#Mar writes something

[eclectic-sassycoweyes]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tags @paperstorm @heartstringsduet @everlastingday @henrygrass @nisbanisba @whatsintheboxmh @alrightbuckaroo @carlossreaders

An idea for a future/Jonah fic merged with Ranch Fic which I believed I've shared a bit of before. It won't leave my head. Here is a snippet from a chapter in which Jonah starts preschool and brings home a gift in the form a stomach bug they all get to take their turn with. Look how happy the little guy is with himself.

Thus this snippet is also me jumping aboard the Carlos Sickfic train whoo Niz you're still the captain and the driver I'm just joining the ride for a bit! Warnings for descriptions of nausea and a mention of throwing up but no more than those exact words.

He kind of wants to check in on Jonah and TK, wants to say goodbye to Jonah before he leaves for half the day but his eyelids are already drooping and the nausea still sits on the edge of his consciousness. He feels like he has a small window of time wherein if he just moves very little and goes to sleep soon he might be able to skip the next bout of nausea.

His wish is granted anyway as the bedroom door opens, Jonah entering first along with TK’s voice reminding him to be gentle, TK himself emerging last.

“He wanted to show you the dragon he chose,” TK says as Jonah climbs carefully up the bed to sit next to Carlos.

“Hey Jonah," Carlos says, fighting to keep his eyes open as he pushes Jonah’s bangs away from his forehead. He’s gonna need a haircut again soon. “Did you choose a good one?”

“Look!” Jonah says, pulling at the hem of his shirt and puffing his chest out, proudly showcasing the pink dragon on the front.

“Wow, mijo, that’s a really good choice,” Carlos says, making Jonah beam up at TK at the confirmation that they chose right.

“Are you gonna wear your pajamas to work, Carlos?” Jonah parrots TK from earlier. He does that a lot these days. Sometimes it makes him say weirdly wise things that sound way too adult coming from his four year old voice which always makes Carlos laugh.

“Carlos gets to stay home and sleep some more, because he’s sick, remember? Just like you stayed home when you were sick.”

“Did you throw up?” Jonah asks, turning to Carlos with wide eyes. He looks a mix between concerned and intrigued.

“Yeah, but just like you I’ll feel better again in no time,” Carlos reassures with a out upon smile. He hopes he's right.

“Do you want an ice pop?” Jonah asks, remembering that had made him feel better.

“Maybe later,” Carlos smiles at him. “But that was a nice thought, mijo. Thank you.”

Jonah looks like he’s thinking hard trying to come up with something else that will magically heal Carlos. He’s so sweet and caring, just like his brother. TK interrupts him before he can suggest any more remedies, heartwarming as they are.

“Okay, buddy,” TK says. “Time for breakfast I think, so we can get to preschool on time.”

“Can we make omelets?” Jonah asks, sufficiently distracted. Carlos usually lets him ‘help’ when he makes omelets in the morning and Jonah loves being delegated with small but very important tasks.

TK chuckles. “Sure. I don’t know if I can make them as good as Carlos though,” he says. “You’ll have to ask him for the secret ingredient.”

“What’s the secret ingredient Carlos?” 

Another time Carlos will tell Jonah how to make his favorite omelet, but right now Carlos can’t bear the thought of pronouncing the word of any food related item. “Love,” he says instead, ruffling Jonah’s hair, trying not to show that even the act of lifting his arm feels like a tremendous effort. Jonah frowns for a moment before he giggles like Carlos just said a super silly thing.

“Love? You can’t put love in an omelet Carlos!”

“Sure you can,” Carlos says. “You just have to make the omelet for someone you love and that’s how you put love into it.” He doesn’t know where the spontaneous pocket philosophy comes from and he hopes he hasn’t made a mistake in case the omelet TK and Jonah whip up for some reason isn’t to Jonah’s liking.

Kids don’t think that deep, he tells himself. Jonah will probably have forgotten about it in the time it takes them to go from the bedroom to the kitchen. And besides he fully trusts TK’s abilities when it comes to cooking. 

His jumbled overthinking is interrupted by Jonah making his heart grow two sizes and do a little dance in his chest. “Then we have to make some for Carlos too TK! So we can put love in it!”

Unfortunately his stomach seems inspired by his heart to start matching its little dance routine. Thinking anymore about omelets, let alone one being made for him that he has to eat, isn’t helping. He feels his little window of time starting to close as the nausea begins tauntingly closing back in on him. Luckily TK seems to read it on his face. Or maybe he’s just turning visibly green.

“We’ll make some for him to save for later,” he says. Planting a soft kiss to Carlos forehead he tells him “You should try to finish that glass of water though, if you can. I’ll bring you a new one before we leave.”

Turning back to Jonah he says more loudly, "Now, can you say bye to Carlos so we can let him sleep?” to Carlos he says softly “You look ready to, baby.” 

Carlos only hums in response.

Jonah rises up from his knees on the bed, putting him at eye level with Carlos as he wraps his little arms around his neck. “Bye, Carlos. Feel better,” he says before turning back to TK, putting his arms in the air to be lifted off the bed.

Carlos musters his last energy for a sincere “Bye Jonah. I love you,” But Jonah has apparently already moved on, or rather back to discussing what to put into the omelet, beside love.

“And ham,” he says as TK lifts him under the armpits and sets him back on the floor.

“And cheese!” he says, “And eggs and pepper and-” 

“Okay buddy,” TK interrupts quickly, sending Carlos an apologetic wince before quickly ushering Jonah out of the bedroom, as he keeps listing ingredients. 

Once the door is closed behind them, Carlos takes a few steadying breaths, the nausea thankfully retreating back to the peripherals. Having learned to listen to TK when it comes to medical advice, he sips the water until the glass is almost empty before he gingerly lays down, foregoing his own freshly clean pillowcase in favor of TK’s, and pulling their shared blanket up and over his body. He shifts a little to make himself as comfortable as he can and then closes his eyes.

