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jacksprostate · 2 months

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f Narrator wanting to murder maim mutilate m marla.. or marla/ male marla and narrator/f narrator worsties/besties. or marla/male marla and tyler… or anything with marla/ male marla..

Marlon called me, interrupted me at work, and he said he had a bruise. He said I needed to come and look at it right away, because he needed to know.

This was him, asking me, pounded flank steak, to look and tell him the nature of his bruise.

Marlon hasn't had health insurance in years, so he tries not to think about it, usually. It's easy, since there's no difference when you have health insurance. It's old hat.

But today, he thought about it.

And he noticed a bruise.

So I'm walking up to the Regent hotel after work, and he's in the lobby in his limp little tank top. He'd call it a wifebeater and imagine himself in place of the wife, I'm sure. I wonder if he isn't cold all the time. Mr. Marlon Singer, such a masochist just so he can show off his skeletal body with all the cigarette burns I have to hear him and Tyler laughing over.

I am Jane's abnormal hemorrhoid development.

He doesn't mention what Tyler and I stole from him, even though I think it was all the cash he had. Even though just three days ago he tried to chase me around the house and beat me with a broom. He made me and Tyler go sleep in the junkyard. Buried under our furs, howling at the moon. Maybe I can't fault him for that.

He couldn't keep it here where the guys he brings back could get at it, he said, and sure. But he should've known better than to tell Tyler about it, because now it's bags upon bags of lye being kept in the driest room in the house.

I work on grinding cracks into my remaining teeth as he grabs his neighbors Agatha and Dianne's Meals on Wheels kits. The delivery lady remarks on what a good young man Marlon must be, helping out these old ladies. Oh, yeah. A real, upstanding, mummified rat of a man. Maybe he helped them into the ditch. He yaps at me the entire walk up to his room, and I don't hear a word as I methodically rip up the skin around Tyler's kiss on my hand with a broken nail. It's been infected since Tuesday, and the ring of puffy red flesh makes the ghost of her lips white like the center of a neon tube. Always buzzing.

We get to his room, he says to me, "One of these boxes is for you, you know."

I think about all the women who bother to use what little time they have to operate charities that keep the poor and destitute alive enough to want to kill themselves. All that time spent cooking mac and cheese en masse and putting little packets of powdered milk next to little cartons of the liquid, like they get at schools and prisons, packets that can only be opened by the nimble fingers of caring relatives these elderly recipients do not have.

Sure.

Tyler told me I need to be eating at least two meals a day, or she'd steal a blender and make me drink raw chicken. So I eat the Meals on Wheels box. Sorry Agatha. I rip open the powdered milk packet, dump it into the carton, hold it closed, and shake it. Twice the calories. A recipe for palliative care.

Marlon's sitting there, quiet, eating Dianne's latest last meal. All the urgency is gone. Sucked dry. He's got pallor like a hospice heart failure. When dogs get treated for heartworms, the worms die, and sometimes, not all of them break apart. Sometimes, there will be thin, dead cords of necrotized nematode strung through their heart waiting for the right beat to fall apart and clot a vital artery. This can take years to happen. Your pet recovers perfectly from treatment until seven years down the line, you give it a doggy cupcake and a pulmonary embolism for its tenth birthday.

Marlon looks like he's had his first melarsomine injection and his owner is thinking about taking him to a dog park instead of bothering with the second. If you let a dog get its heart rate up too high when getting treated for all the parasites you let grow in it, its heart will explode. Or all the worms will clog its lungs. Whichever one it is, it's happening to Marlon here in this room. On this bed.

He says he'd found a bruise, a while back. A nasty little thing, like the crush of a plum under your thumb. Near one of his ankles. And Marlon Singer knew he couldn't afford any novel treatments, and he'd seen too many people rot from the inside out from them already. He did not go to the clinic down the street that gets its windows broken in often enough that there's just big black billowing sails of trashbags over their storefront more often than not. Marlon says he once saw a rat nailed to the door, which is something you'd think would be too neat and poetic for real life. He didn't go to the clinic because he didn't have to. And maybe if he was fucking guys he wanted to he would be a bit more cautious, but the men Marlon Singer gets to fuck are the type to have given him those bruises in the first place. They're the reason there's single mothers visiting that clinic, like half melted wax getting scraped out of the picture. He says he shouldn't feel guilty.

