#and produce work that actually looks like someone cared to write it!

[revelboo]

you producing first so quickly has me inspired to start writing again

That’s awesome! Writing is an escape for me. It can feel like work sometimes, but these are just for fun and I missed writing things that didn’t need to be perfect or meticulously planned out

My Favorite Accident Pt 3

TFP Knockout x Reader

• Slowly following at a distance, he can’t understand why you wouldn’t just let him permanently take care of the problem, namely that other human who’d dared lay hands on you. And because that man’s still alive, he’s had to tail you to make sure you get home safely. While he doubts the man will go anywhere near you after a run in with him, it still bothers him. That uncertainty that something might happen to you if he’s not there as he keeps remembering the fear in your eyes. Realizing that you’re not as tough as you act. No one gets to frighten you like that, except maybe him.

• Pulling into the apartment complex, you press your head back against the headrest. Your nerves finally catching up to you during the drive, leaving your hands faintly trembling at what might have happened. At what likely would have happened if not for Knockout. And maybe he’s right and you should have let him take care of Ricky, but siccing your big, alien racing buddy on that idiot didn’t exactly sit well with you. And there’s that baffling, snarling protectiveness of Knockout’s to figure out, too. He’d been furious, more than ready to stomp the guy just for touching you. Like having your own giant, psychotically violent bodyguard.

• This is where you live? Headlights dimmed, his engine snarls. While he doesn’t claim to know much about human dwellings, this building looks like it’s seen better days. Actually, it looks like burning it down would be doing you a favor. Especially when he sees the other residents lingering outside watching you. Absolutely not. Shifting on his tires, he watches you park and get out, lifting a hand in greeting to the group hanging out. But also reaching back to where you keep that pitiful little knife. That unconscious gesture rubbing him the wrong way and driving home that this place isn’t safe for you and you know it.

• A few more race wins and you’ll have enough for a down payment on a better apartment. Letting yourself inside, there’s time to shower and change, then you’re falling into bed. Too aware that your little extra rendezvous with Knockout have cut your sleep time to five hours, then it’s up for your day job. Every penny you can get going toward getting out of here. Because what would that be like? To not be scared all the time, shuddering as the guys hanging out in the front start yelling at each other and you pull a pillow over your head. Eventually someone calls the cops on them as another unit gets off third shift and cranks rock and roll to rattle your windows.

• He knows he’s been gone too long from the Nemesis, that he’s going to be missed, but hates leaving you here in this pit forsaken cesspool you apparently call home. It bothers him enough he stays the night, watching the drama unfolding right outside your door and getting angrier and angrier, because this is unacceptable. And he’s going to have to do something about it.

Previous

[countingnothings]

very occasionally, i get to work with SENIOR senior academics, and although my sample size is small, every single instance involves the quality of work your average second-year undergraduate would fail your class for producing. i'm talking everything from wildly inconsistent formatting and egregious language misuse to outdated information, complete lack of citation, and in many cases a complete lack of argumentation too. and like. at a certain point does trading on your presumably once-illustrious name to add yet another non-peer-reviewed pastiche monograph to your endless list of what seems like mostly junk publications matter? you have tenure AND seniority. you haven't had to teach a class you didn't want to in literal decades. they will carry you from the university in your casket and will probably continue paying you gobs of money for some time thereafter. it can't be about staying relevant in the field because nobody with a grain of academic awareness will cite this work as it presently exists! frankly if anything this kind of work tarnishes what may have at one point been a sterling reputation.

[shannonsketches]

Every time I talk to a DB fan who doesn't know or doesn't agree that the whole franchise is an adventure comedy first and an action series second I feel insane but then I find an old Toriyama interview,

You made some comedic scenes where you have minor villains Pilaf & co. appear; how did you come up with a balance between laughs and fierce battles? Do you pay attention to the difference between comedy and battle in making a work “entertaining”?

I believe that, when you combine comedy and serious battles, both of them might come alive even more. As for me personally, though, I much prefer drawing dumb jokes to battle scenes.

as a bonus, every time I'm like 'idk I didn't really like most of the DBZ movies prior to Yo Son Goku and Friends Return and BotG,' and get the 'whAAaaT they're so gOOD' (from my brother, tbh askdjs) but they all seemed really Action-Drama and About the Fight Scenes and I'm like 'meh kinda boring tbh' I get to gaze upon,

In the latest movie, Toriyama-san, you participated in the production from the scriptwriting stage for the first time. What is the reason for that? Was there anything you noticed in coming face-to-face with the work after so long?

I was told about a project for Dragon Ball in its first animated film in a long while, and I read the story outline; while the beings “Beerus, God of Destruction” and “Super Saiyan God” (which goes above Super Saiyan) were interesting, the themes were heavy, and I felt that the world was a bit different from Dragon Ball. Rather than telling them about this or that problematic spot, I thought it would be faster if I just wrote it out concretely, and while I had intended just to give them a model―”for example”―my hand wouldn’t stop, and ultimately, I ended up writing almost everything, including the dialogue. I am reflecting on the fact that I did something terribly rude to the scriptwriter.

Akira "It was bad so I fixed it, oops" Toriyama, Absolute Legend

[teaandspite]

The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)

Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)

Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.

"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"

"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."

"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"

"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."

"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. It’s a nasty job but somebody has to do it."

"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."

"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."

"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."

"…a woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."

"The author is a pompous windbag."

"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."

"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"

"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."

"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."

"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."

"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."

"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."

"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."

"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."

"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"

"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"

"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it can’t even see the forest."

"I’m guessing they are touted as ‘beach reads’ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."

"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."

"At least everybody’s eyes stayed the same color this time around.”

Part 2

Part 3

[gay-dorito-dust]

wahhhh reading that hurts me 😭 could you please write a part 2 where they all find out that it was bill who possessed reader?

Tag list: @babypeapoddd @i-am-tiredd @sly-thou-pookie @x-seyaa @sweetlumpkinseedlin @kawaii1369 @roo024 @lightmaren

Part 1 right here

‘What?’ Ford asked.

Bill cackled. ‘For someone as smart as you sixer, you sure are stupid as not to notice the obvious signs of whenever I’m possessing someone. I mean out of everyone you should know better.’

Ford clenches his jaw. All this time he had thought you had betrayed him when in actually you had been loyal to him and his family, up until he and his brother ostracised you even more then you already were for the past thirty years. He made you feel like shit, and he could tell that Stanley felt the same amount of guilt as he clenched his fists in silent anger; Ford then levels Bill with a glare. ‘You possessed y/n! My assistant!’ He roared at his once muse.

Bill only chuckles. ‘Correction!WAS your assistant Stanford! And pushed you through the portal whilst wearing the face is someone you cared for,’ Bill then gasps as he looked at the guilt ridden faces of the Pines Family and feeling the joy bubble up in his triangular body, the look of defeat and realisation was all too sweet, ‘Oh wait! Someone you once cared for before throwing them out like they were nothing to you, not once letting them the space to explain what had happened and how I tricked them into making a deal with me.’ He finished by pretending to wipe a tear from his one eye after cackling some more at the hilarity of the situation.

Humans loved to cause more problems within problems they didn’t fully handle properly as they stockpiled on top of each other, giving him the leeway to get what he wants without issue or confrontation from the pathetic family.

Possessing you during a brotherly squabble was perfect! Ford had cut all ties with him and decided to call upon his idiotic brother- as though that would’ve ever worked in any timeline- to help hide his work but when things didn’t go Ford’s way, they fought. You were trying to stop the fight and bill took advantage of that by claiming he could help you stop the fight, fat chance, he was going to make it worse and leave you to be his scapegoat! It was a brilliant plan to make up for multiple set backs thanks to Ford’s sudden realisation of his hermit tendencies, everything was out in place for the ultimate betrayal by the hands of Ford’s assistant; you!

Bill found that Tragedy was at its finest when the betrayal comes from someone you love and it did.

‘They didn’t-‘ Ford began.

‘Say anything?’ Bill interrupts, causing Ford and Stan to glare at him as the demon cackle as he got in close to their shared triangle shaped prison, staring them down with his one eye, unblinking. ‘You and your piece of shit brother over here didn’t even let them speak! Never less believe them when they were telling the truth!’ He roared, ‘and now you don’t know whether they’re even alive so that you can apologise to them!’

Mabel slams against the bars of hers and dippers prison. ‘they’re alive!’ She shouts and Bill now looks at her, amused.

‘How can you be so sure shooting star? For all you know they could be dead, cursing your grunkles names as they die with an unsatisfying end.’ Bill mocked her as she falters in her resolve, he was right, how could she be certain that you were alive when Gravity Falls was literally on fire and demons from another dimension were running amok? She couldn’t and that’s what upset her the most.

‘Because we know our great aunt/uncle better than you bill and we know they’re alive!’ Dipper pips up this time as he laid a reassuring hand on his sister’s shoulder, smiling at her as she smiled back at him in thanks for having her back. Bill looks at the twins, hating their optimism and hope that you were okay and decided to destroy this by reaching into thin air and producing a realistic illusion of your unmoving body before them.

‘Are you so sure now pine tree? They don’t look very much alive to me!’ Bill exclaims as Mabel, Dipper, Stan and Ford could only look up the body that Bill claimed was yours in disbelief and shock. This couldn’t be how it ended, could it? They still had to apologise to you after all for everything and make it up to you however you wished!

‘No, no this is some foul trick of yours bill!’ Ford screamed as he threw himself against the bars, forcing himself not to cry at the sight of your body while seething with rage and a need to avenge your supposed death. ‘You sick son of a bitch!’ Stanley joined in as he felt even more useless than ever, he felt the most guilt out of everyone as his eyes seemed to refused to move from your supposed body. You couldn’t be dead, he refused to believe such bullshit lies, you were still alive and fighting with the rest of them! He knew it, deep down in his heart he knew it to be true!

‘No.’ Mabel cried as she tried to reach out to you as Dipper held her while silently crying himself, vowing to take down bill now more than ever as he tugged his hat down to cover his eyes. You were the most encouraging person he’s ever met and now you were gone, you asked him and Mabel to trust you when contemplating to stay with Stan, and they did believe and they never regretted doing so because you were right! You were always right and yet in the end you died thinking they hated you more than anything; which wasn’t true! Far from it and now…now they can’t make it up to you, they had lost their chance.

Bill had won over the pines family once again.