He doesn’t hear when TK creeps in half an hour later to replace the near empty glass of water, or the front door opening and closing as they leave to drop Jonah off at preschool.

OPEN TAG

And tagging @herefortarlos @emsprovisions @paperstorm @heartstringsduet @ironheartwriter

@bonheur-cafe @ladytessa74 @sapphic--kiwi @literateowl @lemonlyman-dotcom

@rangersoup @theghostofashton @everlastingday @henrygrass

@freneticfloetry @liminalmemories21 @carlossreaders @chicgeekgirl89

@the-126-family @goodways @carlos-in-glasses @whatsintheboxmh @tailoredshirt

@nisbanisba @nancys-braids @your-catfish-friend @rmd-writes @goldenskykaysani

@captain-gillian @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @alrightbuckaroo @tellmegoodbye

@carlos-tk @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @pimento-playing-hopscotch @firstprince-history-huh @thisbuildinghasfeelings

@never-blooms @lightningboltreader @welcometololaland

I finally made a taglist so lmk if you want to be removed from it or added to it!:)

[deanstubble]

it's no surprise to anyone that dean is freaky as hell— 100% the type to love leaving hickeys and love bites on you. he's obsessed with the idea of claiming u as his and have everyone else see it. but even with all that possessiveness, your comfort is always his top priority— he would only go there if you enjoy it as much as he does.

it drives that man wild seeing your skin marked up, knowing you let him do that. honestly, it makes him hard as a rock seeing how much you love being claimed as his and how equally obsessed you are with each other. how much you both seem to be so in tune with one another's needs.

for dean, it’s more than just wanting you— it’s needing to see the proof. those marks on your skin— each bite and hickey are proof of how much you’re his. every time he sees them, he’s reminded of how deeply you’ve let him claim you, and that drives him even crazier. knowing how much you crave his touch, the immense desire to be marked by him, and how proud you are to be his— it makes him burn with a hunger that nothing else can satisfy but you.

[not-an-alien-scientist]

Human: Dude I'm not so sure about this whole pack bonding thing you've been talking about humans don't even like each other

Alien: Well is it not true that your species collectively grieved over a non-sentient robot on the planet I believe you designate as "'Mars"?

Human: Okay look, that's different, Opportunity's last words just broke our hearts okay

Alien: But... it did not send a last message of words. It was merely the last data recorded by the non-sentient robot. The data showed scientists low power and also indicated the skies on the planet were dark to the point where no sunlight was visible at the time of the last data transfer, nothing more. x

Human: Exactly

Alien: So why does your species grieve over basic data?

Human: Well you just said it "My battery is low and its getting dark"

Alien: That is a poetic translation of basic data

Human: Are you trying to dishonor Opportunity's work?

Alien: N-no I jus- - -

Human: Opportunity was a good boy who did his best. End of story *huffs out and goes to grab some soda*

Alien: *watches human walk away without any farewell words* ?!?!? *jots down in notes* [ Humans can be very protective of their own even when challenged with basic facts, proceed with caution when discussing pack mates of any type, including all non-sentient pack mates. ]

[wolvesbaned]

sad butch werewolf i love you.

[fawnssy]

he’s like a little bug 🤲

[cruesuffix]

if you love him so much why don’t ya marry him??!!! /j

(but also nikki can you kiss and make up with him already, jeez…)

[mossy-paws]

Lightblox (PHIGHTING!)

“And I’m floating in a most peculiar way, And the stars look very different today.”

alt versions:

[bugsinshoes]

"MORE AYSEL CONTENT!" i say as i throw this to you.

i have had the concept rattling around in my brain for a while, and I've finally done it!

i like to imagine Ford kept a few journals documenting his travels during those 30 years he was gone, so i couldn't help myself but make a page when ford first met aysel.

i actually had a lot of fun making this hehehehe :-]

(close ups under the cut)

[lemongogo]

why do i love the conflict more than anything else . the misery . the incompatibility that spreads like oil slick . wanting so desperately for resolution that never comes . hmmm

[eclectic-sassycoweyes]

Mr. Perfect, Book and Cover

- a Tarlos Library Meet Cute and a graduation gift for @emsprovisions 🥳 - pairs with this completely amazing art by @whatsintheboxmh

Eeeemmmm!!!! You did it!!! You’re freee!!! I’m so freakishly proud and over the moon for you my friend💗💗 and I’m very excited to hear what the other side is like!! (just please spare me some details until I’m done with exams in February please).

You making it to the other side, making it through every single annoying assignment, ending your days of always feeling a little bit bad for doing something you enjoy because you could be doing homework instead - all that needs to be celebrated to the fullers!!🎊 (Also you need to be celebrated because you are a kind, lovely, sexy, sweet christmas loving button who sneaks around keeping secrets and then sprinkles holiday joy on one lucky person a day after the other for this whole month.)

Without further ado, have some Tarlos Library Meet Cute for you on your last day of classes!💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Placing the novel on top of his already tall stack of cook books, Carlos turns slowly, carefully balancing them in his arms, with a plan to head to the counter. Only as he turns he comes face to face with a sight that he is by now, too embarrassingly familiar with.

For a moment he’s too stunned to realize what or rather who the sight implies, too stunned in fact to do anything but stare transfixed on two beautifully rounded globes perfectly accentuated by snug jeans, loose fitted just enough that they don’t reel anything in either.

He’s too busy wondering what it would be like to place his hands right there, thumbs pressing in just above, resting on the top of the plump cheeks, fingers gripping around soft hips; Imagining the feeling under his hands of the pink sweater that’s rucked up as if purposefully making the most magnificent ass Carlos has ever laid his eyes on pop out even more as if that’s even necessary..

He is abruptly pulled out of his daydreaming by a cheerful “Hey Carlos!” coming from somewhere above him. And then several unfortunate events transpire almost at once.

All the blood in his body changes the slow but steady downwards direction it was going in to rush up to his face, his cheeks flushing as he practically tears his gaze from the gorgeous butt, up, up, up, until it lands on the somehow even more devastating sight that is TK’s face beaming down at him.

