#honey musings

[kisaragihoney]

hello all 5 ghostbat fans do u understand my vision

[septemberkisses]

On Fathers and Rage: Collected Works #2

— me and him, on two opposite ends.

Excerpts from:

Mouthful of Forevers by Clementine von Radics • Pinterest • Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz • Vader en Dochter: Waarover Praten Zij? by Scheveningen 1999 • Pinterest • Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur • I hope this reaches her in time by R.H. Sin • Doomed From The Beginning by @/veniennes on tiktok • Lyra Wren • Woodtangle by Mary Ruefke

(read part 1 here)

[saphstories]

Now I might be stating the obvious here but...

Ya think the reason Shadow is so offended by Sonic calling him a Faker is because it's the one thing Shadow is most afraid of? That slim chance that he isn't...real? That he's artificial...a fake?

[visualtaehyun]

So I watched this roundtable discussion by GMMTV and am already bemoaning that it's unsubbed (as of yet) because it means no one on this site is talking about it djshdhsjs

"Where do Y & sapphic series stand in the LGBTQIA+ community?"

It's hosted by Pompam Niti and features: - director and producer X Nuttapong - writer/novelist Best Kittisak aka Ninepinta - screenwriter Bee Pongsate - and several GMMTV artists, i.e. Golf Kittipat, Love Pattranite, Milk Pansa, Joss Wayar, and Mark Pakin

I find the choices fascinating cause Mark has played opposite people of every gender and starred in countless QLs; Joss played bi and poly 'Neo' in 3 Will Be Free; MilkLove are the only koojin present and representing GL, with Love also being the youngest there; while P'Golf has been in the industry the longest, plus she's the only one who's trans at the table. As for the behind the scenes side, Khun X has worked on almost every GMMTV QL ever lol and ever since I translated that Twitter Space snippet where he talked about the marriage equality lines in Cherry Magic, I find his point of view really interesting; Khun Best is the only original author and thus has experience in the publishing world; and Khun Bee has written for lots of well-known BLs since 2019.

Hope it gets subbed at some point 🙏 I'm not catching some of the details, unfortunately, because P'Pompam's using too many new words for me djsjhds i was like reverse-engineering his long-ass questions based on the answers everyone gives lmao

EDIT: Here's a clip translated by Iris OG that covers the first talking point, as well as a few more translated parts by several translators on twt ✨

[honeysodas]

Haiiii, I’ve been following you for a while and I love your art style, I was wondering if you have any OCs or stories you’ve been doing? And if you didn’t, would you consider making one?

I do infact have a regretevator oc I've been wanting to show for a while!

His name is Mr. Muse he is the host of splitsville and splits boss! He's a big fan of her work (that being her writing for jokes for splitsville) he is a big fan of theatre and entertainment :-)

I love my boy

But as for original ocs I do! But I have little to no writing for them but I can always show em off :]

[tofixtheshadows]

I keep thinking about chapter 85, when Marcille is lord of the dungeon and her friends are trying to appeal to her by offering her all these things she wants and sharing what they want in return. Specifically I keep thinking about the one thing she asks for that they can't give her.

Because that's the heart of grief for me. It can't be placated. It can't be reasoned with or drowned in honey. Death is a permanent hole in your life. All the tasty meals and good experiences in the world don't change the fact that I can't share them with my loved one anymore.

Marcille had 35 years with her father and still wishes they had more time together. Because no amount of time with your loved ones is ever enough. Nothing less than a thousand years will do.

[eefrostpoetry]

in the midst of my chaos i found solace in you

[thatsrightice]

HARRY CROSBY NEEDS A HUG

The following passages are excepts from Harry Crosby’s memoir, A Wing and a Prayer:

“I was getting tired of losing all my friends.”

…

“"Did all my friends get back from pass?" I ask.

No sound. I know something is wrong. He is trying to figure out how to break the bad news.