[bones4thecats]

Beelzebub, Poseidon, Jack and Nikola with a s/o that's like 10X stronger than they are, like reader doesn't look like it at all but they can just pick them up and throw them over their shoulder with not even a little bit of their power wasted, reader is also known all around like a powerful and authority figure, they're a head god/goddess (kinda like Zeus and Odin)

Them With a Head God and Strong! S/O

Type of Writing: Request Characters: Beelzebub, Poseidon, Jack the Ripper, and Nikola Tesla Name: Them With a Head God and Strong! S/O Requester: Anonymous

A/N: These readers are all from different FAKE Pantheons, so you won’t be able to find any information out. But, they are all slightly inspired by the Bible, the Sinto, and the Greek Pantheon. By the way, here are the four different regions the FAKE Pantheons are from/set; Hierarchie - Germany ║ Hiérarchie - France ║ Jiēcéng - China ║ Ierarhie - Romania. By the way, these all mean ‘Hierarchy’ just so you guys know

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

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🪰 You had met Beelzebub back in 2000 B.C.E. at one of your first Gods’ Council Meetings as the leader of your Pantheon, Hierarchie

🪰 He was a very quiet person, and that interested you, due to being a fairly quiet person yourself. And the only reason that Beelzebub actually looked up from his hands was when someone tried to offend him, resulting in you sending a lightning bolt to strike them directly in the head

🪰 When you guys first met, Beelzebub had tried to keep his distance from you, as he didn’t want your Pantheon on his ass if you were to be harmed by this God-forsaken curse he was born with

🪰 Surprisingly, despite his obvious care for you, this curse had never harmed you, it was as if Satan had seen you as worthy of the affections of Beelzebub’s, which made him nearly cry tears of joy

🪰 Now, when it was decided that Ragnarok would have to produce 13 Gods for fighting, it was decided that there would be a Head of Pantheon fighting against a well-respected member of Humanity fighting

(Ignore the Beelzebub and Nikola Tesla fight)

🪰 It was you who was chosen to fight against Humanity’s representatives, the Greatest Warrior in History and by-far the most Successful Military Commander in History, Alexander the Great

🪰 The man had readied his Völundr sarissa as you stood there as he claimed the care that Humanity had and how they could better themselves if given the chance, your husband softly chuckled at your comeback to the pledge

" Let me guess, Brunhilde has been filling your heads with that nonsense? How fitting. She’s always been such a blood-thirsty and crude woman, I wouldn't put it behind her to lie to her assets. Though, despite the ignorant comment, you are not the dumbest man I’ve met, though, you better pray that he doesn’t die, mortal. "

🪰 The Gods erupted in laughter at your insult, and hearing Brunhilde’s swears only made it even better

🪰 Due to being well-known for your barbaric actions in battle and that you loved working your opponents up so they lost due to anger made your Pantheon cheer as Heimdall called out the starting word for Round 8 of Ragnarok

🪰 Now the only thing your husband could do is watch and hope that you come out of this unscathed, if a human could take down the likes of Poseidon, Heracles, and Hades, who knows if they can get you

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

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🔱 As a new head to your Pantheon, Hiérarchie, that originated in the northern land of Gaul, now known as France, by the migratory people

🔱 Poseidon was not amused when Hades had sent him a letter explaining that he was required to come to a meeting between the most powerful members of the multitude of Pantheons across the world

🔱 He had only been there a few minutes when you appeared in complete smoke, covering your feet as you strode in as your right-hand, the God of Life, Vie (life), appeared next to you, spreading light whereas you spread darkness

🔱 During that meeting, Poseidon had snuck quick glaces at you, and the only one to even come lose to noticing was Hades and Vie, who only glanced at you both and shrugged their shoulders

🔱 As you and Poseidon began to speak more and more over the next few thousand years, your relationship grew into a full-on marriage, settling a union between two of the most powerful Pantheons in mythology

🔱 Now, when Ragnarok was proposed by Brunhilde, you were chosen by Zeus to represent the Gods in the third round against an unknown human contestant

(Ignore the Poseidon vs Sasakii Kojiro fight)

🔱 You were set to go against the well-known Greek physician, Hippocrates, also known as the 'Father of Modern Medicine', who had written many different things he had discovered about illnesses, which helped Humanity grow in healing one another

🔱 Staring at the middle-aged man, despite the fact he (supposedly) lived to a very old age, that being 90 years, you scoffed lightly. This action made the physician cock and eyebrow and ask you what the matter was

" You. You are the matter. I'm the head of a Pantheon, a Supreme Deity, and I have to battle against some old man? How repulsive. " " You sound quite arrogant, ma'am/sir. " " Arrogant? Y'know, I was going to be nice and allow you the win so I can get back to doing my real job and handling my people, but now? Forget it. Grab your weapon and ready yourself, human. Because I'm not as nice as some say I am. "

🔱 Gripping his trident tighter as the second passed in the battle, Poseidon was interrupted in his thoughts by his nephew, Ares', screams of support to you as Heracles smiled and cheered for you more quietly

🔱 You were stronger than him... and if he knew he could defeat a human in battle, you definitely would. Right?

" Please be safe, my love... "

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🩸 Jack knows for certain that you're powerful, far more powerful than him. Even if he had a clone of himself, you would still win against both, no doubt. You are a Supreme Deity for a reason, after all

🩸 As your Pantheon was made many centuries before England was, you would normally curse people out underneath your breath in severely ancient Chinese, and whenever Jack asked you about your travels back home, you would rather he call it 'Zhongguo', as that is what it was called when you were made

🩸 When Ragnarok was hailed and you walked out of the Council with your smaller-Pantheon following you and the Valkyrie sisters, you were worried... what if Brunhilde chose your husband?

🩸 Unfortunately, Brunhilde had asked if your husband would be willing to participate in the battle to the death. And, being a protective spouse, you shut it down and said you would take his place

🩸 Hearing that news made Jack nearly spit out his tea, he knew you didn't want him to die again and all, but why would you sacrifice yourself like this?

" My love, I am truly sorry for not notifying you about this issue. But, I must admit, I do not wish to see you get thrown around by some punk-God who just wants Humanity destroyed. Unlike them, I know for certain that Humanity is worth fighting for, and I- I don't want you possibly dying for that cause. I'd rather die than live without you for the rest of my life. " " As your husband, I admit the same. An afterlife without you would be like living on Earth without oxygen, I would not be able to handle it. " " How about this; we fight together? After all, neither of us can live without the other, right? " " You always find the most crafty ways of getting out of this accidents, am I correct, Y/N? " " Yes you are, dearest. "

(Ignore that his original opponent was Heracles, he deserves to live U-U)

🩸 Humanity was not happy to hear that they were being represented by a killer duo, that being the supposed Jack the Ripper, a man who killed multiple women throughout the year 1888, and a Deity of Blood-lust and War, one that had tortured many in their conquest to rid the world of threats against your people

🩸 The Gods chosen to fight you both was the twins of Egyptian Mythology, Geb, the God of the Earth, and Nut, Goddess of the Sky. You just so happened to be close to Nut, which resulted in you and her going apart from one another as the battle commenced

🩸 When you and Geb looked into one another's eyes as Jack and Nut looked into their opponent's, Brunhilde looked over you all and clenched her fists

🩸 You both better come out of this alive; she doesn't need to lose someone she holds very dear to her again

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🧪 As the Supreme God of the Ierarhie Pantheon, which hailed from the European Country of Romania, you knew of many people coming from nearby lands, including the famous Nikola Tesla, who migrated from his home village in Smijan, Croatia, to North America

🧪 When you both first met, you were speaking to one of your close human friends, Marie Curie, and he noticed how your eyes lit up with amazement as she explained the suit's mechanisms

🧪 He hasn't seen anyone other than his fellow scientists look so gleefully at a piece of machinery before

🧪 As you stood and listened, Nikola had looked at you every once and a while before he was called by Marie, making him turn around and officially meet you

🧪 And he had to admit, you were one of the most gorgeous beings he has ever laid eyes upon. You were even more beautiful than the first invention he ever made

🧪 Ever since that day, you had always come in on your free-days away from Supreme-Deity duties and you would assist the many scientists on what they could do to improve the giant suit for Ragnarok

🧪 Speaking of Ragnarok, when you found out that the man you had grown close to was fighting Beelzebub, one of the most ruthless and mysterious Gods in the entire mixture of Pantheons, you had put your foot down and begun to speak with him about it, resulting in Brunhilde and Zeus making the exception for you to help out during the round, like a fight happening during a fight

🧪 When it was announced that you and Nikola were needed on the battlefield, you had hugged him tightly as he and his Valkyrie, Göndul, prepared and performed their Völundr

🧪 As you gripped your weapon, he looked down on you, gifting you the most gorgeous smile you had ever seen in your entire life of millions of years, and hearing the love-sick words pour out of his mouth made you nearly cry and kiss him for the possible first and last time

" Ljubavi (my love, I think?), I must confess this to you before we make an ultimate sacrifice. I love you, I have ever since I had laid my eyes upon your darling form. And I must do this if we do not make it out alive. "

🧪 When you felt him kiss you, you wrapped your arms around his neck, making him sigh contently as you kissed him right back. His and your shared fears leaving your minds for a while as the moment continued, the only thing snapping you away is the sound of Heimdall beginning your introductions

" I love you, Y/N. " " And I love you, Nikola Tesla. "

[hibischush]

Hii! Could you write March falling in love with the farmer and everyone around him noticing but the farmer? I think it would make him go completely crazy xD

sure thing! 🌺

March didn't even realize it until Elsie literally spelt it out for him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He bristled, crossing his arms against his chest.

Elsie let out one of her elegant laughs and patted him on the shoulder. 

"Sure you don't, dear."

March blinked.

Elsie's eyes widened with surprise. "Oh my stars! You truly don't know, do you?" she guffawed, and everyone in the carpenters' shop turned to look at them.

It was odd to see Elsie here whilst Olric and himself visited Landen and Ryis, but not entirely unbelievable. What March didn't expect was for him to be mercilessly attacked by the older woman about his love life.

He blushed. He shouldn't have mentioned that stupid farmer. 

"Everyone knows that you have harbored feelings for the farmer, honey. There isn't any shame in admitting that."

---

It developed all too quickly a few months back. It was March's birthday. And it was raining.

He really didn't mind that it was so dreary-- he was going to work for most of the day and then celebrate with his brother and Ryis at the Inn.

He sat behind the counter, rolling a pen up and down the table. Not many people come in to purchase weapons or armor. Except for that infuriating farmer.

March has had to make several suits of armor for them, every time upgrading in quality and materials. And every time he would remember their exact measurements to ensure that the armor would fit on them perfectly, and that it would be the best pieces of metalwork he would ever produce. Not that he would ever admit that to them, though.

The shop's door swings open, and March's heartbeat ramps up as he recognizes who it was.

"Hey! Sorry for dragging in all this water." The farmer, drenched from head to toe, beams at him as the door shuts behind them.