In a voice sounding like he just travelled 15 years back in time and hit puberty all over again, Carlos yelps out a “TK!” Gathering himself and trying not to think TK probably having just caught him staring at his ass, he clears his throat to make himself sound more like his actual age and then continues to make a fool of himself “I didn’t think you were working today!”

He doesn’t phrase it as a question, rather he almost sounds accusing, and now he’s just gone and revealed that he has memorized TK’s work schedule maybe a little too well. He can feel a small bead of sweat forming on his temple and he feels stuffy in his jacket suddenly.

The worst thing is that while all this has been happening, he’s been desperately and probably very unsubtly trying to restack his books, trying and failing to look casual about it, in an attempt to hide the book he had just placed on top, the hunky, bare chested man in a cardigan and hot-librarian glasses on the cover bearing an obvious and uncanny resemblance to the man currently smiling down at him from the ladder he’s perched on.

The attempts at concealment results in several of the books catapulting dramatically out of his hands, Mr. Perfect, Book and Cover landing on the floor face up and right at TK’s feet.

Within the span of two minutes Carlos has regressed back to his teenage self, his cheeks flushed, voice rising and falling in uncontrollable pitches, and beginning to smell faintly of the type of sweat that comes from your nerves and hormones constantly being in overdrive; he has been uncharacteristically impolite, and on top of it all has managed to reveal not only that he’s memorized TK’s work schedule but also that he likes to read cheesy romance novels about hot librarians - all in front of his crush, who happens to be a librarian.

His crush, who is still smiling down at him, although now also starting to look a little puzzled and slightly concerned as he descends the ladder slowly as if worried that any sudden movements will spook Carlos further. Carlos kind of wants to hit himself on top of his head with a hammer repeatedly.

TK is bending down to pick the books up and, rising, he places them back in Carlos’ arms where the ones that didn’t escape are still stacked. It makes Carlos feel like he’s in some cheesy romantic high school comedy.

Mr. Perfect, Book and Cover is still lying face-up on the floor, and Carlos doesn’t act fast enough to prevent disaster. Before he manages to do anything to stop it, TK is bent down again, picking it up for him while Carlos stands there paralyzed watching it happen in slow motion.

All Carlos can hope for at this point is that TK won’t know that it’s a gay cheesy romance novel and he can pretend he’s just picking it up for his sister or something, but as TK picks up the book recognition shines in his eyes and Carlos cringes internally.

“Oh this is a cute one!” He says, smiling brightly as he hands Carlos the book. “Although the cover is a little cliché,” he laughs and Carlos is so dead. He’s never coming back to this library. It’s too bad though he really liked it. He hasn’t experienced a library having both such a good cook book section and an lgbt+ section that updates its selection of cheesy romance novels every month.

“I picked that out myself actually,” TK talks on but Carlos can barely hear him above the ringing in his ears. He vaguely registers TK say something about the librarian theme being his own little inside joke, and oh god, TK must be aware of how much that guy on the cover looks like him. Carlos has never felt so mortified. And okay, maybe he’s being a tad overdramatic but Carlos has also never experienced a crush like the one he has on TK, and he’s usually pretty good at keeping himself out of embarrassing situations.

“Carlos? Are you okay?” Carlos is once again brought out of a spiral, this time of another kind, by TK’s voice, this time laden with the same concern that colors his face. “Do you need to sit down?” Now TK’s is reaching out a tentative hand towards him and Carlos needs to answer before he has an even more embarrassing reaction to TK actually touching him.

“I’m fine!” He squeaks and seriously what’s up with the puberty part two he’s apparently going through right now? He’s 29 not 15 goddammit! The universe must hate him. TK is understandably not looking very convinced.

“Are you sure? It is pretty hot I’m here and you are wearing a lot of clothes.”

Carlos has to hold himself back from making the situation worse by laughing hysterically at the non-innuendo that only serves his earlier thought about being stuck in some bad romantic comedy. Or maybe more like a bad porn. Maybe removing Mr. Perfect, Book and Cover from the shelf opened up a portal that sucked Carlos in without him knowing and now he’s stuck in the story being badly flirted with by Mr. Perfect himself. He’s realizing his thoughts are a clear sign that he definitely isn’t done spiraling.

He gathers all his self control and manages a completely sane sounding “really, I’m fine,“ and even pairs it with a very normal-looking smile.

“Alright,” TK says slowly, retracting his hand to Carlos’ immense relief. “If you’re sure,” he adds, the concern dissipating hesitantly from his eyes.

Carlos realizes that now is the time to engage in polite small talk to prove to TK that he is really both physically and mentally okay, but there is something naggingly floating around just outside his head and out of reach, something his brain can’t put together. If TK recognizes the book.. if he picked it out..

He can’t finish the thought before he’s interrupted for the third time by TK, who is now the one looking sheepish for some reason, a lovely pink blush adorning his cheeks to go with the green of his eyes. One more thing that Carlos has become familiar with to an embarrassing degree considering how few times he’s actually seen them.

“So,” TK begins, looking briefly down and biting his lip, “I’m actually glad I ran into you. I was um-,” and now it’s TK’s turn to clear his throat before he continues: “Well I was wondering if uh- if- whether you were doing anything this Saturday?” He finishes, blinking back up at Carlos and smiling cutely, eyes sparkling, and looking, for the first time since Carlos met him, a tiny bit insecure.