I tell Marlon about where I got the idea for poisoning all the food at the Pressman hotel.

He asks me what I mean by that, and I tell him about my first boss at the company I work for now.

When I first started there, I was selling our cars to companies. Bulk orders for work vehicles. My job was to not fuck up any contracts we already had. Marlon is probably aware, but the type of man involved in that sort of thing, he knows he's got you on a collar and chain. You and him both know he'll be renewing the contract, but you have to do the song and dance for him. Pretend you like how close he gets to you. Pretend you don't want to rip his testicles from his ballsack when he leans in sweaty and tells you how he likes your hair, did you go and do all that just for me?

Because he knows. And you know. But enduring this is what you were hired to do. If you were a man, you would've been hired to create a sense of the old boys club with this guy. But you're not.

There is so much pretense in the world.

Anyway, my first boss, call him Joe — whenever I'd return from those trips and dinners, Joe wouldn't pretend that it wasn't a shit job. He'd commiserate and wish me luck with the next one. He didn't overstep, he wasn't creepy, he kept his distance. The best you could hope for. Thirty days on the job, they asked me how I was doing, and I told them I was doing great. The job was amazing, I felt embraced by the company, my boss was great. One of those things was true to me.

And when Joe got his promotion, for being such a great regional manager, he cornered me in my cubicle and informed me he'd been jerking off into my nicely labeled thin salad lunches each time they showed up in the office fridge. He told me this with the same smile he'd always worn.

Marlon, he's next to me, and he leans closer like we're having a nice little confession. My skin itches.

It was before the 90 day clause kicked in my health coverage, so I had to wait at one of those free clinics like Marlon's, and I was surrounded by a lot of young men, wispy mangled pears. What little flesh was left was soft. When I told the nurse what happened, I watched myself die in her eyes. Dappling up with rashes and bruises until I was all painted and sunken like a bog body.

For the longest time, I wondered if I'd become the oral Mary. How many times I vomited in that office toilet, I don't know. I stopped bringing lunch.

The thing is, I couldn't see it in his face. Joe's, I mean. Not even when he told me. I couldn't see it in anyone. So I stopped eating out. Stopped eating altogether, really.

Marlon, his response was to go to the support groups. His tragedy was that it was a slow death, coming for him. Best to wriggle into the pile of dying bodies, see what it's like. Maybe that could muster enough suicidal impulse.

I tell Marlon, of course, I couldn't go to HR. I was a new hire with no evidence and previous record of liking my boss. I didn't want to tell my mom. I didn't want her to know. Those uncomfortable dinners became absolutely, wretchedly unbearable as I thought about the food I was being forced to share.

When the option came up for a dead end job in the least loved department in the building, I put on the best performance of my life to get the part. Best aspiring Compliance and Liability head and sole department employee, that's me. My new job was to keep secrets. It was, already, old hat.

For months I thought about waking up from a narcoleptic fit at my desk, with Joe leaning over the cubicle wall and asking if I was alright. I watched my stomach like it was nuclear. Every extra second it took until I bled like usual slid me closer to buying myself a shotgun and pumping a slug or two into my brain.

It's an unavoidable fear, I tell Marlon. You can't do anything about it. Once you know, you know. At some point, you have to find the peace in it. Imagine yourself, a balloon popping with meaty chunks flying apart, splattering onlookers and raining viscera.

For a month, six months, I had cancer. Worse than cancer. Every time I eat out, I get it again.

Marlon is looking at me, melting stained glass, drowning in that sort of shared pity you build together with someone who's dying.

I don't want Marlon to feel guilty.

