dollpocalypse: (neu: i can't really take care of myself)
The world hadn't ended. The world was okay and there were people hugging and crying, but the lights were still off in the room across the hall from his, which meant that Topher had only one place to check.

He didn't run, though it was a near thing, and that was mainly because his legs still felt a little shaky after having flown around a freaking mountaintop on a wingless dragon. So he walked, his heart pounding erratically with worry and hope. A nervous habit kicked in, and as he stepped into view of the very tip of the island, Topher brought one knuckle up into his mouth to chew on uncertainly.

Please let him be there, please let him be there...

[[For guess who.]]
dollpocalypse: (neu: crumbling around me)
Topher did not wish to leave the lab. Really. He was perfectly content to stay there for a good long while. Maybe get a hamster or something. He and Warren could live there forever and grow beards and learn pizza delivery guys by name (if the world didn't end and wipe out pizza delivery guys forever) and he'd learn all about wings and bunnies and hamsters and probably sleep in Tony's suit or something.

However. Supposedly there were things around town that were trying to eat people. So Peter wanted him to move.

And plus, it was probably a good idea to get a change of underwear at some point. And pizza delivery guys didn't get that stuff for you. Not that he'd asked, or anything.

But... lab. Cozy. Comfy. Full of tech that could possibly save the world. And it smelled comforting, like engine grease and Tony. And Warren was here, and and and...

Okay. Yeah. Topher definitely wasn't leaving anytime soon. He was just going to take two steps outside in the direction of the dorms so he could tell Peter he'd tried, then probably hurry back into the lab. That was the best possible plan, right? Right.

[[For them whose services are getting have been requested, and then that girl who knows who she is.]]
dollpocalypse: (neg: might weep)
Topher flung the door open with more force than he'd ever realized he was capable of, his heart pounding. That was partially from having run all the way here while crying, though the helpless grief and rage battling inside him was also a close second. He couldn't remember ever feeling like this before -- like he'd just lost something completely irreplacable and there was nothing he could do. He couldn't fix it with science or programming or anything without at least a scan of Tony's brain and a wildly undeserved medical degree. It was just... just the worst thing ever.

He kicked the floor, and then, finding that unhelpful, threw the phone and that stupid orb he was still holding onto the ground and hurled a hard punch at the wall.

Fuck, that hurt.

But it did kill some of the helpless feeling, at least. Now there was just... grief.

With a choked sob, Topher collapsed down to the floor with his back to the wall, cradling his bleeding hand and just hating everything.

[[I'M SORRY. HE JUST HAS A LOT OF FEELINGS. for two, and NFB.]]
dollpocalypse: (tech: hand snappy)

As it turned out, it was harder to take stories down from a kink meme than you might think. Perils of posting anonymously and all that -- no easy delete button.

Which was why it was fortunate that Topher didn't need a delete button, and managed with little trouble to not only take the story down, but also to gift the moderators with some thoughtful presents to express his appreciation of their entire stupid system.

Mean, system-disrupty presents. Sorry, Pepper totally anonymous moderators.

At least it felt useful to do that rather than the whole video-game-zombie-killing thing. That was a plus. Once he was finished, he considered working a bit on some of Peter's spybots, since his weetiny self had not been kind to them, but the memory of working on them with Tony put that on a definite hold.

So. Moping Hacking for sport it was.

[[for that guy getting a jump start on his career as a heartbreaker actually screw that, i'm bored. door shut but post open.]]

dollpocalypse: (neg: why does the suit want to hurt me?)
After an hour and twenty-five minutes spent trying to trace a text message that had just come in on his phone, Topher was forced to conclude two things: one, it was legit, and two, he sort of wanted to crawl under his bed and never come out ever again.

But there were bags of chips under his bed and he really didn't want to find out if the chips had rodent friends down there, so he had to settle for burrowing under the blankets instead, laptop open in front of him as he vengefully and imprecisely shot at zombies in a video game.

Like this weekend hadn't been bad enough. Like he hadn't gotten a stupid (albeit newly vanished) haircut and a hangover. Like he hadn't made a total moron out of himself in front of Ben and Jello Girl and Peter, then hurt his hand making the world's shittiest piece of technology. Now he'd done something to piss Tony off too, and -- here was the kicker -- he didn't even know what it was. Because Tony already knew about that stupid fanfiction story that that bitch Karla had told everyone about, and he hadn't been mad at him after the whole lap-sitting thing on Thursday night, and their encounter as kids on Saturday hadn't been too horrible, and nothing bad had happened in frat, so... what was it?

For a second, he wondered if maybe Kenzi had said something... but they weren't close, were they? He dismissed the idea and shot furiously at zombies. The volume was up ridiculously high, but he wasn't too bothered by the noise of the explosions right now. Or the gore. Even the stuff that normally squicked him out was fine.

[[Door closed, post wide open. This kid. So much emo.]]

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