[loversj0y]

stoner wilbur

you decide to start being more outgoing, though after a party doesnt go perfectly to plan, a classmate is there to help you out a bit

wilbur soot x reader

this is lil gift for @lyssys

tw for smoking, marijuana, and mentions of being overwhelmed. also slight suggestive material

word count: 2.1k

pls do not smoke unless u are of legal age and live in a place where it is legal for you to <3

You weren’t one to usually go to house parties. They were gross, full of way too many people, and entirely overwhelming. However, you made an exception this time because you decided, with the new year and the new semester starting, that you wanted to get out more. Your number of friends were quickly dwindling down, so your resolution was to do better: start saying yes instead of no (as long as you were comfortable and safe). You felt more comfortable and safe going to this party than most of the ones you’d heard about recently. It was being thrown by some first-year undergrads, so unlike some cheap frat party, you actually had a bit of hope. You were older than most of the people at the party, but there were of few of your classmates there, so you didn’t feel entirely out of place. The party’s hosts were loud, and when you’d seen them at first, you geniunely thought that they were some year twelves who’d snuck in. However, you quickly realized that these were, in fact, the people throwing the party, considering how one of them, Tommy, had run up to you and handed you a bottle of beer, calling it “compliments of the host” as if he was some Gatsby-ian party thrower and not an 18 year old trying to leave a good impression on the older students. The beer was cheap, but not horrible, you’d certainly had worse, but it was when you finished drink two – a cup of their finest jungle juice, Tommy noted – that you started to feel just how overwhelming the whole environment was. You could feel the bass in the music through your skull, and you found a way to escape the bright LEDs by slipping through the door to the back yard. 

You took a deep breath, pleased by the much calmer atmosphere of the backyard. There were Edison bulb string lights hung up around the backyard, giving it a nice glow, as well as a small table with a few seats. There were a few people, but they seemed to corral themselves towards the left side of the fence. It was such a stark contrast to the inside, and you felt chilled by the outside air, though it was more likely the lack of people accounting for the temperature change. As you took a deep breath, wanting to steady yourself, you heard a voice from behind you.

“Y/N?” 

You turned quickly. It was one of your classmates, you knew that, but you struggled to place him for a moment. He was leaning against the wall cooly, one hand fiddling with a small metal container. He was tall, with soft brown curls that fell in front of his face. It hit you after a moment. 

“Wilbur, right? From sound editing?”

He nodded, his face seemingly lighting up when you remembered him. You walked over, hands in your pockets, standing at a slight distance. 

“What are you doing here? Not to sound rude, but you’re the last person I expected to see in a place like this.”

“I could ask you the same,” he chuckled softly, “but Tommy is my… not brother, but he may as well be. We grew up together. He invited me, and I didn’t want to say no.”

You nodded softly. “That makes sense. He’s quite a loud one. Never would’ve expected the two of you to be close.”

“Trust me, I question it every day.” He smiled, and you don’t know how you never noticed just how nice of a smile he had. “What about you?”

“Hm?” You had to bring yourself back to the conversation, a bit distracted by him, “Oh. I’ve been trying to say yes to more things. Be more outgoing and stuff. Really make the most of the whole ‘University Experience.’” You joked lightly. 

“Oh, yeah? How’s that been working out for you?”

“Well… this is my first time actually doing anything different, so it’s only up from here, I suppose.”

He nodded, smiling a bit, “What are you doing out here then? Not exactly being outgoing if you’re standing out here alone.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m alone,” you smiled up at him, the alcohol in your system making you a tad bit more bold than normal. Then you sighed lightly, answering his question, “I got a bit overwhelmed. As you noticed, this isn’t exactly my environment.”

“Ahh,” he nodded, making a noise of understanding. “I know what you mean. I got the same feeling, actually. Hence why I’m out here,” He brought a hand up, adjusting the beanie on his head. He lifted the metal container in his hand, “to calm down.”

You gave the container a better look now in the light, recognizing it as a cigarette tray. “Cigarettes? I didn’t think you’d be the type”

“Not cigarettes,” he chuckled lightly. He opened it up, pulling out a joint. Oh. “Do you smoke?”

You shook your head, “Uh, not really, I’ve done it a few times, but I-”

“Sorry, let me rephrase. Do you want to smoke?”

You looked up at him. This boy, who had no business being this cute and who you shared one class with, was offering for you to get high with him. You thought back to your oath of saying yes more often. Well, he didn’t make you uncomfortable, and you were in a pretty safe place anyways, so… “Yeah.”

He grinned softly, putting the joint up to his lips, and somehow, that alone put a blush on your cheeks. He had no damn right to look this good while smoking. He pulled out a zippo, flicking it open with ease and lighting the joint, taking a long drag. He made it look so incredibly sensual and easy. He pulled the joint from his lips, handing it over. You took it and held it to your lips. You did not make it look as easy, taking a quick hit and holding it, trying to look cool, but coughing quickly after. 

He just smiled, no sense of judgement at all, “You’ll get used to it. Let’s go sit down?”

You nodded, and the two of you walked to the old metal table, sitting in the chairs next to each other. He took the joint from you, and you started a good rotation of for every two hits he took, you took one. You started to feel a nice warm feeling throughout your body, a slight buzz washing over you that truly did help relax you after the stress of inside.

As he passed the joint to you, he spoke up, “So, what make you want to start saying yes to stuff?”

You blew out a slow stream of smoke, shrugging, “I got lonely, I guess. I don’t hang out with many people, so I figured that doing more things would help.” You tilted your head back, looking up at the night sky.

“Has it been helping so far?”

You leaned your head back up, looking over at him with a smile, “I think it’s starting to go well.” You put the joint to your lips, going to take a hit before noticing it was out. You pouted a bit, looking up at him, “it went out.” 

He nodded, grabbing his lighter. You put the joint back to your mouth as he flicked open his lighter, holding the flame to the end of the joint until it glowed a soft amber, and you took a slow, deep inhale. You passed the joint back to him, exhaling. He looked at you quietly, looking down at the joint for a moment before looking back at you.

“Do you know what shotgunning is?”

You looked up at him, shaking your head. 

“Do you want to try it? It’s not anything bad, I promise.”

You nodded, sitting up a bit. He turned to you. “So, I’m going to get kind of close to you, just relax, and breathe in. You’ll know when to, okay?”