I tell Marlon, that's why I poison the food at the Pressman hotel. Someone's got to do it. Blood in the tomato sauce, spit on the steak. Imagine what you could do to a soup. The men who go to the Pressman hotel, they're the kind that leave Marlon bloody and walking around Paper Street calling for Tyler to come out and burn more holes into him. They're the kind that get promoted from regional manager. They're the kind that lean in close, pull your wrist towards them, and say there's one way they know you could secure the contract renewal. The kind that almost ruin it in a temper tantrum when you don't, resulting in an upper management intervention on the 24th day of your new job. They're the kind that hear that shit and say you should've been more appeasing. More polite.

Don't feel guilty, Marlon.

I hope all of them rot so everyone can see the maggots eating their insides.

Marlon isn't smiling. I am unavoidably bad at distracting him. There's something final in it, when he sighs, and takes off his tank top. He says it's on his back, and I should just tell him.

I look. I see it. Black hole, botfly, necrosis. There's so many things these broken blood vessels could be. Withering, snapping apart like mummified heartworms. I imagine driving the two inch melarsomine needle deep into the muscles bunched upon his spine.

I look.

I press my hands into him, and I grip like I'm trying to rend my fingers through his skin, deep into his body cavity to rip out his guts. Like I'm trying to grab the rope of his small intestine and strangle him with it. Marlon's yelling at me and trying to hit me, arms flapping like a chicken, and I am bruising ten deep circles into the soft pearskin of his abdomen. It's the only place left on him that's mealy, that isn't frayed rope under worn out leather.

I tell him, you've got bruises. They look mostly normal, to me.

Don't worry too much about it.

And Marlon, he leans into me, and I let him.

#asks #fight club #female fight club au #my writing #obv directly in parallel to the book chapter #this has been sort of floating in my head #in the book its probably the most caring moment the narrator has for marla #and i think that is the same here actually #its just female narrator off the charts detestes marlon more in the first place. puts all her sense of sympathy and shared solidarity into #Tyler. but. yeah #anyway made marlon's life absolutely miserable #and the narrators #i actually went back and forth on that #i dont want to... necessarily... give her Solid Reasons in a way male narrator doesnt have #but its sort of inescapable that fucked up misogynistic shit would happen #and i was thinking how to resolves the food contamination question in my head #hard to explain #inherently more horrible shit will happen to her than male narrator #but not excessively and i want it to feed into the same issues. in this case her complete subjugation in the office and inability to freely #reject the horrific shit shes forced to play along with #resulting in her doing the same to the fat cats rolling by #anyway #she does care about marlon #its complicated

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tswwwit · 1 year

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Wait, does the cheating thing on the bond always works? bcs that would be kinda freaky for R!Dipper like imagine you get pinned down by someone in the corner of a br or smthng and then said person kissed you and proceeded to explode into red mist and you literally have no idea what happened.

Also, would the constellation mark be a "cursed" Mark over the years, like you would give birth to a baby and the doctor says "😟 I am so sorry ma'am,,, I'm afraid your baby has the Cipher Companion mark. ( could also be something equally as science-y like Ursa Major, Constellation Calamation, etc idk)" And you just burst into tears.

Would that mean that dipper would get into a special program(demon wrangling program or smthng, demonologist? Maybe)? Or would the parents hide it away hoping that Bill would never take their child away?

(Sorry this au is just very interesting to me,,,, I hope u get more motivation, keep writing author 💪)

These are all options! The fun part of reincarnation AU being left ambiguous is that technically any of them could happen.

