

“That’s a shame. There’s a parallel universe where we kept talking and you’d be on the other side of this WOE.BEGONE game,” he said. “I mean, literally. There’s literally another dimension where that happens. A statistically significant number of dimensions, actually. I could probably write a program to figure out roughly how many. Finding them would be almost impossible, though.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said.

[Beat]

“I guess you aren’t going to let me in on this whole thing, are you?” I asked.

“For someone as sexy and smart as you… no,” he said.

[Beat]

“Is your goal to hunt down the quantum computer so that you can seize it for yourself and skip the middleman?” I asked.

“Well, it seems like you have some fun ideas of your own, so I won’t ruin your fun. You seem to get off on wildly speculating. You should add that to your Scruff profile,” he said.

“I try to imply that through euphemism on my profile,” I shot back.

“Guys on Scruff don’t get subtext, Mike,” he said.

 As frustrated as I was with Ryan, nothing that he was saying was untrue. “What are you going to do when you walk out of this apartment?” I asked. “I assume that I am relatively safe based on what you have said to me tonight.”

“I don’t have to decide that right now. I can decide it whenever I want to. But I know what would make it most entertaining for me,” he said. “I think what I’ll end up doing is getting a little closer--” He came and sat right beside me on the couch I was on. “And leaning in real close--” He brought his lips up to my ear. “And in the faintest whisper, telling you...”

And then I woke up standing in the middle of the fucking road! [Punches desk]