“Okay.” You could feel your heartbeat pounding through you at the mention of him getting closer to you, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious. He pulled the joint up to his lips, taking a long inhale. He held his breath, gently grabbing your chin and getting closer. His lips were just centimeters away, the slightest slip and they’d be on yours. He started slowly blowing the smoke out, and it took you a moment to process that this was when you were supposed to breathe in. You closed your eyes, breathing in slowly. You only opened your eyes when you realized he’d already moved back, and you slowly breathed out, feeling weak in the knees. 

“So? What did you think?”

“That was,” any sense of a filter you had went out the door the second the joint had touched your lips, “hot.” You immediately flushed, holding your hand over your mouth and starting to laugh, “Fuck, ‘m sorry.”

He started laughing as well, and if you’d looked, you would’ve seen a matching blush on his cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re not wrong.”

Your heartbeat a bit faster at that, but the grin never left your face. Your conversations flowed easily, until the entire joint had been smoked to just a roach. He tucked it back into his cigarette holder, pocketing it once again before turning back to you. You two spoke about a lot of things, mostly life and whether or not the ants on the table could take over the world if they tried. You found it easier to talk than usual, but you couldn’t quite tell if it was the weed or Wilbur. Whichever it was didn’t matter, you were just so incredibly aware of the warm feeling in your chest. You were honestly a bit annoyed at yourself for never having a proper conversation with him in class before, although it wasn’t entirely on you, since that professor was a harsh one. The world felt a lot lighter, and you two spent what could’ve easily been hours or minutes talking. You knew that it was hours when Tommy came outside, walking over to you both.

“Wilbur,” he started, “are you staying here with me and Toby tonight? Just about everyone’s left by now.”

Wilbur shook his head, “probably not. I was planning on walking home.”

Tommy nodded, “thank God because I did not feel like fixing up the spare room.” He spared you a wave before turning back around, wishing us both a goodnight before walking back inside. 

You sighed, “Guess I should probably get back too.”

Wilbur looked back over at you, “Do you live far?”

You shrugged, “Not too far. Just about three streets over.’

He nodded, then stood, “I’ll walk you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to.” “Don’t worry about it. I want to.” He smiled. You nodded, standing carefully. You stumbled a bit, not quite used to moving after sitting and getting high, though the high was starting to fade now. He quickly moved a hand to your back, helping steady you. He kept his hand there the entire time you walked back to your small apartment, and it made butterflies flutter in your stomach. When you reached your front door, you turned to him with a soft smile. 

“Thanks for tonight. I had a much better time with you than had I stayed inside there.”

He chuckled softly, “You don’t have to thank me. I would’ve been the same way had you not been there.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, turning it to you, “if you don’t mind though, it would be nice to get your number. That way I could take you out on a date sometime, maybe, if you’d like?” He sounded incredibly unsure of himself, which made you laugh a bit.

“I would absolutely like that.” You took his phone, entering your contact in before handing it back to him. “I had a really great time tonight, Wilbur. Sleep well, and text me when you’re home, alright?”

He nodded quickly, and, without really thinking about it, you pulled him in for a tight hug. He hugged you back, a blush covering his face. 

“Have a good night,” he told you, and as you both pulled away, he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. 

You blushed, and a wide grin covered your face, one that you couldn’t quite hide even if you tried, “goodnight, Wilbur.” You walked into your apartment, closing the door behind you and leaning against it. He sent you a text about ten minutes later letting you know he made it home and sending a message to reiterate the “goodnight” with a small text heart next to it that filled you with warmth. Maybe you could get used to this saying yes thing. 

[graveltrapping]

Debutant | doe eyes

Female Marc Marquez snippet

Next

The first thing Dani Pedrosa thought after meeting Mar Marquez was that she looked rather fawn like.

Dainty and small (though still taller than himself), the tiniest dappling of freckles across delicate cheekbones, all pulled together by a pair of big glassy black eyes and even darker lashes. Long and curling, they brushed her cheeks with each blink. The team kit Honda had given her was ill fitted and seemed to swallow her whole, arms and shoulders gaping around her, while the soft high collar of the fleeces she seemed to love cradled her smiling face. She looked soft. Wide eyed, curios, but bafflingly confident in a slightly disarming way that had Dani a little off balance.

Jorge could see the resemblance.

He could see the softness that she still carried, baby fat still making her cheeks rounded and plush. Pillowy lips and fluffy hair curling around ears that stuck out in an almost childish way she didn’t seem to grow out of. Her helmet hair, spilling out of the short little braids in crazy tight ringlets that stood in every direction, seemed to shave even more years off of her already young age. Those big doe eyes.

Dani had left the comparison slip once, the words tumbling past his lips after a few too many drinks as he recounted their first test rides on the bike, but Jorge couldn’t help but think she was really more like a wolf. Maybe it was her smile, all perfect and sharp teeth, so many exposed as she laughed loudly and showed off those disarming dimples, maybe it was how dark her eyes were, such a rich brown it would be easier to call them black. Maybe it was how all she seemed to do was hunt. On track, off track, those dark eyes following and watching and learning. 

So pretty but intense and unnerving in a way that had Jorge feeling almost small.

Eclipsed, maybe.

Valentino, it was hard to imagine what he thought of Mar.

Rossi seemed to think something similar to him but there was a disarming softness to the looks he gave the young woman that made Jorge think that just maybe he was fooled by the baby deer look she had to her, fooled like many others through the feeder series. The older man, a nine times champion, had clocked something in the rookie that was almost parallel to himself. It drew him in a little, maybe blinded him for a second, but Qatar had certainly been an awakening. Sudden, aggressive, unyielding, she had passed Valentino Rossi again and again and again. He had responded in kind but had just barely held on to second place by the skin of his teeth. She had been right behind him, barely meters between their bikes as she sped up the start finish straight hunched down in the seat, fighting to the last millisecond. 

So small, leathers deigned to blend with the bike, it had been hard to tell where she ended and machine began.

