Holi goose, soy yo de nuevo, cuando puedas por fa haz tu magia (Sebmark) besitos besitos tqm+ 💖💖💖💖
‘[...] It’s unfathomable the extent to which Vettel has gloated after achieving the bare minimum of an award in the USA, a little statuesque present for being a ‘revelation’, and the painfully snobbish rejection of social media as a way to connect with his audience, that he wants to, in his own words, ‘keep at a distance’ despite the very notorious fact that he wouldn’t be a bubbling millionaire riding restored Harleys on the weekends without them.
He’s being hailed amongst the white senile Hitchcock obsessed critics as the new coming of James Dean, beware he does not become the new coming of disappointing, burnt out drug addict starlet that we find one morning on a ditch near Sunset and Vine.’
“Quite fucking harsh, don’t you think?”
The question is packed with contempt but delivered with a smile. He can sense it on the way the words end up on a lilting tone.
Mark still has his face pressed against his arm, nose buried on the inner part of his elbow, hand scratching at its opposite shoulder. The sun is harsh and he feels the heat of its light on his bare chest, the sheets pulled down to his knees, underwear saving him from the horror of anyone putting a downright pornographic image on a TMZ like site out of this private scene.
“Horner wanted something incisive,” he says with a shrug, tossing his arms up, holding onto the backboard of the bed, using it to pull himself up, half sitting and yawning, “don’t shoot the messenger.”
The IPad lands on his abdomen and coaxes a guttural swear out of him.
“I want to choke the messenger,” Sebastian says, crawling up the bed and settling on his thighs, his hands on Mark’s chest, “can I do that or will you write that I’m a terrible lover?”
“I don’t write lies, baby,” Mark tells him, caressing his face softly. In return, Sebastian slaps him.
3+ sentences for Willex + astronauts au please and thank you <3
(I know you said astronauts but my brain immediately went: The Martian AU)
Alex wasn't quite sure which would be worse: being stranded on Mars alone, or being stranded on Mars with your crush. Since he was currently living the second option, and it was torture.
Of course, it was much better than being alone. Probably. He would have probably freaked out and died if he was alone. But Willie had patched the leak in his suit with duct tape, and dragged him back to the Hub, and nursed him back to health.
They'd worked together to figure out how to survive on Mars. Alex had rigged up the solar panels so they had electricity. Willie had done the awful job of terraforming Mars, which was a nice way of saying 'using poop to grow potatoes'. Luckily, Alex was their communication specialist, so they managed to get a message back to Earth, a 'hey bee-tee-dubs, you left two of your astronauts on Mars, can you send an Uber?' message.
He was a little worried about Julie, Luke, and Reggie, though. How were they doing, knowing they left behind two of their best friends? Thinking they were dead? Had ground control been able to contact them yet? Was leaving your friends' bodies on Mars better or worse than leaving your alive friends-
"You're pacing again," Willie said, coming out of the plastic-covered Potato Farm in the middle of the Hub. You actually kind of got used to the smell, so he didn't even wince. "If you want to get your steps in, I have a way better way to do cardio." He waggled his eyebrows at Alex, and Alex flushed.
Maybe being stranded alone would have been better than this torture.
Or, the torture that was...
"Let's go girls!"
Alex groaned. "Not Reggie's country playlist again!" he whined. He was so sick of Shania Twain. But they'd fried Luke's laptop and his extensive music library on the first day they tried to go outside the Hub. Turned out laptops didn't do well on the surface of Mars. Whoops. So now all they had left was Reggie's extensive country playlists.
"Come on, Hotdog, dance with me," Willie said, taking Alex' hand, shimmying his shoulders a little. It was hard to say no to him and his infectious grin, and sooner or later, they were dancing around the Hub, hollering along with Shania Twain, twirling each other.
Willie's laugh was beautiful, and for a moment, he forgot they were trapped on a desolate planet. At night, when the plastic and duct tape where they fixed section three clattered in the wind, and he crawled into Willie's bed, he didn't feel scared they were going to die at any second anymore. When he had to wolf down another potato, Willie's funny stories distracted him from thinking too much about how he now hated the taste of potatoes.
How could he ever think it was better to be out here alone than with Willie?
The song ended with Alex dipping Willie dramatically, and when he pulled him back up, he pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his lips. Willie made a little surprised noise, but before Alex could pull away, his arms wrapped around his neck and he deepened the kiss.
Turned out the best way to be stranded on Mars was not with your crush, but with your boyfriend.
Just took my first Kendo class! It was really fun! Also, Turns out the Kendo Dojo is separate from the Sword School and only rents the space, so if I want to do only that it’s only $30 a month!
Inane worldbuilding minutia of the day: there is a viral dance craze in Runaway to the Stars "modern day" (approx. 2325), because what is society without a viral dance craze. It began on Martian social media and then spread to the rest of the human internet via the extranet social platform Megaforum.
It is called "The Whop."
It takes some skill to to whop quickly without losing your balance, and videos of skilled whoppers dancing in increasingly ridiculous and inconvenient locations have plagued the human internet for years now. It has a resurgence every time a new bubble of human space discovers and spreads it.
There is also a two-person version of The Whop:
Two-person whopping is extremely popular among children, much to the dismay of their elders. If you don't pay attention and keep time with the other party, it's extremely easy to slap them square in the face. Video compilations of people getting injured while whopping abound. School nurses have seen many victims of the viral dance, sent in with bruises and bloodied noses after whopping too hard.
The digest reprint is actually a reprint of a reprint that was five years' out. One where they decided "Twist" was too much an anachronism so switched out to "Frug". I am guessing in the twenty-first century, twist has better brand awareness than frug, so on that score they may be better to switch back.
Funny thing. The dating of the monkey, via search engine, is 1963. Which makes its appearance in 1967 predictably off in the usual "once mentioned here, a sign the fad is passe." It almost belongs in the original print.