His breath hitches. Their clothes, sopping wet, cling perfectly to their frame.

He coughs. "What do you want? You just got an armor upgrade. Do you actually have a life? Or is all you do is mine?"

They rolled their eyes, a smirk still gracing their lips (not that he was looking at their lips), "Oh March. You never change. Even after all that copper and tesserae."

They saunter over to the counter, and March inhales sharply through his nose, hoping the extra oxygen would help his head function around them.

"I came to give you a present! Happy birthday, March." They smile softly, handing him a small box that was wrapped with care. He took it cautiously, and nearly jumped when their fingers grazed against his own. He tried to push the electric feeling down. 

Attached to the bow that held the lid down was a slip of paper with his name written by the farmer on it. Eyeing them suspiciously, they only smiled and nodded their head encouragingly. Pulling the bow and the lid apart, he was pleasantly surprised with what he saw. Amazed, even.

It must have shown through his expression, because the farmer began to explain themself.

"I was on one of the lower levels of the mines, and there was this untouched chest stuck in the dirt. I dug it up, and lo’ and behold..."

Sitting on a velvet pillow laid a shiny golden band, which was formed into an unfinished circle. Instead of joining in the middle, the two ends were molded into a pair of dragon heads, with what looked like tiny sapphire eyes.

March's throat dried. He struggled to understand why someone so sweet would give him something like this despite the poor way he treats them. His face got hot, and he silently struggled to fight tears pricking in his eyes.

"March?"

He panicked. "This better not be cursed."

The farmer laughed. "I promise,"

They stood there for a second more. It almost seemed as if they wanted to say something else, but instead they just gave a small wave goodbye and turned towards the door.

Just as they reached the doorknob, March yelled their name.

"Th-thank you. For the gift." He mumbled.

They smiled. "You're welcome, March."

When they left, he felt his heart drop as he sighed. They'll never realize what they do to him.

--

March turned to Ryis, begging via eye contact for his friend to save him from this overbearing granny matchmaker.

Ryis only shrugged. "Sorry, man, but it's true. I've seen the way that you act around them."

"What do I act like?!"

Ryis recalled the time that the farmer hugged him after he gave them the bracelet he made them. The carpenter said he didn’t know that he could even get that red, especially after the farmer told him that ‘it was the most thoughtful gift they’ve ever received,’ and that March was their ‘closest friend.’

Before he could retort, his brother stepped up. He explained that March almost poured molten iron on the floor instead of the ax-head mold while he was checking them out. "C’mon dude. Even I can pick that up." Orlic chuckled.

"March, I've lived a long life, and with the way you stutter around them...everyone knows that you're interested in them." Landen butted in.

Elsie sighed, “And what’s worse, the only person who hasn’t noticed is the farmer,” she turned to March, “I don’t know how much more obvious you could be, dearie.”

This farmer was going to be the end of him.

March's face feels so hot it's almost like he stuck his head directly into a crucible filled with molten copper. He covered his face with his hands.

"All of you suck." March mumbled.

Did I get too carried away with this? Yes. As always, hope you enjoyed 💗

[rosemarie333]

Astro Observations/Opinions (Vedic Edition) Part Two

Hello Guys! Thank you for the support of my first observation🫶🏾! I APPRECIATE YOU ALL

As an fyi I am not well versed in Vedic too much yet, but I am getting better and better sooo without further do, LETS START HEHE😋

These are based on my perspective of placements and signs, so take what resonates and leave what doesn’t🫶🏾 I’d love to hear y’all’s take as well!

1. People with sun nakshatras in their big 3 can be super prideful when it comes down to it. LOL i mentioned in my last post that they can be egoistic, and that’s true but when they are wrong they’re PRIDE HAS NOOO MATCHES. i’m a kritikka sun so i can admit when i’m wrong it be a HIT to my ego but i do my best to apologize. Buttt one thing about a sun ruled person is that THEY LOOK SOO GLAZED IN THE SUN like summer is y’all’s best friend because y’all were born sun kissed.

2. Although I am an ashlesha moon, i can COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND why people don’t want to be around us when we’re at our worst (this goes for mercurial people in general imo ( ESPECIALLY jyeshthas and ashleshas but revatis ehhhh it’s a 50/50 chance lol even tho they can be very emotionally immature at times). Like i have an ashlesha sun brother and he is so fucking provoking like he does it for a sport and he’s comfortable uplifting people then shooting them down. He can be very sweet and caring but sometimes his aggression and his bad behavior really does overshadow his good behavior and it’s hard to be around someone who doesn’t give a shit if everyone is on edge around them (lol i have mercury in the 8th house in ashwini so power struggles with siblings is very prevalent ugh). Women can be just as negative and it’s like they get a kick out of it because like i’ve said in a previous post they go off on others and tbh it gives them fuel and a short feeling of superiority because they feel inferior (i keep saying they as if i don’t have an ashlesha moon but tbh i understand).

3. Chitra PEOPLE ARE SO FUCKING CREATIVE OMGGGF i’m sooo jealous. like they’re ability to create something out of thin air is FUCKING impeccable. they also have great magnetism and people flock to them easily like dhanisthas. For instance , DOJA CAT omgggg great magnetism (rahu in the 1st gives that hella) and she’s super fucking creative like she writes the majority of songs herself and can produce music like as an aspiring lawyer who’s very interested in singing and songwriting BABES SHE IS one of my inspirations (i also love how weird her music can be). i know the star rules creativity but damn i wish i had it.

4. I’m tired of rahuvians looking like this exact emojis 👁️👄👁️. Like y’all’s eyes POP and like i be feeling like y’all staring at my soul like calm down. I also love how you guys rock eye makeup esp when it makes your eyes look bigger likeeeeeeeee. Speaking of rahuvians, why are ardras lowkey vindictive LMAO like y’all def have a streak of vindictive behavior in y’all.

5. Hasta women, please consider getting a hand tattoo. Y’all loook so fucking fye with a henna hand tattoo or even an actual one (rihanna is a good example but i don’t think she has a hasta placement, but ariana grande has a hasta moon and she has hand tats and they look bomb asf) Like hasta rules the hands and although y’all can be conservative babes TRY IT!

6. jupiter in the 1st house in hasta🫱🏻‍🫲🏿 weight fluctuating real bad esp since it’s in a moon nakshatra like😭i used to be so skinny and now i gained so much weight but tbh i ain’t complaining too much because it fits my body nicely 😏.

7. Having a Sun, Venus, and even Jupiter AK (atmakaraka) is such a flex like😭. Being very confident and self assured with a Sun Ak, Venus AK having that PRETTY PRIVILEGE AS YALL SHOULD!!!, and a Jupiter Ak being hella lucky and the world working in ur favor issss super niceee like i’m jealous (i know your full chart matters on whether these will work in your favor but even with these I feel like y’all were born to be a bad bitch). I feel like having these as a DK (darakaraka) is a flex too tbh. On the topic of AK’s, tbh Saturn atmakaraka is one of the most prevalent in very famous stars (Marilyn Monroe, Aaliyah, Lana Del Ray, Whitney Houston, Doja Cat, Selena Quintanilla). I’m addition, having this AK is pretty saddening because of lot of the people who have this (your chart also plays a part but as something i noticed and others have as well) usually have a hard time in life (Britney Spears, Marylin Monroe, Whitney Houston, Aaliyah). It’s a damned if you damned if you don’t AK butttt just because you have it doesn’t NOT mean one bit it’s doom and gloom because it’s not it is very cool to have this AK (EVEN THO SATURN IS A HARSH ASS MF lol i have a saturn ak 😩)

8. Ketu in the 1st house🫱🏻‍🫲🏿maladaptive daydreaming and very pretty eyes (looks like they are sleep deprived LMAO but it’s very cute imo)

That is all! I didn’t include venus or jupiter observations as I really don’t know a lot of them, but imma do more research and would love to hear what observations you have!

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 2/12)

hiii here's these two again, enjoy!!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie still hates you, you're way too nice, and gareth fucked up big time

contains: enemies to lover trope, themes of sexism/misogyny, smoking, drug and alcohol use, reader gets injured (nothing crazy), eddie hooking up with someone that's not reader, mean eddie, sexual themes, a glimpse of needy n sad eddie, mild violence (eddie punches someone), and Eddie being nosey <3

word count: 5.6k

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| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Eddie can’t do it.

He can’t fucking stand you. He hates that you’re everywhere, always around, always lingering— like a fucking hawk— just silently watching and waiting for one of them to fuck up. And he hates that you carry that fucking journal everywhere, always jotting down notes about whatever bullshit you write about— and he’s sure it isn’t any good either way because most of the time, the band does the same shit every day. There’s nothing for you to write about. They do a show, hang out backstage, catch wind of some party, stay out until they can’t physically walk anymore, and crash as soon as they get to the hotel. 

It’s the same shit. Yet, you’re always writing something down as if something new has happened— as if it’s something intriguing and eye-catching. 

You barely talk for the first few days; you just watch and observe, and Eddie thinks this must be how animals at the zoo feel— on display and putting up some fascinating show. He hates it.

After the third show, you start to loosen around the edges and start actually talking, like a normal human being. You talk to Jeff the most, laugh at his shitty jokes and ask him questions about songs and lines he’s written in past songs, and Eddie hates that. He hates watching you sit next to Jeff and scribble in your journal as Jeff strums out a new hook. 

He hates that whenever he brings you up to Jeff and makes some snide comment about you, Jeff never joins in— just shrugs and says, ‘She’s not too bad, actually.’

As if Eddie would ever believe that.

Gareth hardly pays any mind to you; he's too busy checking out chicks and just… being Gareth, but you’ve talked to him on multiple occasions. Eddie’s caught glimpses of you two chatting at rehearsals or in the green room. You even sat with him at breakfast the other day, and Eddie— Eddie almost blew a gasket because that was his fucking seat.

You’re ruining everything, and nobody seems to notice except for Eddie, and it’s driving him nuts.

“Dude, you’re gonna scare her away if you keep glaring at her like that,” Jeff mumbles, turning back to his guitar as he runs a dust cloth over the neck of the instrument. 

They’re in the studio today because there’s no show tonight, and against all of Eddie’s wishes, Richie still invited you to come sit in for their session. Eddie watches through the glass of the sound booth as you settle in on the brown couch, pulling out that stupid journal and a pen, mindlessly clicking it a few times before writing a note. Ridiculous. 

Eddie glares at Jeff and works the gum in his mouth as he pulls a face, “Good. She can blow off the face of the earth for all I care.” He grumbles, sitting down in the metal chair beside Jeff. 