She was off like a shot though as soon as they were in parc ferme, a blur of white and orange, unmissable in the see of Yamahas royal blue. Even as he celebrated his own win standing tall on the bike, he could see her pressed against the barriers and held up by her team just enough her feet dangled a few inches off of the ground. Yamaha staff mingled with the Honda, all wanting to congratulate the bombshell rookie, and he could even see Uccio land a few solid slaps on her back. He had lost sight of her after that. Descended into the throws of his team to celebrate his first win of the season, Valentinos team mingling and melding with his own to make an even bigger crowd while photographers and reports swelled closer like a wave ready to brake on the barriers.

He doesn’t see her again until Rossi is on her, dragging her in for a congratulatory hug and slap on the back that have her glasses tumbling off and her smile widening even further, all dimples and sharp teeth. First race in the premier class and she had almost beat the most successful rider on track. She looked proud of herself, electrified, but somehow not at all surprised. Like she thought she could beat him. She probably could.

Jorge watched out of the corner of his eye for a second, half focused on the interview in front of him, as Valentino slapped his hand against the rookies shoulder and said something that made her laugh loudly, hands fluttering around fixing her sunglasses in a way that betrayed her nerves. Her head bobbed, short black curls spilling out from under her red cap, before she was cut from sight by a man ushering her towards the podium stairs. Rossi gravitated towards his section of the barriers a second later and clapped him on the back with a much more casual smile.

“She’s good” Was the first thing Jorge said to him.

“She’s was coming to take me, no?” Valentino laughed.

He barley had time to nod before the same man was ushering both him and his teammate towards the cooldown room that was long and narrow, walls all beige and bare making all three riders look like obnoxious walking pain blotches that were completely unmissable. They were impossible to miss anyway, room packed tight with riders and presenters and media staff hauling cameras and microphones looming just outside blocking the way out and boxing them in. Elbows clashed, everyone packed tight, and Jorge watched as Valentino squeezed past Mar to grab his bottle. His hand slid just over her ribs as he manoeuvred her just a tiny bit to the side, the young spaniard easy under his hands, before slipping back into place near the door and saying something to her that her laughing one again. Even with the Italian half leant on the table she had to look up at him, head tilted back, laughing all open mouthed and dimpled. she looked deceptively soft. 

The comparison Dani made came back to mind.

Valentinos thoughts hadn’t seemed to change though, still looking at her like he knew her, like he recognised something in her that could be great in the future, like maybe this was a fluke or rookie luck to get so close so fast. Jorge however could see it. That impatience that was already winding its way into her bones, searing into her skin. Standing there beside the champion, she looked more like the race winner with how she held herself. She had gotten close. So close. She wasn’t going to wait for anything, certainly wasn’t going to be refined or helped along, no, she’d prefer to just take it. She’d take Valentino next time round. She looked like she wanted too. Always there, so incredibly ready to just throw herself into corner after corner, melding herself to the machine on the straights. Even after they crossed the line, her stare had been dissecting. Always flickering back to Valentino the moment he looked away from her.

Jorge could feel that stare on him now.

Stood on the top stop, it was almost burning, but he pushed it to the side. She wanted exactly what he had and he knew it. After all, she was two down and he was up top, first win of the season and taken by a considerable margin. She should probably try to be content that she was even on the podium on her debut race, her driving wild enough to take both herself and Rossi out if not careful, the track punishing and cruel on tires and riders. Who was he to really care though. His title fight had the perfect start.

No Champagne today, but the victory still tasted so sweet.

[tlirswriting]

[They Colonized Mars, entry 3 // start here]

For the world is hollow 

> Stepping outside into the Martian evening, light scattered by the dusty atmosphere paints the city shades of pale violet through the glass dome covering it, the distant sun appearing blue as it sets over the horizon. Two moons rise across from each other in the east and west; both smaller than Earth's Luna, and less round, bumpy and roughly egg-shaped. 

> Mars is colder than it looks — a desert of red sand and rocks — and while the biosphere is heated to tolerable levels, it still isn't toasty in the warehouse district. Atlas’ boots crunch into a thin layer of ice on the sidewalk, SaM-B's claw-like feet scratching for friction beside him. 

> “Do you have a name?” He asks it. “A real one, just for yourself?” 

> “My designation is unit number one-thousand-three-hundred-and-forty—” 

> “But is it you?”

> It thinks for a second. “I don't know.” 

> “Fair enough,” He shrugs. “Just something to think about.” 

> It beeps. “Connection lost — I am out of network sensor range.” 

> Atlas uncovers its cameras and shoves his vest into his bag. 

> “Oh.” SaM-B pauses in its tracks, blinking its lights. 

> “What do you think?” Atlas adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder. 

> It looks around for a moment, angling upwards to the tops of buildings. 

> “Hey.” He nudges it with his foot. “What do you think?” 

> “I don't know,” It beeps. “I've never seen the sky before.” 

> Shuttles intermittently shoot down the tracks beside them, stirring up clouds of red-orange dust. 

> “I have somewhere I want to show you,” He says. “Somewhere… Somewhere fun. For people like us to go when we’re not working.”

> “I am ‘people’?”

> He thinks. “Sure, if you want to be.” 

> They make their way through the city, neon signs flickering on as the night darkens. Moving away from the warehouses and factories, there are smaller businesses, repair shops and defunct mattress stores. Atlas ducks into an alleyway, following a familiar path twisting down a few levels, and there, underneath a tattoo parlour, is somewhere to go. 

Next >>

[brain-rot-central]

I came up with another spicy scene for what's supposed to be the domstarion fic and it makes me yell (in a good way). But in typical me fashion, the whole thing is rapidly becoming a switchbitch fic. You know me and my love of power balance.

So.

Tavstarion switchbitch fic. It's just happening. I'm not fighting it anymore.

[marsontherocks]

Had a very nice and wonderful dream that Quincey was a veterinarian, and that Jack owned a really small parakeet, and of course Arthur has his dogs.