#Answers #Okay but for full transparency #I never really figured out what the 'cheating' consequence is #It's a nebulous concept since I've never had to write it happening #And left ambiguous because neither of these two are into anyone else - and as a writer I like to leave my options open!#I would assume that one of the few things they agreed on when making the contract was that unwelcome advances didn't count as cheating #But that the villain in question would get what was coming to them. Very Violently. They wanna step on a landmine? Let 'em have it #Dipper would have made a frowny face at the violence but agreed. Privately thinking well that's actually a *bonus*#A built-in defense system of sorts #(Something Bill was also thinking but absolutely phrased in the possessive aspect)#Whether or not the Consequences kick in before they meet again - their equivalent of their vow renewal - is up for grabs #Dipper trying to fend off someone only to have them burst into flames and/or blood would feel a terrified sense of relief #Who knows! Maybe Dipper has protection but has a chance for other actions before they meet again!#But the odds of that occurring are very slim. Partly due to his general awkwardness #And distinct hesitation on Dipper's part. Even though he *thinks* he should be enthusiastic #He looks at the person he's in bed with and just. It feels weird. Maybe because he hasn't (in his memory) done this before #Great job Dipper!! Someone in your bed and the best you can do is kinda grimace. Real sexy.#If he does ever manage to get up to something it's not even a tenth of the time he has with his husband #Dipper reincarnations are all very unfortunately attracted as hell to Bill Cipher and they're deeply alarmed by it #I do like the idea of different parental groups finding Dipper's birthmark and having different reactions #Perhaps a random incarnation of one of his family members ends up in charge of him one time #The results would vary *wildly* depending on who it was #On a scale of Mabel Mom to Ford Uncle how are you preparing this person for his invitable enhusbanding #(Stan remains pretty much the same but has a lot of bad marriage advice)#Wow that's a lot of tags even for me #I am going to queue this and sleep

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flock-talk · 9 months

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Yep Toto’s a Quaker!

Most of Canada doesn’t have laws against parrot species, however my province has begun the process of proposing an exotic pet law that would ban all parrots except for budgies so yknow we’ll see how far that one makes it.

@foxfire69

#it was brought up last year with the main goal of animal welfare in mind #knowing that they aren’t suitable pets sort of thing #among that list of excessively large reptiles and fish as well #the bird list was clearly not made by anyone with bird knowledge thougb bc like really #ur gonna ban parrotlets that are less social but allow budgies that are hyper social #the logic is questionable #the law would have a grandfather claus so existing birds in the city are fine #but you couldn’t go and buy more and bring them in sort of thing #I honestly like the principle but it needs better execution

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pantestudines · 2 months

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No one should care but ive been thinking about it and my take is that the root of the walrus/fairy question is one specific word used by the original poll: "surprised". The question is not which would change your worldview or which is more/less possible to really happen. The question is which *surprises* you more. To me, this means which causes a stronger immediate surprise reaction in you upon opening that door. In essence, how bad do you flinch?

This, to me, is why so many people (including myself!) choose Walrus. A walrus is an immediate situation! That's an animal larger and stronger than you are, one that I would say is potentially very dangerous, that many people have never seen in real life. And now it's your responsibility and on your doorstep! A walrus on a doorstep is a novel idea, at least to me. I don't think I've ever had an animal just appear at my door, and certainly never knock. Sure, after the gut reaction dies down, the mundanity of the situation is certain; a walrus is a real animal and the perpetrator is likely nearby, laughing at the world's weirdest ding-dong ditch prank. But for a few seconds, it's just you, your expectations upon opening a door, and a pinniped of unusual size.

Now let's examine the fairy; The term can be vague, but I think most people imagine a generally humanoid but very small creature with insect wings. First off, by being small, the fairy will likely not trigger a defensive response, unlike the walrus. This thing is not an immediate threat, at least to your subconcious. Also, by being humanoid, usually with a very human face and features, this changes the situation from "strange beast on my doorstep" to "strange person on my doorstep". Obviously this may be different from person to person, but I think "strange small person on my doorstep" would illicite much weaker response from my flight or fight reflex than a large, strange animal. This is nothing to say about the familiarity most people have with fantasy and fantasy ideas, and the lack of familiarity most people have with walrus' in general, but I think those are also factors.