Jeff looks at him, raises an unimpressed eyebrow, and shakes his head, “She’s not going anywhere, man. You’re gonna fuck it up if you keep being so… hostile toward her.” He points out. Eddie leans back in his chair, pulling out a box of cigarettes and sparking up. “I’m not gonna be the one to fuck it up,” Eddie mumbles through smoke, “You guys are practically feeding her all the information she needs on a silver fucking platter. She’s a goddamn shark.” 

Jeff scoffs and says nothing more as he continues cleaning his guitar. Eddie glances at you and watches you talk to the producer, smiling and laughing at something that Eddie can’t hear because the mic is off and the door is closed. 

Aside from how annoying and creepishly lurk-y you are, Eddie can admit you’re pretty. You have a pretty face, pretty smile, pretty hair, a bright look in your eyes that Eddie can’t stand because you look at the rest of the band like they hung the fucking moon when they speak. You look at everyone as if they’re so important, and Eddie thinks that’s dumb. 

He glances at Jeff, watches him silently for a moment, and glances back at you, takes a hit of his cigarette before speaking, “You like her?” he asks.

Jeff glimpses at Eddie and laughs with a shake of his head, “Isn’t that precisely what you’re pissed about?”

Eddie shakes his head, “No, like,” he kicks the heel of his shoe into the floor, “Do you wanna fuck her?”

Jeff pauses his task and watches as Eddie puffs on his cigarette. “I have a girlfriend, Eddie.” He reminds the boy. Eddie glances at him and scoffs, “That chick from Chicago? Thought that was just for fun.” He responds. 

Eddie remembers the girl from a few weeks back, remembers Jeff sneaking her on the bus while they had dinner. He didn’t know they were serious.

Jeff shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, “No, man. She’s come to like every show— and her name is Naomi; she’s not a chick.”

Eddie grunts in response, burning to the end of his cigarette when Jeff stands up and nudges him with his foot, “Just talk to her, dude. She’s not as bad as you think she is, and she asks good questions— actual questions, about the music and shit. None of that,” he waves a hand in gesture, “stupid shit we get from reporters. She’s good. Just try.”

Jeff leaves Eddie to mill about it and finish off cigarette, snuffing it out in the ashtray sitting on the amp. Eddie doesn’t believe Jeff one bit; he thinks you’re a liar who’s mastered the art of manipulation and has weaseled your way into gaining his friends' trust. He doesn’t believe you are here for the music, as Jeff had said; he thinks— knows— that you’re here to find the cracks.

You’re here to find the cuts and bruises and press into them so you can tear them apart piece by piece. A starved monster, preying on his band for some sick and twisted story to feed the media so you can climb the ladder of your industry. Eddie has met and knows people like you, and he can call your bluff from a mile away.

He doesn’t believe Jeff. But he does, however, know how to play your game. 

The next day is show day— the fifth show of the residency, and Eddie is in a good mood. He woke up with a girl in his bed, got high, went for a short walk to a nearby cafe, and even signed a few autographs for some lovely fans. On top of that, you haven’t shown up for rehearsals yet, and Eddie thinks the world is working in his favor today if you skip.

He’s playful today. He jumps on Gareth’s back and makes him run down the rows of the arena, screaming and hollering like wild animals. He and Jeff take Richie’s golf cart and go for a spin backstage, giggling when the security chases them and tells them speeding backstage is prohibited. They don’t listen, though; Eddie ignores everyone’s warnings and keeps hauling ass down the nearly empty hallways, swerving around boxes and equipment like a madman.

And Eddie may be mean sometimes; he may push people's buttons for the hell of it and do things he knows he shouldn’t just to get a reaction out of it, but Eddie isn’t cruel. He isn’t a psychopath who likes hurting people, so he doesn’t mean to speed past you and spook you badly enough to stumble into a stack of road cases.

Eddie saw you, and he tried to warn you, yelled out for you to move out of the way, and even honked, but you had a pair of headphones stuffed over your ears so that you couldn’t hear the squealing wheels of the golf cart or Eddie’s warning. He almost took you out. Almost. But he didn’t because he swerved at the last second, and you panicked and stepped back, stumbling on the heel of your shoe and falling onto the cold cement floor, slamming your back against the black boxes.

Eddie curses and comes to a screeching halt, parking the golf cart and following Jeff as he jogs over to you, quickly asking if you’re okay and helping you to sit up. As you speak, your face is twisted in confusion, wincing and sitting up, “I’m fine, I just— I just fell, it’s fine.”

Eddie watches from a few feet back as Jeff helps you stand up, face pinching in an expression of pain when you put your weight onto your ankle, and Eddie doesn’t believe it for a second. “I think you might need to get that checked—” Eddie cuts Jeff off and speaks the first thought that comes to his mind, “Why didn’t you move out of the way?”

You look at him, anger replacing your look of pain as you glare at Eddie. You grip the band of your headphones and wave it at him, “Because I didn’t fucking hear you, jackass.” You snap. “What, you couldn’t see the big ass machine hurling your way?”

“No,” you seethe, “You shouldn’t have been driving that fast anyways; this isn’t my fault. The least you could do is say fucking sorry.” You spat. And Eddie just thinks you’re a brat. Before Eddie can respond with an even bitchier response, Jeff is cutting in with a wave of his hands, “Okay, this is fucking stupid,” he scoffs, “just let me drive you to medic so you can get checked.”

Eddie doesn’t even bother helping Jeff get you to the golf cart; he simply watches as you fake your limp all the way to the vehicle and thank Jeff for helping you get in. Jeff looks back to Eddie and raises an eyebrow, “Are you coming, man?” 

Eddie wouldn’t willingly spend a minute with you if someone paid him to do it. 

He shakes his head with a scoff and tells them to go on, he’ll meet them at the stage later on, and Jeff takes off without another word.

“Did you try to hit the journalist with a fucking golf cart?”

Eddie’s good mood is long gone. 

After the whole golf cart fiasco, Eddie took his time walking around backstage and burning through cigarettes before finding himself in the room filled with snacks and drinks. He’s standing at the table filled with chips and sodas when Richie storms in and starts causing a goddamn scene.

“What—” “You know what I’m talking about.” Richie snaps. Eddie’s face twists in annoyance, “I didn’t try to fucking hit her; she didn’t move out of the goddamn way because she’s an idiot,” Eddie grumbles, returning to his task of sifting through the different brands of chips. Eddie doesn’t believe you’re actually hurt. That pathetic fall was as minor as a fall can get, and he thinks Jeff and anyone else who believes your shitty acting skills is dumber than a rock. 

Richie snatches the bag of chips out of Eddie’s hand and tosses them onto the table, ignoring Eddie’s protest as he speaks, “She sprained her fucking ankle, man.”

Eddie scoffs, “She’s faking it, Richie; anybody with brains can see that from a mile away.” He rolls his eyes. Richie looks at Eddie as if he’s lost his mind, as if Eddie is the worst villain to ever grace the goddamn planet, “You’re fucked up,” and Eddie’s stomach twists in some weird way he can’t explain. 

“You have some serious fucking issues, man. That girl did nothing to you, and you treat her like shit.” Richie spits, and Eddie hates how his throat feels tight, like someone shoved a golf ball down his throat. “Get over yourself.”

Richie leaves Eddie in the empty room, silent and, against Eddie’s wishes, feeling like the shittiest man alive. 

Eddie’s good mood feels like a dream now.

He’s silent throughout rehearsals. He sings his parts half-assed and plays his solos half-assed, too. You watch from the side of the stage, propped up on one of the road cases to take the weight off your ankle, and Eddie doesn’t even glance in your direction the entire time. He avoids you at all costs, leaving the room when you walk in, going the other direction you’re walking in, and even skipping lunch to avoid crossing paths. 

You’ve been like a ghost all day; everywhere Eddie goes, you’re somehow there, walking with a shitty limp as if trying to rub it into Eddie’s face that, ‘You did this. This is your fault.’ and Eddie can’t stand it. By the time the doors open to the arena, Eddie is more than ready to finish the show and steer clear of all traces of you.

You watched the show on the TV in the dressing room, silently snacking on a bag of Ritz crackers with your foot propped up on the coffee table beside the couch. The medic advised you to avoid putting pressure on your ankle for the next few days so you couldn’t have your usual front-row view of the show. 

The boys do good; they perform a new song they’re working on, and the crowd seems to have loved it. As usual, they get up to their ritual backstage antics, pregaming for whatever party they’ll attend, loud and obnoxious music, and cheering on whatever drinking game they’ve made up. You’re silently writing in your journal, updating the last entry on what you’ve witnessed today. Interpretations on the new music, drabbles on what you and Gareth briefly discussed about his childhood, and quick notes on whatever comes to mind while writing.

You hardly notice Eddie stumbling through the dressing room door until you hear him bumping into the side table with a curse. You look up, silently watching as he looks around the room, searching for something you’re unsure of. You try to keep your voice level to not scare him, but he is startled either way, “What are you looking for?”

His eyes are low, puffy around the edges from the alcohol he’d tossed back earlier, hair tousled with curly strands clinging to his lips. His lips are slick, swollen, and red, clothes askew on his lean frame. His jeans are unbuttoned, belt clinking as he sways a bit, licking his lips as he stammers, “Uh… my uh, my jacket—” he blinks, stumbling to lean against the door and blinking hard, “M’looking for my jacket.”

Your eyebrows raise as you watch him, the disheveled and captivating mess he is, bleary eyes gazing at you through a cloud of eyeshadow and whiskey. You breathe and point to the chair in front of the vanity, “It’s over there.”

His gaze follows your lead, landing on his strewn jacket, cursing as he walks across the room. You busy yourself with your journal, picking up where you’d left off. You can hear Eddie rustling behind you, and you try to avoid glancing back at him, but you fail, glancing in time to watch as he leans forward into the mirror to tug at misplaced strands of his hair. 

He’s silent for a moment before clearing his throat, glancing back at you through the mirror, “I’m uh… I’m sorry about,” he gestures to your elevated foot, forgetting you’re not even facing him, and rubbing the back of his hand to rub his nose and sniffling, “About your foot… Was really shitty of me.”

You glance back at him, a ghost of a smile gracing your lips, “Thank you, Eddie. I appreciate your apology.”

Eddie scoffs, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and shoving a stick between his lips with quivering fingers, “Yeah, well, that’s the first and last apology you’ll ever get from me so…” you silently watch as he lights his cigarette, puffing out a cloud of smoke and glancing at you through the mirror, “cherish it.” 

You quietly sigh and shift in your seat, ignoring his remark, “You going out tonight?” You ask.

You watch as he steps away from the vanity and walks over to the couch, plopping down on the farthest side from you with a deep sigh, “That’s the routine.” He mumbles around a cloud of smoke.