In the dream Jack was getting his bird checked cause he was acting weird. Bird was fine btw so don't worry.

Really love how I've been so obsessed with Dracula that I'm starting to dream of fic ideas

[vincess-princess]

we, the psychos

ch. 12

Word count: 2363 Warnings: none A/N: this chapter sucked all life out of me. i hope you like it.

“Ah, Thomas! Come in, come in.” Dr. Duren smiled and pointed at the chair in front of his table. “I was going to see you a little later, after you get used to the asylum a bit, but it’s probably to the better we meet so soon. You sure have grown since the last time we met!”

Dr. Duren was a frequent guest at the Bass’s house, but Tommy stopped showing up to guests two years ago - his parents thought he would ruin their image. He didn’t mind much. All the guests were always too wary of him to his face and joked about him behind his back anyway. Father called him to see Dr. Duren a couple times he’d been over, but Tommy refused every time, and eventually he ceased trying. Well, now he got his way.

“I get that a lot,” Tommy said.

“Of course, I’d rather we met in different circumstances,” Dr. Duren continued, “but God always knows what’s best for us”.

Tommy couldn’t hold back a grimace. He stopped believing in all that stuff at fourteen. That was one of the reasons he was committed, in fact.

Dr. Duren smiled condescendingly. “You may not think so now, but one day you will look back and see that it was indeed the best time and place. Please, sit.”

Tommy sat down. The chair was too low for him, and his knees stuck out too high. He tucked his legs under the chair so it wouldn’t be as noticeable.

“McKagan told me you wanted to see me.” Dr. Duren folded his hands on the table. “Do you have something to say?”

“Yeah, I-“ Tommy began, but then a sudden thought stopped him dead in his tracks. What if this – what he’d heard – was a warning?

No. He wanted to speak on the problem, and he would do it.

“I wanted to talk about the work you make patients do.”

“What about it?” Dr. Duren raised his eyebrows.

Someone breathed down Tommy’s neck. The breath was cold and smelled of rotten leaves.

“It’s…” he swallowed, “not right.”

“What’s not right?” Dr. Duren tilted his head. “The labor therapy produces incredible results. Patients spend their time and energy on something tangible, they know their labor improves their own lives, they can see the results of it. I personally believe it’s one of the best treatments for mental derangement. Benefits both patients and the asylum.”

Tommy found himself at a loss of words. What could he say to that that wouldn’t paint him as lazy and entitled?

“But patients are here to be cured. Doesn’t work take out of that? I mean, they could be doing…” Tommy waved his hand, “healing activities?”

Dr. Duren threw his head back and laughed.

“My boy,” he said, “what ‘healing activities’ do you mean? Water therapy? Art therapy? Behavioral correction? They’ve got plenty of that despite work. You haven’t been to our communal evenings yet, have you? Well, I’ll make sure you get there today. Patients play music, sing, dance, play board games. It provides a perfect opportunity for civil socializing. Patients that need extra therapies at other time of the day skip work to have them. We do not exploit them, I promise. We offer them a chance to grow and change the world around them.”

Well, this sounded damn convincing. Still, Tommy didn’t see any happiness on patients’ faces when they worked in the garden, nor enthusiasm in their movements. They looked more like serfs working on a lord’s field.

“They didn’t look very happy.”

Dr. Duren sighed. “Thomas, no insane man ever thinks he needs to be fixed. But they are, at their core, insane. Their brain is broken. Of course they don’t enjoy labor; that’s a trait of a sane, well-adjusted man.”

“Do you also think that about me?” Tommy asked straight-forwardly.

“Well,” Dr. Duren narrowed his eyes slyly, “you’re here to ask me to free you from work, after all.”

Tommy blinked in confusion. But he didn’t say that!

“How’d you know?”

“Your father gave me a pretty comprehensive overview of your character. I supposed you’d ask me for this favor.”

Tommy’s stomach sank. So his father not only shipped his son off to the asylum, he also told Dr. Duren nasty things about him. Tommy didn’t doubt a second there was no positive descriptions of him in that overview.

“And will you?...” he said quietly.

For a while Dr. Duren was silent. Steps were pacing back and forth behind the door of his office. Finally, he spoke.

“No.”

Tommy foresaw this, in a way. All this talk about usefulness of labor, of insane men not knowing what they need. He wasn’t stupid; he could see that coming. But disappointment filled his mouth with bitterness.

“You see, Thomas, your dearest father expressed only one wish to me: “Make him realise he’s not special”. By freeing you from labor I will go against his wish. I promise as time passes you will realise it’s good for you. You just can’t see it yet.”

“You’re no better than him,” Tommy spat out.

“I’ll consider that a compliment,” Dr. Duren said warmly. “Now, dear Thomas, I have other patients to attend today. We will meet soon to discuss your… condition, though. Meanwhile, try to get comfortable here. Make some friends. You’re going to need it.”

Tommy let McKagan take him away. As he walked down the corridor, his hair was being ruffled by someone’s breath right on the back of his head.

***

“You got off easy,” Mick said after Nikki quietly told him of the punishments Dr. Duren dispensed to them. “You’d go crazy in solitary. Crazier than now, I mean.”

He was restringing an old guitar that had been in the asylum since time immemorial. It had been here even before Mick, and that was saying something. It was a simple acoustic, and its neck bent farther and farther with each passing year, making it sound like shit. So far Mick managed to amend it by shoving thin cardboard stripes over the nut to raise the strings up, but it couldn’t last forever, of course. Soon he’d have to beg for a new guitar.

“I know,” Nikki said, anxiously picking at the skin by the nail of his left thumb. He had already pulled off several layers of skin, and his fingers were smeared in blood. “And Vince’s gonna go crazy too.”

Mick smiled dryly. “In this case it’s hardly possible. To go crazier, I mean.”

Nikki let out an exasperated sigh. “It is. You just don’t know it. And I do. And we gotta prevent it.”

Mick didn’t answer, pretending to be consumed with trying a knot at the end of a string.