#also? by seeing a fairy you have certainly NOT proved anything about the universe and how it works #this could be a weird puppet. an illusion or projection of some sort. a weird bug that you mistook for a fairy.#even if the fairy holds up to scrutiny it could be a here to unknown form of fully mundane life #like an alien or some weird human mimicking insect or some other thing you (and science) just simply arent aware of yet #a small person with insect like wings dies not inherently mean magic exists!#now if the fairy starts casting spells sure #but has the fairy who politely knocked on your door and is waiting for you to open it actually done anything supernatural?#anyways. i actually really enjoy this question and think the discussion around it is enjoyable and the question itself was perfectly framed #like for example if you used 'bear' instead of walrus? MANY people are suddenly able to rationalize seeing one. dangerous or not.#and fairy is like. kindve perfect for 'hard to excuse mundanely' because it is both very human like but also very small #BUT it is not MADE OF MAGIC like a ghost or elemental or something #it strikes a fine line between 'magic is inherently real now' and 'this is just a horse with a cone taped on its head'#both of which would be situations that i think ruin the conditions of the question

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keeps-ache · 2 days

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wink blink look !!

#art #my art #artists on tumblr #digital art #sona #ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhgghhhh #am i RIGHT guys hfhvs #:33 #//not many thoughts recently #not many thoughts for a while actually lol #must've talked myself weary! huh!#/let me try at this though - i feel like i have some little part of my brain that's all stopped up #it's been like that for a minute !#/ah but a question - do you ever stand by a bit of forest and hear what are distinctly Whispers ?#i know it's definitely the wind but it's fun to think it's anything else lol :>>#ghosts or fairies or the road down the hill for whatever reason #/oh and speaking of hearing i got a weird + shrill + loud tone in my ear the other day and it just didn't happen again #a sudden EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE and then it stopped lmao #funky stuff man. wonder what's up with that hfhs #//anyway i'm working on my artfight references rn lol :)#i've finished one! what a miracle!! hfsh-#it looks a lot better than the one last year like Wow. don't think the same person made these you know what i mean hfh #//ah i've also started using padlet for realsies this time :>#it's a neat spot - it's gonna be great to just have the palettes i need on another device loll #that's the biggest problem i have on this planet! having to scroll my blog for palettes is not the most fun thing hfsh #/anyway gonna get back to it!!#i'm sort of tired but i Really wanna make kira and hid's this yearrr #they are very ~+~+~ <3 ~+~+~ to me lol :>>#so toodles ! here i go again hfhsv

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blu3haw4 · 17 days

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for the made up fanfic title: "let it flood, let it flood, let it wash away"

The first thing that comes to mind is something angsty, which isn't really my thing so... bear with me for a sec.

I feel like it could be a little three-acts type of fic

Im thinking maybe canon? Canon fix it perhaps?

Clarke's Pov with everything going wrong; First act, delinquents dying, the ark failing, the grounders attacking and Clarke in the middle of it trying to hold everything together (as usual)

Second act, she does make a deal with the grounders, either with Lexa or Anya first and everything is still very stressful, they need to accommodate to trikru culture, they have to prove they're useful to trikru if not to the entire coalition, they need to make plans for the ark's landing and a maintened peace afterwards.

Maybe there's no mount wheater, or maybe there is but Lexa never betrays Clarke. Maybe they don't kill them all and their plan goes through just fine or maybe act three is about Clarke processing all the things she's done, Mount wheater included.

And Act three 'let it wash away' Clarke goes to Polis, Lexa and all skykru become heroes, they finally defeated their century long enemy, the grounders' nightmare. It wouldn't all be rainbows and unicorns of course. Polits suck but are necessary, this time though Clarke and Lexa would face them together. The would finally get together and Lexa would show Clarke all the beautiful things about earth, about their culture and their people. Clarke would get the chance to remember all the fun things she got to do in the ark (they would definitely play chest very often) and enjoy earth truly for the very first time. Lexa would bright her days just as much as Clarke would brighten Lexa's. She would change too, of course. Aside from the polits and changing her mind with Clarke's ideas, she would be lighter, she would let go, be freer, she would want to enjoy life as she keeps on showing Clarke that is possible. She'd sort of rediscover life's beauty while showing it all to Clarke.

And they would be happy, they'd help each other cope with all the bad thing and share all the good ones. They'll love each other for all eternity and they would make each other stronger in every way.

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