#professor honeycomb

[flame-shadow]

Bee Kingdom Bug Fables NPC Collab [11/23]

Background - @schematikart Editor - @flame-shadow

Character Credits Madame Jaune - @mizzle-moths Dr. H.B (Honeybee) - @milatheartsy Crow - @mizzle-moths Professor Honeycomb - samy00000008 Hawk - @deadofreddo Chubee - @motheatencrow Beette - simplyandrxw Artia - samy00000008 Fluffy - @mizzle-moths Dashy - @trapitorag Aebees - @ghost-of-hallownest Guard Bee - @lemmykirby Jud - @ghost-of-hallownest Huni - enrique2205 Yap - @lemmykirby Vilma - chibiscuit Beil - @coozycoolz Sasha - @milatheartsy Bib - @mizzle-moths Elias - samy00000008

[click here to see the entire collection]

#bug fables #bug fables npc collab #art #id in alt #credits under the readmore #Jaune #Dr. HB #crow #professor honeycomb #hawk #chubee #beette #artia #fluffy #dashy #aebees #guard bee #jud #huni #yap #vilma #bell #sasha #bib #elias

[barbaracleboy]

Bee Sister Content of an expanded variety...

#bug fables #bug fables spoilers #queen bianca #jaune #vi #dr. h.b. #professor honeycomb

[aridis]

Kabbu: Look Vi, we all know your... tendecies, there's nothing to be ashamed of in admitting your weaknesses-

Vi: GAAAH-!

#bug fables #bf leif #bf vi #bf kabbu #bf professor honeycomb #bug fables gijinka #bug fables human #please Vi your class is literally a rogue/thief-

[aquilamage]

I've always read Neo as being basically the same age as Kabbu (which maybe is on me when there's no actual details on it in canon at all), which makes it super funny to me that he's not only a professor but like. THE guy in his area of study.

#not a complaint an observation #this moth is in grad school at best #(again if we're going by my thing which isn't necessarily objectively correct) #also the fact that he's a professor in general has me thinking sometimes because #to me if you're a professor you're teaching at a higher education place. and it's not like that #couldn't exist in this universe it just wasn't important enough to show. that would be fair #just interesting to think about in the context of him and Honeycomb #but if we're getting on the train of pointing out stuff I am more actively like huh about #there's the fact that some of the academic/scientific characters in this game are #very multidisciplinary. to put it generously #(aka they definitely stuck a bunch of things into a single character for like. economy of important characters) #(mostly thinking about honeycomb because she's on at least three different things) #(which i can get why they did but from an in-world perspective thing it's a little more odd) #been thinking about that for a while and could never quite articulate it to my satisfaction so there #an aquila original #bug fables #professor neolith

[junsei-draws-rotasu]

“Cure the most rarest venom in the whole galaxy? Well, yes, yes I can” Says Fugitiod with a sadistic glee and he aim the antidote to the scared purple-clad turtle.

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt #Professor Honeycombs was totally enjoying that moment

[soulofapatrick]

Amortentia - Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: You brew Amortentia and it leads somewhere you didn't ever expect Words: 1.7k Warnings: none really Notes: I am alive I promise, been really busy as we're getting ready to move house

Y/N’s POV

Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world. The way many people find their partners in Hogwarts and the most exciting class of the year. Everyone is buzzing around, whispering and giggling with their friends about the vial sat on Professor Slughorn’s desk, left completely unguarded. I take on glance at the shimmering blue liquid and cringe a little before finding the closest seat to the door, throwing my bag on the floor after pulling out the Potions book. 

“Hey Y/N,” Harry slides into the seat beside me with his signature unruly black hair and this bright green eyes that seem to hold a hint of mischief and determination, and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. He wears his Gryffindor uniform somewhat neatly, his tie slightly askew adding to this charm.

Ron isn’t far behind, grumbling about the upcoming lesson. His fiery red hair is as untameable as ever, and his freckled face displaying nothing but annoyance as he throws his arms over mine and Harry’s shoulders and letting his knees buckle while pretending to swoon, “Oh Theodore, my love, it youuuuuu-“ 

“Oh shut up!” I push his arm off my shoulders and he falls with a cry of surprise, Harry trying to catch him but ending up letting Ron fall to snigger behind his hand, “You’re probably going to fall head over heels for Snape… oh Snape, oh how I love thee Sn-“ 

“Alright, let’s begin this lesson shall we?” Professor Slughorn comes breezing in, not as well as Snape as he’s just too happy for that. Ron squeezes my shoulder before he slinks off to sit in one of the only spaces next to Neville who looks like he would rather be anywhere else. 