I come in quick. "Did some of them have a permanent change of station?"

"Yes, all but one."

All but one! That means that maybe twenty planes got shot down.

The weatherman breaks the code. "Egan's gone. Your old crew is gone. The whole group is gone. The only one who came back was that new crew in the 418th. They call him Rosie."

I drop the phone. I can't believe it. Brady, Ham, Davy and Hoerr, all gone. Cruikshank gone. Old southern-boy Murph, gone.

All my friends. Every crew who went through training with me in the States is gone.”

…

“Since I was not flying on missions, life at Thorpe Abbotts should have been easier for me.

It wasn't.

As I look back I think the losses were beginning to get to me.”

*it only gets worse under the cut*

…

“I don't think I worried so much about getting shot down myself.”

…

“If I got shot down, I wanted to be well dressed, with all my ribbons on display. When I went into the air, I felt the weight of the whole world on me. What if I screwed up and missed a rendezvous and left the 100th unprotected? What if I had been the lead navigator at Münster, or on the bad Berlin raid? All those losses attributable to me?”

…

“I should have felt better.

But I didn't.

Everyone else seemed to have a life that had limits. They either flew their missions and went home, or got shot down. Kaput.

With me it went on and on.”

…

“If I got shot down I wouldn't have to worry about the war anymore.”

…

“Life on the base was not easy.

At Thorpe Abbotts, we didn't lose men only on missions. We lost them on bicycles, as Americans tried to cycle home at night from the pubs. Dark. No lights. Into a culvert. A broken shoulder bone.

We lost crews when we shouldn't have lost them.

A pilot going up to slow-time an engine after it was overhauled was busy looking at his instruments at the head of the runway. He began to roll just as three other planes came in from a practice mission.

Crash. All four planes piled into each other. Only two men killed.

On one mission, with an experimentally heavier bomb load, three planes could not lift off and smashed into the revetment at the end of the runway. All crews lost. Thirty human beings.

On another occasion, seven planes piled into each other as they all tried to land at once. Five men killed and seven planes salvaged and cannibalized. Carnage.

This was getting to me.”

…

“As a second lieutenant on Brady's crew, I was eager, unsure of myself, navigating by keeping my eyes on the plane up ahead. As a first lieutenanant on Blakely's crew I was still eager and unsure of myself, but I was in the plane up ahead. To do my job, I almost tore myself in two. Missions drained everything out of me that was in me. As a captain Group Navigator, I was still eager and unsure—no planes were in front of me, and the missions still took everything out of me. When I got out of a plane after a mission I was so exhausted I could hardly walk. I smelled so much of sweat I left my flying clothes outside my barracks to air.”

…

“Then the crew went home.

And another batch of my friends were gone.

On the Russia Shuttle I had come to know Bucky Mason, the pilot from Texas who flirted with Maja Krootz, our vivacious interpreter. As a command pilot he was highly respected by my navigators. He went out on what was to be his last mission—and did not come back. The whole low squadron got blown out of the air, and none of them were in the formation that flew, after the mission, over the control tower. As I stood there waiting for them, two planes ran into each other on the runway. They blew up, killing nineteen men right in front of me.

It wasn't only that my friends were gone. The spirit was gone.

The laughter. Ham, Brady, Warsaw, Crankshaft, Solomon, Murph—always good for a laugh—were gone. Under Darr Alkire and Chick Harding as Group Commanders, anything went with the 100th and it did. When Bucky Cleven and Bucky Egan were setting the tone of the 100th, there was dash. There was derring-do. Flying the war was an adventure.

Now, under Bennett and Jeffrey, we were doing what we should have done. We hit targets and we lost fewer planes.

On missions almost no one wore a white scarf. The flamboyance made the war endurable. Now it was gone. The 100th was a quieter place.

On the twentieth, we sent the group to Merseburg, and they got smacked by the worst flak barrage until that time. As we waited for them at the control tower, we counted. Eight missing.