You nod, an uncomfortable silence settling over the two of you as you continue writing. Eddie is slumped down in his seat, quietly puffing on his cigarette as he gazes at you through low lids, “What are you writing?”

You look at him; pen paused over the sentence you’d been writing as you tilt your head, “I’m working on my piece… you know, the piece you’re starring in.” Eddie grumbles in response with a single nod of his head, and his eyes are so low you’d almost think he’s falling asleep if it weren’t for his determination to finish his cigarette. 

“Why— why haven’t you asked me anything?” Eddie asks.

You look at him, doing your best to keep a neutral expression as you fold your hands over the paper of your notebook, “I wasn’t under the impression you wanted to be… bothered.”

Eddie glances at you, scoffing, and you remind yourself that you’ve already somehow made the man despise you, so it’d be better to hold your tongue, opting not to remind him of the shitty attitude he’s had since you met. “I’m part of the band, aren’t I?” He shrugs, picking at the loose threads of his ripped jeans. “Shouldn’t I have as much coverage as… Jeff?” He mumbles, and you think he might be under the impression that you can’t hear him, but you do either way.

Your eyebrows raise, and you shift in your seat once again, “Well… would you like me to ask you some questions?”

Eddie is more gentle when he is drunk, you think. More pliable, softer. The stone-hard deflective shield he has thrown up for you has withered beneath the alcohol. Where his eyes are usually cold and sharp, they are now softer and telling— of what, you’re not sure yet. He shifts further into the couch and shrugs, and you take a deep breath and flip to a clean page, scribbling Eddie’s name in the corner.

“Okay, Eddie,” you begin, turning ever so slightly to face him. “Tell me about yourself. Tell me about who you are aside from the frontman of Corroded Coffin.” You glance between your notebook and Eddie, patiently waiting as he takes a drag of the burning paper. He looks at you, the majority of his face shielded behind unruly dark curls, and the room is so silent it’s nearly deafening.

Eddie shakes his head so gently you almost don’t notice the movement, “I don’t…” he bounces his leg once, “I thought this was about the music.”

You nod, “It is.”

Eddie gently blinks, like if he blinks too hard, the earth might shatter, and you think it’s beautiful, and you think you might hate that.

“It’s about the music, but I can’t write about the music without knowing the creator, can I?”

Eddie looks at you, eyes almost clear with lips parted around smoke. He blinks again, and you smile in encouragement, situating the pen in your grip. He looks at you, studies you, his gaze dropping to your awaiting hand, and his face twists in some expression you can’t put a finger on.

Before Eddie can speak, the door opens, both of your heads snapping toward the door as a tipsy Gareth pops his head inside, “Eddie, come on man, the car’s here.”

If Gareth had noticed the odd combination of you and Eddie sitting on the same couch, willingly enduring each other's presence, he wouldn’t mention it. 

You look back to Eddie, and you almost want to stop him as he gets up because, god, you were so fucking close. So close to finally touching Eddie. But he’s gone quicker than he came, the scent of his cologne and smoke lingering like a ghost, and despite Eddie giving you absolutely nothing to write about, you find yourself writing about him either way with nothing but his scent to aid you.

Eddie is drunk, and he can not, for the life of him, stop thinking about you.

A girl is climbing over him in the back of a taxi, and Eddie can only think about you. The look of pain you had when you stood up after falling, the way you looked at him as if he was the bane of your existence— it makes Eddie’s stomach churn, and he wishes the culprit for his nausea was the alcohol, but it’s not. Eddie knows it’s not because the second he thinks about the way you smiled at him in the dressing room, the way you said his name, the way you spoke so gently despite how much of an asshole he’s been to you, Eddie’s sick stomach settles and erupts in this annoying warm flutter.

Eddie can’t think of anything but the fact that he wants you to smile at him more, wants to hear you say his name again, and talk to him in your gentle way.

His face pinches in frustration, fingers gripping the girl's waist as she mouths at his neck. She moans against his skin, grinding down against his bulge and grinning when she feels him rut up against her. Eddie mumbles something, he’s not sure what he mumbles because his brain is split between worlds of scary feelings and arousal, but the girl laughs, scraping her teeth against his thumping pulse, “That journalist?” She asks.

Eddie blinks away the foggy cloud, “Huh?”

Lany pulls away from his neck and looks at him, biting her lip and tilting her head as she rubs up against him again, Eddie grunting in the back of his throat as his face twists in pleasure. “The journalist. You said her name.” Lany hums, drifting her hands up Eddie’s chest and grappling at the collar of his unbuttoned sheer top. Eddie blinks again and shakes his head, “I didn’t,” he denies.

Lany giggles, “You did, Eddie.”

Eddie glances over her shoulder, making awkward eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror, and he slightly grimaces and looks back to Lany as she leans in, ghosting her lips over his and tauntingly whispering your name. Eddie grunts in protest, squeezing her hips in a warning. Before he can say something, Lany kisses him with a hum before pulling away to where her lips brush against hers as she speaks, “Did you fuck her?”

Eddie pulls away from Lany, a look of distaste on his face as he glares at her, “Did I— what? No,” Eddie cringes as if it’s the worst thing he’s ever heard— and it’s not, and Eddie… Eddie hates that, he thinks. “No, I didn’t fuck her. Are you serious?” “You want to fuck her then?”

“I want you to stop talking about her,” Eddie counters, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip and watching as he drags the plump flesh down, grinning when Lany nips at his fingertip. “Maybe put these pretty lips to good use, hm?” He taunts, grin widening when she nods and sucks his thumb down to the last knuckle, his jeans tightening at the feeling and sight.

And if Eddie did say your name, he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t dwell on the fact that he’d been thinking of you for whatever odd, fucked up reason, and he doesn’t try to figure out what that weird flutter feeling is when he thinks about your softness, the softness he’s been depriving himself of.

He doesn’t dwell on any of it because Eddie is drunk, and when Eddie drinks, he thinks of and does stupid things, things that sound good at the moment but will screw him over in the long run.

And Eddie wants nothing to do with you anyway, and it’s not like one half-assed drunken conversation changed that, right?

Eddie’s got a blistering headache and a churning stomach as he stands outside the studio the following day. It’s drizzling, gloomy clouds drooping over the looming buildings of New York, and Eddie always hated this kind of weather; he preferred a full storm over the tease of a shower.

New York has never been Eddie’s favorite place, it’s dirty, and reeks of trash, and the people are shitty, but he likes how easy it is to blend in with the crowd; not many people notice him here, and that’s rare these days.

He’s leaning on the stoop of the building, tiny drops of rain dripping from the portico onto his leather-covered shoulders. A burning cigarette hangs between his fingers as he watches the traffic go by, taking slow puffs to ease his body.

He hardly notices you when you bounce up the stairs until you stand just two steps below him. He glances at you and sees the coffee cups in each of your hands. You extend one out to him, “Would you like one? They accidentally gave me two.” You offer.

And you’re fucking nice. Despite how shitty Eddie has been towards you, you’re still nice to him, and Eddie, for the life of him, can’t stand it. He thinks you’re weird, insane, stupid. Thinks you were probably dropped as a baby more times than anyone can count because there’s no way somebody in their right mind would willingly give him the time of day when he’s treated them as shitty as Eddie has treated you. He nearly ran you over, for Christ's sake.

Still, Eddie doesn’t falter, “No. Probably spit in it on your way here.”

You laugh, and it irks Eddie in a way that makes him want to shiver as if the sound were nails scraping against a chalkboard. He distracts himself with a drag of his cigarette as you say, “I didn’t, but thanks for the idea.”

Eddie grunts in response, focusing on the last of his smoke as you tell him you’ll see him inside before walking up the rest of the stairs. Eddie barely acknowledges you as you pass him, but he acknowledges the sound of something dropping beside his feet. He looks down with pinched eyebrows, eyeing the notebook lying on the wet ground.

It’s your notebook— obviously— he’d know that stupid journal from anywhere. It’s a pale yellow with two leather straps you like to tie in a lousy bow, and Eddie believes it’s an annoying color, but he thinks that has more to do with the fact that you chose it. Mindlessly, Eddie picks it up, shaking off the rainwater before it seeps into the pages, and he turns to give it to you because he’d assumed you realized you dropped it, but you’re gone.

Eddie blinks, eyeing the door and the book in his hands, and Eddie knows he should just follow you and give it back because that’s the right thing to do. Knows he shouldn’t peek inside to see what your mind is like, knows you’d probably kill him because Eddie would do the same if anyone looked into his thousands of journals back home, but his fingers itch, and before he can stop himself, he’s flicking his cigarette bud away, leaning against the building and cracking the front page open.

Eddie’s not sure what he’d expected. Maybe something interesting, like a list of dudes you’ve fucked or some rant about a friend, but Jesus, how much more boring could you get? Grocery lists, reminders to book appointments, dates for work meetings, boring shit that Eddie could care less about. He flicks through nearly half of the book before anything piques his interest, snickering when he comes across a page of you talking about a guy named Danny, “What a sap,” Eddie mumbles to himself, softly chuckling and turning the page.

He flips through a few more pages before halting because Eddie's name is right at the top of the page. 

The door opens, and he jumps, fearing you might be searching for your lost journal, but it’s only a staff member. Eddie watches them trot down the steps before returning to the treasure in his hands, eagerly reading as if the book will turn to dust before he gets a chance.

And Eddie thinks he’s fucked up, screwed up in ways he never really wants to address. Despite Eddie’s outwardly attitude of thinking he’s the best at everything and knows all, there are still ugly parts of him that he so badly wants to reach inside and pull like weeds from a garden, crack his chest open, and take it from the root; pieces of him that can make him crumble quicker than a house of cards on a rickety table. 

However, the way you write about Eddie— the words you use and the so careful placement of each thought— it makes Eddie feel something he forgot he ever could about himself, and he doesn’t like how it makes his insides twist. He hates it. Eddie hates that you can read him as if he’s a fucking children’s book. Hates that you can see and point out parts of him that have been lost for so long he’d thought it was a dream. He can’t stand it. 

But as much as Eddie swears he hates what you’ve written and as much as he hates that it makes him feel something other than disdain, he can’t stop reading. He wants to read all you can say about him and only exist in the imagery you create of him because Eddie, for once in a long time, is someone in your eyes.

You write about Eddie like he is a person, a human being with real feelings and depth and a history of memories you’ve never seen or heard of before, but you still somehow manage to paint him so clearly. Inside your words, Eddie exists as more than the entity that fame has created him to be, and Eddie can’t remember the last time he read something about himself and didn’t feel like a pawn. 