As the lesson commences, Slughorn goes over the instructions and safety precautions for handling Amortentia. The excitement in the room is palpable as we prepare to brew the potent love potion. The air is filled with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, but I find myself feeling grateful for Harry taking over, using his special edition of the potions book that is full of scribbles and notes presumably making the potion better. The simmering cauldrons and swirling concoctions coming together creates an almost enchanting atmosphere, the scents in the air shifting and blending, giving the room an ethereal quality. 

A figure appears over my shoulder, surprise and curiosity coursing through my veins when I recognise that familiar scent of oranges, honeycomb and something darker like amber which can mean only one thing: Theodore Nott is standing behind me. His calm and composed demeanour a little intimidating as I don’t think I’ve ever seen him actually smile more than a very small lift of the corner of his lips. Oh his lips, so plump and flush and-

“How’s the potion going Mouse? Have you blown up-“ He stops abruptly, leaving forwards over my shoulder and taking a very deep breath, causing me to stumble a little over the response I was trying to formulate. His voice is low and husky, sending shivers down my spine at the nickname he calls me. 

“Um, it’s, uh, it’s coming along.” I manage to stammer rout, feeling my cheeks heat up, “Haven’t blown anything up… yet.” 

Theodore’s lips quirk upward ever so slightly, and I catch a glimpse of what could be a hint of amusement. He leans in a little closer, and I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, sending more shivers down my spine, but it’s a delicious kind nervousness, a feeling I can’t quite put into words. Before I can fully process the situation, Theodore buries his nose in the crook of my neck, taking a deep breath. My heart pounds in my chest so loud I’m sure Ron can hear it from across the room, and time seems to slow down. The scents of oranges, honeycomb and amber envelops us, creating an intimate and intoxicating moment. 

I can hardly believe that Theodore, the stoic and straight-faced Slytherin, is here, so close to me, and that he’s showing this level of vulnerability. His actions are unexpected but oh so incredibly thrilling. I dare to steal a glance at his face, and I’m met with a sight I’ve never seen before - a softness in his expression, a hint of something more than his usual guarded demeanour. It’s as if he’s letting down his walls, revealing a side of himself he rarely shows to anyone. 

My heart races, and I find myself yearning for more of this closeness, more of this connection. It’s like a spell has been cast, and I’m under Theodore’s enchantment. The excitement and nervousness intertwine, and I feel a sense of wonder at the unexpected turn of events, how close he is to me. I can feel his breath ghosting over my lips, knowing that I could just lean forwards ever so slightly and close the near non-existence space between us. The smell of oranges, honeycomb and amber suddenly gets so intense I have to grab the edge of the table and Theodore’s forearm. 

“Aha! We did it!” Harry exclaims, breaking the moment and has Theodore pulling back. Theodore’s eyes meet mine, and I see a spark of something familiar and yet different. The air between us crackles with unspoken words, emotions swirling around us like the brewing potions in the classroom.

“Oh god.” I choke out and I think Theodore actually smiles for the first time, the corner of his lips tilting up into more of a smile than he’s ever shown before, “Wh-what do you smell Teddy?”

He leans in once more, his nose brushing against my collarbone and neck. His closeness sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. And then, he presses a soft, gentle kiss to my jaw, sending shockwaves of sensation through me. It’s a sweet, tender touch that leaves me breathless. 

“You.” He whispers, his voice barely audible,  but the impact of his words reverberates within me. The world seems to stand still, and my heart swells with emotion. 

Theodore Tiberius Nott, the guarded and enigmatic Slytherin, had just confessed, in his own subtle way, that he feels something for me. My cheeks flush with a. Mixture of excitement and disbelief. It’s a moment I never thought I’d experience - being so close to Theodore, sharing this intimate connection, and hearing him express his feelings in such a heartfelt manner. In the heart-stopping moment, I can see the turmoil of emotions playing across his face. His eyes meet mine with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. And then, without warning, he mumbles a single phrase that sets my heart racing even faster. 

“Fuck it,” he whispers, and before I can process his intent, his hand cups my jaw, and he draws me up into a kiss. It’s a surprise, but the moment our lips meet, it’s as if everything falls into place. 