Hard on me.”

…

“I remember my friends, those who made it through and those who did not. I remember the tragedies, and the horror, but I remember the laughter.”

[canisalbus]

I love the shape language for Machete and Vasco, how angular and pointy the former is VS how round and soft the other... It's so GOOD I adore that

Thank you! I like the contrast as well, it makes them very fun to draw together. I try to keep them visually distinct while still making sure that they look harmonious and complementary next to each other.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

'It's Not the Years, Honey - It's the Mileage'

a Whumped Doctor Strange one-shot

Inspired by a couple of pre Multiverse of Madness articles comparing Stephen Strange to Indiana Jones😉😁

genre: whump, hurt/comfort, light humor

rating: general audience

characters: Stephen Strange, Tess O'Neill (Healer of Kamar-Taj, OFC); established relationship; Cloak of Levitation

word count: 1.9k

It was supposed to have been date night, but Stephen was overdue. Three hours overdue. Again. Tess had taken these things in stride, right from the start. After all, you can’t be lucky enough to be the significant other of the Sorcerer Supreme without being incredibly patient, understanding, and flexible. Besides which, he was always so adorable when he finally found his way home, sincere in his apologies, and more often than not, presenting her with a fresh bouquet, which he managed to conjure even before he uttered a single word. Tonight’s transgression was bound to be a two dozen roses mea culpa--and she just knew he’d make them her favorite: pale pink American Beauties.

Not that he ever needed to. His company was dear enough recompense for any time he kept her waiting. Except for the worrying, of course, but Tess had quickly adjusted to that, and so far she hadn’t made any complaint, no matter how late her Stephen managed to show up. She’d rather spend their precious time on more pleasant pursuits--and on showing him however she could, how happy he made her simply by being...him. 

And so, Tess had adjusted down their plans. First, from dinner out and a movie, to take-out and the latest blu-ray release. And then from that, to something she could whip up, quick and easy, in the Sanctum’s smaller kitchen. Stephen was bound to be hungry when he arrived, and she had a hearty pot of stew simmering on the stove and a batch of honey cornbread ready to pop into the oven while he cleaned up. 

Tess had just given the stew another stir, when she felt a tapping on her shoulder. She turned to find Cloak looking battle singed and...well...harried. How this being without a face could express such a wide range of emotions was a continual wonder to her--but right now her immediate reaction was to ask if Stephen was alright. 

Cloak’s collar shook a clear ‘no’, and then it tugged at her arm, to get her moving. She turned off the stove and moved the stewpot to another burner, and followed Cloak down the grand staircase. And there sat Stephen on the third step, head bowed and shoulders hunched, his bloodstained tunic rent in several places. Tess’s heart leapt to her throat, though she tried to remain calm, realizing that he needed her as a Healer tonight, far more than as the woman who loved him. 

She dropped to one knee in front of him, noting that the shelf of his jaw bore a dark bruise, and that he had a nasty cut across the bridge of his nose, a black eye and a split lip. “Hey,” she said softly, reaching her sure hands towards him, studying his wounds with practiced eyes, evaluating which she should address first. Thankfully, the blood on his clothing was dried, so that Tess concluded he wasn’t actively bleeding. “What happened,” she asked quietly, concerned to see him breathe shallowly, as breathing any deeper appeared to make him wince. 

“You don’t wanna know,” he muttered, as she placed both of her palms on his chest and closed her eyes, searching for any internal damage. 

“Ow...ow...ow...owwwwwwww,” he grumbled, “Is this really necessary?” 

Cloak was flitting back and forth, giving the closest approximation of pacing as possible. “It certainly is, as well you know...Doctor.” To that he only grunted, then followed with a heavy groan when she palpated his lower ribs and abdomen. “Stephen,” she informed him patiently, “You’ve got at least three cracked ribs...” 

“I know,” he replied curtly, “Don’t you think I know that?”

