#hackthis

[lossano]

Charging up my old friend for tomorrow's big election coverage. #HackThis #HelloMoto #Razr #Ha! (at Chicago, Illinois)

[whystherumgong]

does anyone know if hackthis is still alive and set up somewhere on the internet? i remember when she stopped posting on livejournal and i kept refreshing the page every other week hoping she’d return but she seemed to just vanish. 

[akapro]

So I searched the script from tonight's #mrrobot and got this prompt.. But I can't find anything anywhere about what to do next? #femtocell #usa #hackthis

[dadvans]

Viggo with Orlando was another person. The sort of person who recited Baudelaire wearing a sarong at an oyster bar. The kind of guy who sang Blondie songs at karaoke and did three encores. The man who didn’t care if anyone saw his paint-stained fingers twisted in another man’s curly hair as they shared a silent joke. Orlando was more of a daredevil than Hayden. Impressive. He had no fear. Not of parasailing, base jumping, sky-diving, tattoos, piercings, motorcycles or telling people exactly what he thought. Viggo loved practical jokes, but Orlando just loved the silliness of life. “If you worry about the end, mate, you don’t get a middle or a beginning.” Orlando’s delivery was saucy, with a flick of a tongue and a wink, but the sentiment was pure Viggo. Hayden once again reassessed their relationship. Orlando always left him guessing. Like he did when the three of them wandered over to The Crab Shack for Tequila Sunrises and sand dabs. Viggo and Orlando abandoned Hayden inside for a tour of the patio. “Fancy meeting you here.” Ewan really said that, but he had the grace to start laughing on the ‘m’ in meeting. He whipped a chair out from under the table Hayden sat at; Hayden was watching Viggo and Orlando through the huge, plate glass window to the patio. They were buying drinks for Japanese tourists. Ewan straddled the back of his chair. “Sorry about Jude.” “You don’t have…look…” Hayden turned and looked at Ewan. Light blue t-shirt, more of a tan Hayden could ever remember seeing, the natural red in his hair back along with the messy tangle of thick hair with no real style at all. Ewan tried on a smile. It slithered away when Hayden just stared. Hayden with Ewan was another person. The sort of person who broke dishes and thought about hurting himself. The kind of guy who didn’t think he could share because he wanted so so very much. The man who brushed a thumb over the mole on another man’s face and ate Ewan's unfounded apologies right there in front of God and Japanese tourists.

the color of wheat series, ethrosdemon & hackthis (i can’t believe it’s been an entire decade, ugh, i still think about this fic--this segment--on a regular basis)

[myrecs]

Sir, Not to Get Homoerotic about this... by hackthis

Brad/Nate

Brad has to kiss him. Just this once. Afterwards he'll apologize, go away, be what everybody else wants, but he needs this. He needs this more than anything else. He leans in, down just a fraction, and presses his lips against Nate's. Nate's mouth is soft, and Brad just stays there, pressing their lips together. And then Nate makes this noise, this very soft moan, and Brad has to respond, Brad has to taste him, trace the seam of his lips with his tongue. 

[myrecs]

Kobayashi Maru by hackthis

Arthur/Eames

R

"Eames is in Mombasa." Arthur knows that those four words are nothing more to Cobb than a location.  A factual reply. Cobb knew Arthur would know where Eames is. He asked because he knew Arthur would have an answer. Coordinates. Potentially an address. Probably a phone number. But Arthur doesn't have any of those things.

[myrecs]

Get Some by hackthis

Brad/Nate

NC17

Brad Colbert is bored. Nate knows this because he can feel Brad staring at him from his desk one aisle over and two chairs back. On the other side of the classroom, Ray Person's making obscene hand signals in Nate's general direction, ostensibly to get Brad's attention. At least it better be to get Brad's attention, or somebody's going to have an accident in the weight room before practice.