“Well?” Nikki pushed on.

“Shitty strings,” Mick murmured, pulling the one he’d already installed. “But what else could I expect from those nurses… Probably the cheapest ones they could find.”

“Oh come on!” Nikki groaned. “I’m trying to talk to you here! About important things! Stop fussing over that old thing already!”

He spoke too loudly; several patients turned their heads to them.

“You want all the nurses to hear?” Mick shushed him, loudly playing the three strings he’d already installed. The heads slowly turned away from them.

“No.” Nikki made a deep breath. That’s right, calm the fuck down. “I know you despise the guy. But could you just entertain a thought of helping him for a bit? For me.”

“They should have put you in the solitary too,” Mick said. “So you have an opportunity to realise what a piece of shit he is.”

“You’ve just said I’d go crazy in there.”

“I’m reconsidering.”

Nikki rolled his eyes. “You’re useless.”

Mick felt a pang of guilt. A very slight pang of guilt, but nevertheless. This asshole somehow crawled into Nikki’s heart and nestled there comfortably, refusing to go away. Mick didn’t know what would it take to exorcise him out of it.

“The nurses always watch very closely that no one talks to patients in solitary. You have no chance,” Mick said.

“So talking is out of the picture,” Nikki concluded sadly. “What about writing? Could I write a note and pass it to him?”

“You could. If we had paper. And a pencil. Which we don’t have.”

“Dr. Duren totally has them in his office,” Nikki said weakly. He seemingly started to see the futility of his endeavor.

“And what are you gonna do, steal them? Really?”

“I could try…”

“…and get yourself a punishment and a lot of unnecessary questions.” Mick rubbed his forehead. “Listen. Your darling Vince has already been through it before. He’ll survive. Maybe he’ll be a little angry with you afterwards for a while. But he’ll come back to you anyway – apparently, he can’t stay away from your juicy ass for long. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“But it’s my fault,” Nikki protested. “I shouldn’t have… taught him a lesson. I don’t know what Hudson did, but it must have been something bad. I feel guilty for it now.”

“Yeah, and let him keep wiping his feet on ya? Does being a doormat get you off or what?” Mick felt anger rise in his chest. Could the boy just stand up for himself and not come back crawling later for once?

“He ain’t wiping his feet on me!” Nikki almost screamed again. Mick sighed and played a short melody on the four installed strings. One of them sounded off; he pulled it a couple times and adjusted the tuner a bit. That was better.

“Yeah he does, and you thank him for it. You ain’t gotta thank people just for paying attention to you. And if they demand you do, you gotta run away as fast as you can.”

“You don’t understand nothin’,” Nikki hissed, jumped up from his chair and rushed away, slamming the door in the process.

“Sure I don’t.” Mick sighed to no one in particular. A nurse would quickly bring him back, so Mick wasn’t too worried.

He was battling the knot on the sixth string when McKagan brought Nikki inside. Water was dripping from his face and hair. The nurse probably had to spray him with cold water to cool him down a bit. McKagan led Nikki to a chair in the corner, sat him down on it, said something along the lines of “behave yourself” and retired to the entrance to watch the community evening from there. Nikki remained on his chair, sullen and bristling like a hedgehog.

The boy needed a friend or a lover that could ease his obsession with Wharton. Mick clearly wasn’t a good fit: he was old and ill and didn’t match Nikki’s destructive youthful energy. He was sure that was what attracted Nikki in Wharton: the readiness to blow up the world given a slightest opportunity. Sure, Nikki didn’t look like the type, often subdued by depression, but it could be clearly seen when he smiled – that toothy too-wide smile that betrayed his true character. He just didn’t smile often enough for others to see it.

No one in the asylum beside Wharton matched his energy. Except maybe the new lad. Sure, he was not that clever, and he still had a lot to learn about life, but there was something in him, some driving force that all other patients in the asylum had already lost. They could hit it off.

Tommy was here today, looking unusually jumpy and anxious, but left soon, not giving Mick an opportunity to talk to him. Nikki, on the other hand, was sulking in the corner the whole evening, the tunes only slightly raising his spirits, even though usually he loved them. Mick tried not to pay attention, but his thoughts kept returning to Nikki and Wharton. What could he even do besides stop Nikki from doing obviously stupid things? Nothing, really.

Nikki didn’t speak to him after the community evening, and Mick didn’t insist. The guy surely needed to unwind and think it all over. For the first time he was thankful Nikki got restrained for the night – at least he wouldn’t do something idiotic. And the head was always clearer in the morning.

His ward was filled with moonlight from the window. It lay in stripes on the floor and across walls, creating a weird, persistent feeling of unease – Mick couldn’t rely on darkness to hide in anymore. He had long been asking for curtains, since his ward was on the sunny side and the light bothered him a lot, but never got them – a safety hazard, he was told. They were probably just afraid he would somehow hang himself on them, even though he’d never shown suicidal tendencies.

Mick looked out of the window in his usual environment check. No strange lights or shadow figures – but that didn’t mean anything. They could hide very well, so well that no one but Mick knew of their existence, and they cleverly manipulated everyone around him to believe he was crazy, so no one would believe him. So Mick had to uncover their plans alone, from behind the bars of his ward or the wall separating the asylum from the rest of the world. Thankfully, these also hid him pretty well. They knew he was somewhere around here, but they couldn’t differentiate faces. They didn’t know which one of the patients Mick was, and they’ve been unsuccessfully trying to find out for the last twenty years-

Wait, no. Something was not right.

The spider web outside of Mick’s window. It was there just this morning, some poor fly having tangled itself in it. It wasn’t there now. Not a trace of it. Like someone swept it off with a broom. But Mick was on the third floor of the building.

Mick ducked under the window like he was being shot at. This couldn’t be a coincidence. The web withstood the strongest of winds on his memory. It was done on purpose. It was a threat. Or a warning.

The rest of the night Mick spent sitting on the floor next to the window, anxiously trying to keep himself out of sight.