Tess tried to placate him. “Of course you do--but there’s no need to be pissy about it. It’ll just take a simple healing spell to start them knitting properly together.” 

“I...know,” he repeated through gritted teeth, attempting to stand. Cloak had to swoop in to keep him from landing hard on his bottom. 

Tess rose and wiped her hands on her denim capris. “Cloak, can you get him up to the infirmary, so I can take care of him properly?” 

Cloak nodded, but Stephen had other ideas. “No infirmary--just get me to my room...” 

Honestly, doctors really do make the worst patients, she thought, although she held her tongue, telling Stephen instead, “Nope. It’s the infirmary for you.” He huffed, but didn’t speak up. “And that’s Healer’s orders, Stephen. I outrank you in this, at least for the moment...” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled dismissively. He handed her his sling ring, “We can portal there--it’ll be quicker and a less bumpy trip than relying on...” He wagged his head in Cloak’s direction. 

Tess had to suppress a chuckle, as Cloak’s reaction to that perceived insult was to turn its back to Stephen. “Alright,” she sighed, slipping his ring on and bringing the golden circle to life. She returned to his side and offered him a hand to help him stand up. “Just lean on me, and we’ll be there in a jiffy.” 

She could feel his aversion to appearing so needy, even as he braced himself with an arm across her shoulders, but knew well that it wasn’t on her account. Stephen generally disliked showing weakness to anyone, although as their relationship had blossomed, his trust in her had been enough for him to reveal much of what he hid from the world behind sarcasm and bravado. Tess had always taken such precious trust as both a privilege and an honor. Stiff lipped against his pain and leaning on her heavily, they hobbled through the portal and Tess led him to sit on the nearest bed. 

The infirmary was empty but for them, and she took a moment to close the portal, and then rushed to gather her supplies. Disinfectant and a basin of warm water, along with a washcloth and the softest, fluffiest towel she could conjure, for after she got him cleaned up. And bandages. Lots and lots of bandages. Tess returned to Stephen’s side to find him struggling to remove his tunic. She set down her things, telling him, “Here...let me...” 

“I’ve...got...this.” he grunted, though it was clearly hurting him to raise his arms above his head. 

“No. No you don’t,” she corrected him gently, “Please--just let me do my job, Stephen.” 

“Alright...alright...” He did his best to relax as she worked the garment over his head and off. Tess gasped at the network of contusions across his shoulders and upper chest. “Dammit, Tess...that hurts!” 

“I know, darling. I know.” To her relief, most of his bruises appeared superficial. “Let’s start by getting you cleaned up, okay.” Stephen nooded, and closed his eyes as she washed the cut on his nose, and several shallow scratches on his cheeks and chin, finally seeing to the split on his lower lip. 

Next, she addressed the wounds on his back, circling behind him and perching on the edge of the bed. She was relieved again to find that they were rather shallow as well, and made quick work of cleansing them. Tess chose that moment to speak to him as his woman, rather than as a Healer. “You know--you’re extremely fit for a man your age, darling. But it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more careful out there.”

“It’s not the years, honey...” he snorted, “...it’s the mileage...” Stephen had stiffened despite her gentle approach, but when she applied the disinfectant, he hissed out a string of very un-Stephen-like curses. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” she muttered, her patience beginning to strain.

“I’m not,” he responded petulantly. 

Coulda fooled me, she thought, but bit back that retort. A few minutes more and she had his wounds properly bandaged. Tess set aside the basin and the towel, telling him, “Now let’s see about those ribs. Do you think you can lay back? It’ll be easier that way.” 

“Of course I can,” he barked, “I’m not an invalid, you know.” 

No, you’re just the crankiest Master of the Mystic Arts that I've ever encountered. Bravest and most selfless too, so I suppose I can forgive your churlishness.