The kiss is soft yet intense, filled with all the emotions that words can’t express. It feels like an explosion of passion and longing, an unspoken confession that’s now imprinted on our lips. Theodore’s lips are warm and inviting, and I respond with equal fervour, my heart soaring with joy and disbelief. Time seems to stand still, and the air crackles with the intensity of our shared emotions. It's a kiss that speaks volumes, a revelation of hidden desires and unspoken feelings. All the walls Theodore had erected to guard his heart have crumbled, and in this magical moment, he bares himself to me in the most intimate way. 

Just as the world around us seems to disappear in the enchantment of the moment, reality crashes back in with an unexpected interruption. Ron, being the protective and ever-observant twin brother, appears out of nowhere and is shoving Theodore away from me. 

“Hey! That’s my sister!” Ron’s voice is filled with shock and indignation, “You can’t just go around kissing my sister!” 

“Ron!” I can’t help but practically facepalm at him as he’s… he’s being Ron, “Shove off,” I reach around Ron and manage to get a grip on Theodore’s sleeve enough to pull him back over to me. Ron's protectiveness is well-intentioned, but I can't let it ruin the magical moment that Theodore and I just shared. 

“I’m not… She’s safe with me, I promise.” Theodore's words are reassuring, and I can see the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks. Despite his usual stoic demeanour, there's a tenderness in his touch as he holds my hand, a silent declaration of his feelings for me. 

“I trust him.” I say firmly, giving my brother a pleading look. Ron just looks torn for a moment, clearly struggling between his protective instincts and his trust in me. But then, he takes a deep breath and nods reluctantly. 

“Fine.” His says, his voice gruff but accepting, “But if he hurts you in any way, he’ll have me to deal with.” Ron eyes him warily but eventually takes a step back, giving us some space. ”Just remember, Y/N, he's a Slytherin," Ron says, his protective tone still evident.

"He's more than just his house," I reply, trying to convey the depth of my feelings for Theodore.

Ron studies me for a moment before he finally relents. ”Fine," he says, "But don't say I didn't warn you.”

With that, Ron turns and walks away, leaving Theodore and me standing there, still holding hands. I let out a sigh of relief, grateful that Ron didn't push the matter further. 

“Ahhhh young love.” Slughorn’s voice floats across the room , filled with warmth and nostalgia, and I do the only thing I can: bury my face in Theodore’s sweater, feeling a laugh rumble in his chest. 

“Indeed.” Theodore says, his voice laced with amusement as he wraps his arms around me in a gentle embrace. Slughorn giving us an indulgent smile before continuing with the class. The room seeming to take on a different atmosphere now, one that’s tinged with a newfound sweetness and magic. The shimmering cauldrons and swirling potions seem to mirror the emotions swirling within me, and I can’t help but realise how cliche this is. Expressing our feelings for each other during the lesson on amortentia… 

“I’ll wait for you after class.” Theodore murmurs, kissing my forehead then my cheek before untangling himself from my embrace before heading back to his seat next to a predictably sneering Draco Malfoy. 

“What just happened?’ I ask Harry, a little dazed still, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“I’m not actually sure.” 

-----------

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[oldshrewsburyian]

Can you imagine circumstances that would bring together Lord Peter and Professor Digory Kirke? (This came up at pub trivia somehow and immediately brought you to mind, as anything in the vicinity of the vicinity of WWI feelings does.)

Oh. (Also, your pub trivia night sounds amazing, and I am very honored to be thought of in connection with Narnia, the Wimseyverse, and WWI feelings.)

I have elsewhere imagined Professor Kirke (pre-professorship) at Cambridge, but certainly by 1939/40 he is at Oxford, since his house is not situated in the fen country. Lord Peter would not have time to look up old acquaintances while in Oxford over the Shrewsbury affair, but might send Professor Kirke a card with a mild witticism about committing a double offense against Disraeli.

As for the circumstances that bring them together: I think that their acquaintance is struck at exhibits and sales of manuscripts, incunabula, and rare books; and perhaps at scholarly talks relating to the same. After all, we know Prof. Kirke to be a lover of the strange and the marvelous. I think they might forge what Harriet refers to as one of those "curiously tough" male friendships, interests (in this case, in late medieval codices) adhering like honeycomb. I think they would get on charmingly well.

#wimseyverse #narnia #delighted with this idea #asks and answers

[penny00dreadful]

Somebody To Love - Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 AO3

*Professor Farnsworth voice* Good news everyone! It is finished! There'll be one more part after this, I didn't need as many parts/chapters as I originally thought becasue I figured why can't I just have a high word count here? 😅 I should be able to have the final part out soon once I've completed the edits. 🥳🖤

Some tw's for this part: addict thoughts, talks of dieting, addiction recovery.