It’s… refreshing.

Eddie flips the page, thinking there will be more you’ve written about him, but he’s selfishly disappointed when he realizes it’s just a personal entry. He scans the page, nearly deciding to close it for the day, when he catches a glimpse of a familiar name— Gareth.

It takes Eddie a moment to fully grasp the words you’ve written, the meaning of what exactly you’re explaining that you’d apparently discussed with Gareth. As soon as he lets the words settle into his chest, he’s storming into the building quicker than he can comprehend.

Bursting through the room of Richie's rented studio, Eddie makes a beeline for the sound booth where Gareth is busy tapping out a steady beat.

Eddie barely acknowledges you and the rest of the band in discussion off to the side, but his abrupt appearance has halted all conversation in the room. He storms up to Gareth behind his drum set and wastes no time gripping the man’s collar, gaze lit with fire and words seething as he leans in and glares down at the man. The room goes silent as soon as the question leaves Eddie’s lips, “Did you fuck Chrissy?”

Chrissy Cunningham was Eddie Munson’s high school sweetheart.

As the story goes, Eddie spent the better part of high school crushing on the cute captain of the cheerleading squad. For as long as he can remember, Eddie had been labeled as the school freak— something to do with his love of fantasy games and ‘odd music taste’— so he’d never imagined he would get a chance with Chrissy, but that all changed after a weird spiral of events they experienced together.

Eddie and Chrissy dated for a few years until Corroded Coffin went big. The long-distance trial of their relationship didn’t last long; Eddie rarely called Chrissy, and when he did call, they could only ever find time to argue about whatever Eddie had been photographed doing. Chrissy never came to watch the band once they moved out to LA, and she broke Eddie's heart the one time she did. 

So, it’s no surprise that reading the words in your journal has twisted the knife that’d been lodged in Eddie’s chest for so long that he was sure he couldn’t feel it anymore— he was wrong.

Gareth is looking at Eddie as if Eddie has asked him if the sky is blue and Eddie’s mind is a whirling wind of fire. “What are you talking about, man?” Gareth’s eyebrows pinch in confusion.

Eddie sneers and pulls him closer, Gareth leaning so far off his stool that Eddie's grip on his shirt is the only thing keeping him from the ground. Gareth drops his drumsticks to grab Eddie’s wrists as Eddie speaks, “Don’t bullshit me, Gareth. Did you fuck Chrissy, yes or no?”

Eddie looks at his best friend, and he sees lies, something he’s never had to associate with their friendship, and it almost hurts him more than what Chrissy did. Gareth stutters, shaking his head as if he wants to say no, tries to say no and deny that he slept with his best friend's girlfriend, but he can’t.

Gareth whispers Eddie’s name so quietly Eddie nearly misses it, but the quiver in his voice is all Eddie needs to hear to know the truth. Eddie doesn’t take a second to think before he cracks a closed fist down on his best friend's cheek, sending him back, crashing into the symbols in a clatter of noise.

He doesn’t wait to hear Gareth’s spew of apologies, and he doesn’t wait to listen to the pathetic excuses he makes up because he’s marching over to you next, a scowl on his face as he tosses your journal into your lap, and you look up at him in shock, “You dropped this on your way in.” 

And if this is the end of Corroded Coffin, then Eddie’s sure you’ll have one hell of a story to write. That’s what you wanted all along, isn’t it?

A good story.

————

part three

————

a/n: AHH U MADE IT TO THE END, PLS LET ME KNOW HOW U LIKED THIS PART I LOVE TO HEAR UR FEEDBACK, ILY BYE

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975

[just-an-enby-lemon]

As someone that was literally nicknamed Azi because of Aziraphale by all my friends, the Neil Gaiman accusations hited hard but while I still enjoy the book - I'm a Pratchett fan more than I ever was a Gaiman fan - I fully refuse to continue to engage with the show. I respect the people who won't do it. And I really still hold a lot of respect for Tennant over his defense of trans people, but I, personally can't do it anymore.

Season 3 will give him more power because Hollywood can forgive an abuser if they are profitable and for all I talk about not caring for honor and glory I care a lot about morals and people and I refuse to be part of a system that allows Gaiman to go unpunished, his victims suffered enough without their abuser remaining popular even after their suffering went public.

So this is my last Good Omens post. Tho - as I plan to reread all Discworld books I've already read and the ones I did not read actually as soon as my exams week are over - not my last Pratchett thing related post.

I already don't post much about GO in a bit nor I'm relevant but I want my stance to be know cause honestly cause writing my thought process helps me think and realize yeah that's the right decision from me and now that I already wrote it just makes sense to post. Also I want my moots to know where I stand here.

P.S: Not a Sandman boy, mostly cause I never had the time to engage with it, like it looked interesting but not as interesting as the things I was more obcessed by at any given moment, but the part about giving him power by showing he is still a profitable writer is valid here to. Literally the only media it isn't rn is Dead Boy Detectives cause it was: a) not being writen by him b) the comics are also not being written by him in awhile.

P.S.2: this is not me calling Gaiman a bad writer. While I personally never had the energy to engage with most of his work bar the movie adaptations (Stardust and Coraline) and GO, I think we really need to stop this myth only good people can produce art or we will be in denial everytime an artist we like does anything bad. His work has flaws. But he wrote stories that stuck with people and that means he was able to do that. Anyone can be an asshole, including both people I mentioned in this post liking/respecting (Tennand and Pratchett) we don't know famous people, the art only shows a small fragment of an artist at best and way more about ourselfs.

[lookforsomeoneelse]

Just wanted to say that I love your work and can't wait for more also if you ever run out of ideas then here I had these in my head it's the only things in there so take good care of them please (.1 what if after they failed to bring the reader to them they went to the reader to reverse isekai style. 2 {not sure of your boundaries when it comes to writing so please ignore this if you feel uncomfortable with it also sorry if it makes you uncomfortable} what if reader is hurt like self harm/ assault/ robbery or something like that how would the characters react would they be mad?. 3 what if you made a hand made gift for every character how will they react and for my last idea how would they react to the reader singing or cooking or even the characters reading a fanfic about the reader maybe even a book the reader made?) anyway that's all that's left in this head but remember to take breaks even if you don't feel like you need one trust me you do burn out isn't something that's fun also remember that even if your mind plays tricks on you and tries to put you down remember that you are loved and appreciated also take care of yourself to many people aren't doing that and I don't want to be anyone's mom yet

From 🐉

wow

cool first emoji anon

alright uh

i’m gonna split this into parts

writing the first and second suggestion first because i think they would work well together

Started creation on: 7/7/2024

cw for (implied?) death and the incredible tension and maybe some other things

Breathe in.

Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Somebody is in your house. Don’t panic. Whoever it is doesn’t know you’re here. It’s a small, cramped space that you’ve hidden in, but you don’t notice that fact when your life is on the line.

You’re not sure if the intruder is armed or not, but you aren’t giving up your disguise to find out.

A long creak of the door notifies you that they’re definitely approaching your safe haven- which is slowly becoming a danger zone.

You place both hands around your mouth to try and mask some of the sound your breathing produces.

You can hear footsteps.

The light is let in.

You let out a scream.

_________________________________________

They- more specifically the combined intellect of the geniuses of the realm that stood- were sure.

Blue moon the chances may be, the geniuses could hold and draw upon fortune and fate just for this very moment, as the imaginary concepts were drawn in by the thought of the madness they were going to commit once again-

They were trying to see their beloved Guide once again. Having learnt their lessons from the last attempt, the new collider was much more durable and steady; and more importantly, it was safer. Because now the devotees weren’t just attempting to bring the Guidance to them, no, they were trying to transfer theirselves to Their realm.

“Is everything in order? We don’t want to fail a second time, don’t we?” Walking down like a bride on the aisle, the (most definitely) unmarried Herta stared at her work partner, Screwllum.

“Affirmation: Absolutely. The Absolute Exclusion Harness is ready for use. All we need now is for someone to use it. Question: Who will take up the mantle?”

“Me, of course! I had the Harness tailored to my proportions, after all.”

Screwllum paused for a moment, his CPU processing the information given to him.

“…Question: You… brought your actual body here?”

The puppet that Herta was using shut down and fell limp, its eyes going dark as a sign of lost connection. Herta- The real, in the flesh, Herta- waltzed into the room. She looked more mature than most of her puppets, though still quite young for her certain age.

“Of course. What kind of acolyte would I be if I couldn’t even see my master in person?”

”Affirmation: You already know the answer.”

They both remained silent for that fleeting moment, before Herta decided to make her move.

“Start it up.”

_________________________________________

It’s a small, cramped space that she appears in, but she can manage. She knows already that it will lead to the greatest moment of her lowly life.

“Looks like the harness didn’t come with me,” She mused, “I’ll have to improve on the design…. that can wait, though.”

She opens the door to what she assumes is a closet, letting the light in. She ponders why The Almighty would live in such poor conditions compared to what They deserve.

A corpse falls out of the closet she was just in. It brings her disgust.

And then she sees who the corpse is- or rather was.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

nononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononono nononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononono

She hadn’t cried in a long time. Her eyes began to pour tears, and when no more were left, she cried blood. Like a child scared of the dark, with a closed door and no nightlight, she held her God ever closer, trying to find some sort of signal that They were still alive- breathing, pulse, brain activity, anything.

In place of her dreams, now there was an eternal nightmare.

Like a banshee, she- and the rest of the universe she called home- would weep.

_________________________________________

First Edition completed on 7/10/2024.

A/N: wow procrastination hit me hard. also i am very sorry for the low quality ending. maybe i might make edits to this? anyway i have more to work on so i’ll get back to the other suggestions later

[httpiastri]

okay so i started writing on a boyfriend!paul blurb for after the race today, but then i deleted it and wrote this instead: a short snippet of a future chapter of the "the way i loved you" fic 😋 pretty short but it's all i can produce rn lol. will likely have some changes when i post the actual chapter. aiming to post the first things from the fic soon !!! hope u enjoy 😚

series masterlist

paul is beaming when you see him stroll back to the paddock after his media duties. his cap is perched on top of his head – the right cap, finally – and his fingers are still tightly wrapped around the neck of his champagne bottle. when he notices you leaning against the doorframe leading into the f2 hospitality, his smile grows even bigger.

you meet him halfway, arms wrapping around his shoulders easily, just like they have so many times before. one of his arms drapes around your waist and he holds you close, a hum vibrating from his chest. "congrats, paul," you tell him. "that was amazing. you were amazing."