He winced when she placed her hands on his shoulders, helping to ease him onto his back. Closing her eyes again, she skimmed her hands above the skin covering his damaged ribs, whispering the charm needed to bolster his body’s natural healing ability. Satisfied that she had succeeded once she could feel the spell take root, Tess pulled her hands away and opened her eyes. Stephen’s were closed, and his face had gone slack with a look of relief. Good enough, she concluded, hoping he would sleep a long while to aid in healing. 

Still, she thought she could do a little something to speed the reduction in the nastiest of his contusions--and it would be best to try while he was asleep. She reached tentative fingers to Stephen’s right shoulder. His eyes flew open with a start, “Owwwwww...that’s still tender, you know!” 

“I’m just trying to help...” 

“Well...I don’t need a nurse anymore,” he groused, “I just want to sleep.” 

“If you let me see to these now, you’ll feel much better in the morning...” Tess trailed her fingertips along his jaw, channeling her own energy into relieving his pain. “Any better?”

"A little,” he pouted, “But it hurts...almost everywhere...”

There seemed to be no pleasing him this way--but still, it was her nature to try. Exasperated, she blurted out, “Well, dammit, Stephen--where doesn’t it hurt?” 

Looking defiant, he showed her his elbow, “Here.” Tess laid the softest kiss she could upon it. 

“And...and here,” he added, pointing to his forehead, his whole demeanor softening in response to her tenderness. Cautiously, Tess leaned in and planted a loving kiss there. Momentum had turned in her favor. 

Stephen pointed to his un-blackened eye, “Um...here?”

Tess smiled softly, watching his eyes flutter shut, and then brushed her lips as lightly as she could upon his eyelid. There was a moment as her face hovered over his, and the look when he opened his eyes made her heart start to melt--for within their mercurial depths, she saw both gratitude and an apology for his childish behavior. Stephen tapped his lips and murmured, “Here.” 

She wondered if he felt her indulgent smile as their lips finally met, but before too long their kiss had gone from chaste to something deeper and more enduring, as he relaxed completely under her loving ministration. When she finally pulled away, Tess found that her kiss had worked a magic of its own, and her beloved Stephen was out like a light. 

Tess arose and draped the sheet across him lightly, then levitated the next bed over and landed it flush against his. Her hunch was that he’d sleep through the night, but she wanted to be close by if he should need her. 

Come morning, she awoke to find him gone--can’t keep a good Sorcerer down for long, she mused--but in his place, he’d left three dozen pale pink American Beauties, and a small piece of handwritten parchment. It was brief but to the point:  

Thank you, honey. For everything. Love - your Stephen xx

tagging: @hithertoundreamtof23 @stewardofningishzida @ironstrange1991 @mousedetective @aphroditesdilemma @icytrickster17 @groovyqueer @battledress @aelaer @mckiwi @couldntbedamned

[kisaragihoney]

when i did this for ghostbat it got more attention than i thought it would so here's a look into my dickory mind

[uhohdad]

AHHHHHHH, the rubyxprice ship is amazing. I imagine before they're "situation ship," started something like this happened

I just imagine her walking on him drinking on the couch arms on his knees, head hanging low, and her just going to check on him so she stands in front of him kinda between his legs.

He looks up a totally defeated expression on his face she looks shocked at seeing the venerable display of emotions from him. Asks him if he's alright and him staying silent for a few seconds then in one fast but clumsy move hugs her stomach tightly.

Ruby just freezes for a while, getting more and more concerned, but she slowly relaxes putting a hand on his back and rubbing it in slow soothing circles and the other hand sets idly on his shoulder squeezing softly.

"Price?... are you alright?" Although he's the one that's upset, her voice is the one trembling holding concerne for him and a flustered feeling due to his closeness, "mhmm" he just hums and she feels that hum in her soul. "John..." She drags out his name and goes to pull away, but he holds her tighter almost painfully so, "jus- just a little bit more love" he says then he adds in a somewhat broken whisper "please" She doesn't even notice the term of indermeant still only foucing on how warm he is and how his soft hair feels on her hand- wait! His hair?! She hasn't even noticed that she started lightly scratching his head, and her face flames immediately.