The delicacy with which Dustin and Max were handling him made Eddie feel like he’d been thrown into an alternate reality. They had the kid gloves on, treating him with so much care, like he was a temperamental ornament ready to shatter at any moment and honestly, he kind of appreciated it. 

People often took one look at him and just assumed he was a tough as nails metalhead drug addict that would spit at them sooner than look at them and like… sometimes they weren’t that far off. 

But he was still human with an infuriatingly soft core and that core was feeling very bruised right now.

He didn’t know exactly what they knew of everything, they were obviously much closer to Steve than they were to him, but he wasn’t really sure how close.

Still, it was nice that they weren’t automatically treating him like dirt for breaking Steve’s heart and then clumsily attempting to sellotape it back together with promises of proving it to him. Maybe that was Steve’s doing. Or maybe they were just more emotionally intelligent than he’d given them credit for.

Chrissy, however, had no such compunctions.

She waltzed into his house at ass o’clock in the morning and shoved a to-go coffee into his hands, knowing well he hadn’t slept a wink, she had been the one up with him on the phone for half the night after all.

“C’mon, Twinkie!” She slapped his ass hard. Way harder than was necessary, in his opinion. “Now’s not a time for moping, now’s a time for action!”

Eddie scowled at her and took a sip before coughing it up and shooting coffee straight out of his nose.

“Jesus fuck!” He gulped back air, barely able to get the words out through the scratching at his throat. “How many espresso shots are in this?!”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” Chrissy dismissed with a wave of her hand.

He had barely managed to get his breath back, standing in the middle of his house in just his ratty old Dragon Ball Z boxers with coffee dripping down his chest when his front door was thrown open with a bang and more people descended on him.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?”

The Corroded Coffin boys strolled through his house, immediately descending on his kitchen and raiding his cabinets for whatever food Steve constantly kept his house stocked with.

“We heard you finally got your head out of your ass.” Jeff replied, through a mouthful of Honeycombs.

“Hey! Those are mine- Wait. You knew?”

“Dude, everyone knew.” Grant had commandeered his chocolate Yoo-Hoo, cracking the lid off easily.

Eddie felt his stomach drop. “Everyone?”

“Everyone.” Gareth emphasised, knowing exactly whose wrath Eddie was now fearing.

“Shit. Does he know? What happened yesterday?”

Chrissy nodded. “I called him. He’s in the air.”

“You fucking traitor!” He shouted, pointing his finger at her. “He’s going to kill me!”

She just waved her hand at him. “Go get dressed. We’ve got work to do.”

Eddie mumbled and grumbled but did as he was told, knocking back the rest of the poisonous coffee she had provided him. When he arrived back downstairs it was like walking into the middle of an intervention, even though he had started the process himself.

He was going to get off the drugs, he was going to stop drinking. He was no longer going to be sleeping around, obviously, but he was also going to go to a private medical clinic for a number of tests. Just to make sure he hadn’t picked anything up in between previous testing. He was going to keep smoking, because god-damn it he needed something.

The rest of that day was spent with Dustin, Chrissy and the Corroded Coffin boys scraping through every square inch of his house, searching for his various stashes of drugs and alcohol while Max watched him like a hawk.

Chrissy pulled away some pills taped to the bottom of a decorative pot that sat on top of one of his upper cabinets and Eddie was pretty sure he’d never seen that pot in his life before. Never even looked at it, let alone hid shit using it. It was the ugliest fucking pot he’d ever seen, why was it in his house? Honestly he’d forgotten half the places they pulled a handle of vodka or a baggie of powder out of. 

He wasn’t an addict, he didn’t consider himself an addict but he just used them more as an aid to get him through the day. He wasn’t an addict. 

He used them because he wanted to, not because he needed to.

Except.

Except now that he was faced with the reality that there’d be none of it left in the house, and he’d be monitored very closely by all of them so he couldn’t break and go out and get a fix… it had his anxiety skyrocketing through the roof and he almost asked them to stop multiple times. 

But each time he did, he remembered the defeat and heartbreak on Steve’s face and he… he just had to keep pushing forward. 

As they went from room to room, Max seemed to have some kind of sixth sense. Sitting there in her tailored business suit, red hair in a high pony, leaning over towards him with her elbows on her knees. Whenever he knew where something was stashed and the guys skimmed over it or missed it, she called out to them, telling them to look again without taking her eyes off him.

“How the hell are you doing that?” He asked.