"thank you," he says before pausing. then, he lets out a chuckle. "to be honest, i wasn't sure if you would care."

you frown at him when you pull slightly away from him, just enough to look into his eyes. is that what he really thought? that you wouldn't care about his driving? "oh, please. you still mean a lot to me, okay?" your hand moves down to his upper arm, giving it a soft squeeze. "i still consider you to be one of my closest friends."

friends. the word stings like a knife in his heart. it's been months since you broke up, and yet, it still feels like a raw wound.

paul forces a smile. he understands that despite how painful it is, there's something good in it. there's still a place for him in your heart, even if he's forced to share it with someone else.

he pulls you in again, and the hug is even tighter now than before. it's a comforting feeling; you're both at peace, with a good weekend behind you, in the arms of someone so close to you. after everything you've gone through together, but especially everything he has gone through these last few months with the mercedes academy and so on, you're finally through to the other side. "it all worked out in the end, huh?" you ask after a few moments of silence.

"i guess it did." you part from each other to leave that oh-so-familiar gap between you yet again. "will you be celebrating with us tonight? i think pepe had something planned. you know how he is."

you snort. "yeah, i do know. maybe i will." you shift uncomfortably, crossing your arms over your chest as your eyes dart to the ground. "but, um... i'll have to check with..."

you don't even say his name – you don't have to. ollie didn't just have a bad race today; the entire weekend has been so far from everyone's expectations. and if you know him correctly, he will not be in the mood for celebrations tonight.

paul just nods slowly, pressing his lips into a thin line. "right."

the silence that follows is so awkward you can't help but chew on your bottom lip, a tiny sigh escaping through your mouth. he must be hating this, you think – today is supposed to be only a good day for him, he shouldn't have his ex's new relationship pushed up in his face.

"well, i have a debrief to get to," you make up, flashing him a quick smile. "congrats again, paul."

"thank you." he gives you another nod, before turning away and making his way towards the paddock. "pepe will text you!"

and just like that, he's off, and your mind wanders to the thought of actually going out to celebrate. ollie will definitely not join you, though you're not sure why you don't want to go without him. is it because you'd rather stay and comfort him?

or is it because you're scared of what you'll do, or feel, when you're alone with paul for the first time since you broke up?

[theladyofbloodshed]

Imagine if feyre gets a surprise fourth book depicting that she is actually with the wrong dude and was with the right dude the first time

Oh my goodness!!!

Frustation bubbles away because Feyre must stay at home with their son. She is his mother. She knows what he needs. Illyria is too dangerous to take him to. The Hewn City will not welcome him. Now that Keir has access to Velaris, even that isn't safe for Feyre and her son. So they stay in their home. And she absolutely despises it.

As soon as those thoughts come, they're brushed away. Feyre has every comfort. She's happy. She loves her mate and son. It's necessary.

One day, Rhys is injured. He loses consciousness. And in that moment, the grip on his magic recedes.

Feyre feels cold. Part of her is missing. The shadow that's been in her periphery for a few years has gone. A weight has been lifted.

Rhys is no longer in her head. But she loved having him there. Didn't she?

He was always there. Always there to listen. To help. To be there.

She builds her mental shields up because there's a doubt - a tiny doubt - that something isn't right. As Rhys recovers, she can feel him there, scratching at the walls that she built. She doesn't mention it. Doesn't mention that he isn't in her head anymore. But it feels different. Instead of knowing instinctively what to do, Feyre ponders over her choices. She pushes back on a few things then feels her mate's power pushing harder against her walls. It makes her push back, makes her fortify them.

She notices the changes in him. That he stiffens when she disagrees. That he doesn't like her to be alone with his friends anymore. And he especially doesn't like it when she speaks to Nesta. As for Lucien, Rhys will not let her even look at him. He's subtle. He finds reason to engage her or Lucien.

When she looks at her son, she panics. Feyre wasn't ready for this. She had an eternity for a child. Her life had ended once then it was almost taken from her again. The knowledge was kept from her. Her son would have killed her. Were it not for her sister she wouldn't have known... because her mate kept it from her. They all kept it from her.

She'd wanted to wait. Wanted to have a life without taking care of someone.

She glances around the room and wonders if her mate is in everybody's head. Is that why everything is perfect? Not a crack to be found. Except in her sister. The one mortal who a high lord's glamour didn't work on. The one who Rhys continually battles with.

Feyre stares at herself in the mirror, horrified by what she's become. Where did her fight go? She runs through the events of the last couple of years but they feel blurry like viewing them through a dream. A pregnancy unexpected and unwanted. Until suddenly she decided it was what she wanted. The same clothes she'd first worn to the Hewn City. Too tight, too ostentatious to wear whilst pregnant. Until suddenly she decided they were what she wanted. The crowns and dresses. Not her. Not her.

This was what she had run from. An irritational fear that Tamlin would force her into a crown, that he'd present her only at parties, that he'd keep her to produce little heirs.

But that had never been him. He had been the one to send her home. To write her poems. To encourage her to paint.

He had not wanted that life for himself, far less for her.

In that dungeon, broken and afraid, Feyre had let the monster into her head. What had he done to her?

[in1-nutshell]

hellooo!! i want to say your blog and writing are so so soooo wonderful! i love it, haha, and buddy became dear for heart x) aaand!! thanks to you I like family fluff even more, it's my comfort zone now!

can i ask about older seeker, who care about skywarp and thundercracker with star? despite canon and w∆r, it's pretty nice to think that they're actually good with each other 🥺

Thank you for the compliments! I'm glad to hear that The Buddy's are leaving such a good impact on people!

Since you did not specify which continuity this was, I assumed you meant by the IDW continuity. If this isn't what you wanted, please let me know.

Now we've had a Human Buddy senior, get ready for Bot Buddy the senior!

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the Senior Seeker being a parental figure to Thundercracker, Skywarp, and Starscream

IDW

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Cybertronian reader

Buddy was one of the older seekers in the aerial troops.

If fact Buddy was probably the oldest bot in the Decepticon division. But despite being one of the older bots Buddy made it up with being an experienced flyer.

With their results it landed Buddy as one of Satrscream’s right hand assistant /teammate.

This meant that Buddy would be spending a lot of time with the Elite Trine.

“Buddy, reporting for duty, Starscream.”--Buddy

“Finally, someone who has some respect for the future Leader of the Decepticon army.”--Starscream

“Urgh.”--Skywarp

“Great another suck up…”--Thundercracker

“Well, isn’t that a bit ambitious isn’t it Stascream? Maybe not the future leader of the army—”--Buddy

“How dare—”--Starscream

“Don’t interrupt me Kid.”--Buddy

“Kid!?”--Starscream

“Nevermind I like this one.”--Skywarp

“Shush! Both of you!”--Buddy

“I was saying use your position to improve the lives of those who work with you.”--Buddy

“Now why would I do that!”--Starscream

“More kindness you spread the more kindness you’ll receive in the end.”--Buddy

“Buddy you might want to save your energy on that.”--Thundercracker

“Yeah, Screamer here doesn’t do kindness. I don’t think he knows the meaning of the word.”—Skywarp

“Worth a shot.”--Buddy

Enough time the Elite Guard had become too accustomed to the older bot being there all the time. Even after the war the Trine continued to have communication with Buddy.

Starscream wanted Buddy to stay on Cybertron as one of his advisors.

No offense to Rattrap but he isn’t the best bot to always have around. And he refuses to hang out with Windblade anymore than what he has to. Buddy does take time to visit Starscream whenever they are back on Cybertron.

“Screamer?”--Buddy

“Buddy?”--Starscream

“What are you doing?”--Buddy

“Having the mechs repaint your ship.”--Starscream

“Paint my ship?”--Buddy

“Yes, it was looking rather dull. Your ship shouldn’t have to look like that scrapheap.”--Starscream

“This isn’t a way for you to have me stay on Cybertron?”--Buddy

“No…”—Starscream

“Well then since I’m going to be here for a while, what’s going on between you and Windblade?”

“…”--Starscream

Buddy has made their home on Earth. It’s much more peaceful there now that the war is over. Buddy has to schedule meetings with Skywarp as his work has him moving all around with The GI Joe.

Skywarp likes it when Buddy comes over and races them around.

“C’mon Buddy best out of 25?”--Skywarp

“How about we take a breather? I can’t fly like I used to Skywarp.”--Buddy

“Aww! C’mon!”--Skywarp

“How about you tell me about that Rock guy?”--Buddy

“How about we take that breather.”--Skywarp

Buddy has to wait by themselves for a while to see Thundercracker.

9 times out of 10 Buster finds Buddy before Buddy has to try in finding Thundercracker. He gives Buddy a lot of copies of his screenwriting.

“Wow TC! This is a lot of screen writes.”--Buddy

“Yeah! I’m trying to get some of them to be produced soon!”--Thundercracker

“You seem to have a lot of good ideas here. But you might want to go over some of them again. I don’t think human’s have a last name like ‘Boyfriend’.”--Buddy

“I mean you can help me out as my editor. Just as a thought.”--Thundercracker

“Sorry kiddo, not my thing. I am however invested in how this one human having a crush on this other human that sounds suspiciously like Ms. Marrissa Farborne.”--Buddy

“Umm…”--Thundercracker

“And your love interest here kind of reminds me of y—”--Buddy

“HEY! Buster wants to play with you now! Isn’t that right Buster!”--Thundercracker

“Arf!”--Buster

Each seeker tries to keep Buddy longer each visit.

None want Buddy to leave.

Buddy never stays, but they always come back at the end of the day.

[normspellsman]

To the Ends of Pandora

Alternative Ending to “Secret”

part one | part two

pairing: neteyam x fem!human!reader

genre: angst (at first), fluff, reunited at last, making up, & mentions of neteyam being a lovesick fool for the reader (as he should)

word count: 1k+

warning(s): talks of self isolation, suggestion of neytiri not approving relationship, talks/mentions of self deprecation, briefest mention of the thought of sex (you’ll miss it if you blink), & neteyam crying (mentioned)

word bank: sa’nok — mother, sempul — father, tsmukan — brother, tsmuke(s) — sister(s), ikran — winged creature that the na’vi use for flying & hunting, yawntu — loved one; lover; beloved person, neteyamur — nickname / term of endearment for neteyam, oel ngati kameie — i see you, & great mother / eywa — goddess deity that the na’vi believe in

request details: “hello <3 aw, i loved your neteyam x reader angst, it was so good! i was wondering if you could write some fluff too, like maybe neteyam x human!reader getting their happy ending and grow old together or something :(”

note: this was requested by anon! i’ll make sure to link this post to their request after i publish it. thank you for requesting! i hope this what you had in mind & enjoyed :)

You had spent weeks upon weeks holed up in your room after the departure of the Sullys and the kidnapping of your dear friend, Spider.