She holds him tighter, nodding frantically because if she spoke, she's not sure her voice would be steady, and she tells herself that she needs to be steady for john right now. A rock that he can lean on, a softer rock she hopes but a rock nonetheless.

He looks up at her, his eyes holding a questioning stare, realising that he can't hear her nod. She clears her throat and says . "Of course, john," she's proud of herself for the lack of trembling she was sure her voice would have.

He holds eye content for a few more seconds and then rests his forehead once again on her stomach. She continues rubbing his back and playing with his hair softly for a while, basking in the comfortable silence his company brings.

Or something like that 😔

where’s that lady gaga gif. talented, brilliant, unique- hold on i found it

anon will you marry me?

here’s the other Rubrice drabble this is in reference to lol

[thespianwordnerd]

The highest of praise! Star Trek really is gay culture guys

[capn-twitchery]

thinking bout twitch's red honey situation. thought too much and now i'm wondering stuff,,,in nemesis Especially, it says that the pain of the honey being consumed comes from the feeling of someone being inside your memories when you can feel they're not supposed to be,,,so

if twitch has absolutely no recollection of their past memories, would it still hurt if people ate the honey harvested from them?? i'd guess it would but they'd have no idea why??

if twitch's ""memories"" were sourced from red honey made of other people's memories. does it cause the original victims pain anytime twitch "recalls" it?? they're technically not supposed to be in those memories....they got into them via red honey, and just never left?? which has horrifying implications maybe. oh god

[randomnameless]

Re about Cat :

In Nopes she complains because her dad asks her to lend CoS troops, instead of asking Dimitri or Rhea herself...

But unless Count Charon is as dumb as Leopold, he knows pretty well Cat isn't the one who can lend him Church soldiers.

Of course Fodlan dgaf about non students characters, especially if they are affiliated to the Church, but I wondered, maybe Count Charon didn't want to ask Rhea herself to lend him some troops because he has a strange relationship with her -

Rhea is, after all, the one who welcomed his daughter when she was hunted by the Kingdom and the reason she's alive, Dad!Charon, whatever was his position during the "Cassandra hunt" wasn't the one who protected his daughter, Rhea was.

Maybe he feels already to indebted to her to even ask her, in person, for more soldiers?

As for Dimitri...

I always found it disappointing how both game never explored more Cat's backstory, ffs if Faerghus was "feudal uwu", the Crown (even if it was during Rufus' regency) ordered Cat's death, she was branded a traitor and someone who commited regicide ffs.

What was happening with House Charon at that time, were they happily going to give their daughter to the crown, when Catherine was the presumptive major crested heir, to have her executed? When the entire Kingdom branded her a traitor and had her name besmirched, was House Charon totes okay with, you know, the accusations that their precious heir participated in the plot to kill Lambert?

Lonato throws a fit because Christophe was executed by the Church, but Lonato is only Rowe's bannerman - Charon is one of the major Houses in the Kingdom, wouldn't they have thrown a "larger" fit if the crown wanted to execute their heir??

Or maybe that could fell in the larger "the Kingdom was in chaos" thing - House Charon might have been "this" close to rebel against the Crown ?

In a way, it might explain why Garreg Mach wasn't visited by the Kingdom's forces asking Rhea to hand Cassandra over if the crown's forces had to cross Charon territory to reach Garreg Mach...

So in with this BG, it would make perfect sense why Count Charon wouldn't ask Dimitri for more soldiers (granted we're talking about Church soldiers?) - Charon is still a loyal bannerman who fights for Faerghus, but his trust in the crown would have been severed, and it's up to Dimitri to rebuild that bond.

[eefrostpoetry]

i am nostalgic for all the memories i seem to have forgotten