Norm and Max had repeatedly tried to coax you out of it, offering you your favorite types of food or one of their shower times in hopes of getting you out of your room for once.

Nothing had worked. You stayed in your room for hours on end and never left the comfort of it, except to go to the bathroom but even then, it was barely a handful of steps away from your bed that you wouldn’t consider it to be leaving your room.

The argument you and Neteyam had before he left had impacted you, severely.

It was hard to look back on the memories you two made during the short amount of time you were together. Even though he hurt you and broken your trust, you still found yourself yearning for him and wanting to forgive him for what he did. Neteyam wouldn’t keep just anything away from you. He had to have a good reason.

The letter he left at the foot of your door had explained everything to you, but you hadn’t read it until weeks after the Sully family left the Omatikaya clan.

Once you gathered enough strength to pull yourself out of bed and actually read the messy handwriting on the piece of paper, you began to cry but even then, you wasted all your tears during and after your argument with Neteyam. Your tear ducts could no longer produce any of the watery substance that you desperately craved to run down your cheeks.

You felt empty after reading it. You felt as if your world stopped on its axis and everything stood still.

He tried so hard to accurately portray how he felt about you. How much he loved you. How hard it was for him to keep the secret from you. How hard it was to hide you from his loved ones. How he didn’t care that you couldn’t make tshaleyu with him or even bare him children. How all he needed was you and that would be enough for all his lifetimes.

You were the only one that he could see and you let him walk away without saying goodbye. Without touching him last one time. Without kissing his soft lips one last time.

You wished you had just sucked up your pride and hurt and opened the door when he pleaded for you to the day he left.

What would’ve changed? What would’ve happened? Would he have stayed? Would you have gone with him? Did his parents know about your relationship? What would Neytiri think of it? Of you?

So many questions ran through your head during your weeks of self isolation and even after. It hurt to know that Neteyam was out there and you had no idea how he was doing or even what he was doing.

Did he find another? Someone who was actually Na’vi and a suitable partner for him?

No. It wouldn’t have made sense if he did. His letter was proof that you were going to be the only one he’d ever love the way that he did. So deep. So unique from the other types of love he experienced within his life.

Neteyam only ever experienced familial love. That kind of love he had with his Sa’nok, Sempul, Tsmukan, Tsmukes, Grandmother, and even Spider and the other human scientists that were allowed to stay on Pandora.

But the love he experienced with you was different. He experienced it more intensely. Neteyam often found himself thinking about you in the ways only a significant other should. Of how soft your lips felt. Of how your soft, delicate hand felt in his large rough ones. Of what it felt like to have your hands run through his braids and lightly pull at them. Of how it felt to have his head in between your legs as you called out his name in pleasure. Of how it would feel to have your chapped lips on different parts of his skin. His thoughts consumed him wholly. All he wanted was you and it will only ever be you.

You experienced the same thing as Neteyam. You could feel how deep your love and affections ran for him. It consumed your whole being.

That’s why when you saw the familiar earthy colors of a certain ikran, your whole world began to turn on its axis again after being still for so long.

The whole ground seemed to shake upon the arrival of Neteyam, him quickly dismounting his soul companion before rushing up to the lab doors and repeatedly knocking on the cold metal doors.

Neteyam would’ve never thought he’d miss the sight of the humans lab. He was never too fond of it even after getting together with you, but it was your home so it was going to be his too.

Butterflies swarmed within the teen boys stomach as he, not so patiently, waited for you to open the door so he could gather you into his arms and hold you close and tight to his chest as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear and kissed whatever exposed skin he could. He couldn’t wait.

After spending months away from you and nearly dying at the hands of Quaritch’s soldiers that one fateful night, Neteyam had found a new vigor within himself to come back to you.

Shortly after his recovery, Neteyam had told both of his parents of his affections for you and how much he loved and cared for you. Jake had already had a suspicion, catching early on to his sons frequent sneaking out escapades. Neytiri was furious at first. How could he love someone of a different species? The ones that put his home and own species in so much danger and through so much grief? But, then again, Jake was human at one point and his soul always will be one. She too fell for a human at his age. Her anger towards her son, and ultimately you, faded away once she saw that look of pure love and adoration on his face when he talked about you. She couldn’t deny him of that. So, she bit her tongue and kept her thoughts to herself.

Both Neytiri and Jake had decided to allow Neteyam to leave a day earlier than the rest of the Sully family regarding their return to the Omatikaya. It wasn’t a permanent move, at least for now, so they still had the potential to go back to Awa’atlu. It was just a visit.

You would have forgotten your mask if it wasn’t for Max throwing one your way before you opened the only barrier that separated you and your lover.

Once you had secured the mask onto your face and waited a few seconds for it to begin working, you ripped open the door with as much strength you could muster, a huge smile on your face as you did so.

Neteyam didn’t hesitate to bring you into his arms and spin you around, yelling out in joy once he had you in his embrace after so long. You squealed out in delight as he gently spun the both of you around, your arms tightening around the expanse of his neck.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he exclaimed, burying his face into the crook of your neck to inhale your scent that he dearly missed, “I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you. I love you”.

He kept repeating the phrase against your skin until it finally settled into both of your brains.

He truly was sorry for hurting you the way he did. He should’ve never kept that big of a secret from you. Should’ve never kept you a secret.

“I’m so sorry for everything, yawntu,” Neteyam croaks out, fresh tears running down his face as he kneeled onto the ground with you still in his arms.

He wanted you to know that he was sorry. That he regretted what he did, but didn’t regret you or what you did together.

“I love you so much. I understand if you no longer feel the same. I know I wouldn’t if I were in your shoes. But I need you to know that I do,” he continued, rubbing the side of his face into your hair as you sat perched on his lap, raking your fingers through his braids.

You shook your head, pulling away from the blue boy.

Of course you still loved him. You wouldn’t be in his arms if you didn’t.

“Neteyamur,” you started, delicate hands resting against your lover's damp and tear stained cheeks, heart wrenching at the sight, “I love you. Oel ngati kameie. Always. I understand why you kept me a secret and why you did what you did. I still love you, even after.”.

Your words struck a chord in Neteyam’s heart strings. He for sure thought that you’d still hate him for what happened. Hearing those words come out of your mouth made Neteyam fall even deeper in love with you, if that was even possible.

“Oel ngati kameie, yawntu,” he whispered in response, forehead resting against the glass of your mask.

You smiled in return and stroked Neteyam’s soft and damp cheeks gently with your thumbs.

Everything in your world felt complete again. No matter what happened in your relationship or where it’d lead you, both of you knew that you’d follow each other to the ends of Pandora in a heartbeat. Nothing could stand in the way of your love. Not even the two of you.

After the events occurred, Neteyam had, yet again, proclaimed his love to you underneath the Tree of Souls and made you his once again, but for all to know.

Years passed and the both of you lived long, healthy lives together, only leaving each other once the Great Mother called for the both of you to return to her warm embrace. Even then, you spent every second of your shared afterlife in each other’s arms.

[khaire-traveler]

🧼 Subtle Hygeia Worship 🐍

Practice hygiene to the best of your ability; wash your hands, brush your teeth, take showers/baths, etc.

Take care of your physical and mental health; see a doctor if you can, talk to a therapist if able, etc.

Take your medications if any

Drink herbal teas, especially those with healing or calming properties (stomache, headache, etc.; DO NOT USE HERBS TO TREAT SERIOUS CONDITIONS PLEASE)

Get a candle that reminds you of her (no altar needed)

Wear jewelry that reminds you of her

Keep a picture of her in your wallet

Support mental and physical healthcare or humanitarian organizations

Volunteer at a homeless or animal shelter

Donate hygiene kits to homeless shelters; these are almost always in great demand, actually

Keep your space clean; clean your bathroom and room regularly if able

Get a mug with a cute snake on it (here is one, here is another, and here is a third; I just wanted to look up cute snake mugs lol)

Have a stuffed animal snake (here is one, here is another, and here is a third; cute ones are weirdly hard to find, so I wanted to help lol)

Have imagery of cups, snakes, fruit, or healing objects (anything you associate with it) around

Drink white wine or clear sparkling grape juice (or anything similar, really)

Grow your own garden, especially herbs and produce of your own; tend to plants

Engage in activities that make you happy! Do things you enjoy

Learn about medicinal applications of herbs

Eat well; eat fruits, veggies, etc.

Drink water regularly; hydrate or diedrate, baby 👉😎👉

Practice compassion and love towards yourself

Write affirmations on sticky notes and place them in spots where you'll see them often

Take a self-care bath or shower, especially with soothing herbs like lavender or jasmine

Keep a self-care/self-love journal; write about things you are grateful for (small things like the fact that you liked your socks that door or you have something comfy to sleep on; doesn't have to be big), make a list of your personal strengths at the end of each month and see how you grow, write reassuring messages you think would help you to hear in that moment

Wash your hands/anoint yourself with salt water to cleanse yourself of any energy you don't want (only when necessary)

Have a skincare or body care routine

Try to get in enough sleep; work on your sleep schedule

Start your morning by stretching your muscles or doing some light exercises if you can

Engage with relaxing/calming activities at the end of each school day, work shift, or straining day; find a way to decompress

Be gentle with yourself when you're having a difficult day

Take care of a sick loved one or a loved one who is having a hard time; support those you love

Cook a warm meal for a loved one

Bathe or washcloth bathe a pet; make sure they're eating well; take walks or play with them

Cook a warm meal for someone in need

Learn about/research health conditions that you or your loved ones have; get a better understanding of these things

Know your healthcare rights; know your HIPPA rights (if in US)

Practice being more comfortable asking for help; everyone needs a hand sometimes

Take frequent breaks from screens; make sure to go outside for some fresh air

Take a walk/hike; doesn't matter where

Exercise; get some movement throughout your day, even just basic stretching

Start a morning and/or nighttime self-care routine

Spend time with loved ones

Eat three meals a day

Feed neighborhood dogs, cats, birds, etc.

Practice kindness towards others; holding the door for someone, offering to help someone carry their things, giving compliments to a stranger, etc.

Clean anything you regularly interact with; clean these things when it feels appropriate; mouse and keyboard, car, shower, toilet, doorknobs, sinks, etc.

Do any household chores, especially things like vacuuming, sweeping, or washing dishes

Acknowledge and celebrate even just the little ways you were able to take care of yourself in a day; even something as simple as brushing your hair or wearing a comfy outfit

Engage with a local community; join clubs, join support groups, volunteer at places, help with food/toy drives, etc.

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I'll likely add more later on. This is my list of discreet ways of worshipping Hygeia! I hope someone finds it useful. Take care, y'all! 🩷

Link to Subtle Worship Master list