“I had a troubled upbringing.” Max replied with a flat tone of voice.

They’d been at it for hours by the time he called for a fucking breather. All of this was exhausting. The stress was eating at his stomach. Eddie was in his back garden, trying to chill the fuck out with a cigarette when he heard the door open behind him.

“Boy.” The voice that came from behind him was heavy and stern, like Eddie’s own personal Kratos had descended and Eddie froze like a rabbit caught in a trap.

He turned slowly, hoping that someone else, anyone else was around to help take the pressure off but they all seemed to have scattered, the cowards.

“Wayne!” He tried to inject as much joy and lightness into his voice as he got to his feet but the man just continued to stare down at him with a raised eyebrow and his arms crossed, towering over him like a monument of parental disappointment.

Quick as a flash Wayne’s hand shot out and slapped him over the back of the head, not too hard, but hard enough to let Eddie know he wasn’t happy, as if that had ever been in doubt. “What did you do to that young man?”

“You can’t hit me! I’m in recovery!”

Wayne slapped him again.

“I’m fixing it!”

“You better be. I like that Steve kid. He’s good for you.”

Eddie slumped, dropping his cigarette butt on the ground and trudging over to his uncle, pressing his forehead into his collarbone. “I know.”

Wayne nodded and pulled him in close for a hug.

“I’m fixing it.” Eddie said again, quieter this time. 

“Good.” Wayne rubbed his hand up and down Eddie back before pulling away. “We’ll get this sorted.” He placed his hands on either side of Eddie’s face and gave him a light squeeze. “Now pick up that butt, I didn’t teach you to litter.”

For all his whining and grumbling and absolute terror of the man, it was a big help having Wayne around. Of course it was, how could it not be. Though he’d never doubted Wayne for a second, facing up to the consequences of his actions had never been something Eddie was particularly eager to do.

Case in point, involving Chrissy was maybe a mistake. 

Because she was, like, sporty and shit. And she kept dragging him out of bed in the early hours of the morning once the worst of everything was out of his system. 

She’d force him into the gym room that came with the house and Eddie was pretty sure he’d never set foot in it before. But all the stuff there had clear signs of being used regularly and it was with a strange mix of sadness and glee that he figured Steve had probably been the one using it all along.

“Why am I here?”

“To get some endorphins into you without using drugs.”

Soulmate his fucking ass. 

Chrissy was no less than a drill sergeant and no amount of whining and bitching would stop her from making him do stretches and get on the treadmill and god he fucking hated it. Any one who enjoyed exercising was now solidly listed under ‘psychopath’ in his brain. 

Chrissy had even convinced Max to get her husband, some kind of sports health something or other, to put together a meal plan for him that had him eating shit like broccoli and apples and brown fucking rice.

Eddie did not throw a temper tantrum by day five of that diet, about a week and a half into this whole ‘getting his shit together so he could prove to Steve he was a competent human’ thing. Definitely not, even though his muscles ached and he wanted to stuff an entire Dunkin worth of Donuts into his mouth and get stupidly ridiculously high.

“Fuck off and leave me alone, Chrissy.” He snapped one morning from underneath his bedsheets. He was fucking tired, he was fucking sore and last he checked sugar wasn’t one of the addictions he was supposed to be giving up so why the fuck wasn’t he allowed to have any?

Chrissy crossed her arms. “No.”

“What’s even the point of this anyway? How the hell is the fucking broccoli and the fucking treadmill proving to Steve that I’m gonna stick around?”

“Because you’re improving yourself, taking care of yourself. Staying away from the drugs and alcohol and sex orgies and showing him you’re trying.” She sighed, softening her voice. “Didn’t you tell him you’d try every day for him?”

“Whatever.” Eddie grumbled, pulling the covers up over his head. “It’s a bed day. I’m staying in bed. Don’t try to drag me out, I will bite you.”

He could hear Chrissy leave and he knew the attitude was unnecessary, she was his rock in all of this, but he just wasn’t in the fucking mood to do anything apart from wallow.

He had dozed back off to sleep until he was awoken by someone coming up the stairs. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a tall handsome man with fantastic shoulders standing in his doorway with a box of fucking donuts in his hand.

What kind of sugar-craving wet dream was this?

The guy lifted his hand with a pleasant smile. “Hey-”

“Sorry, man. I’m off the market.” Eddie slurred in some kind of delirious half-asleep haze before his brain finally caught up with him and he realised that’s probably not what was happening right now.

The guy burst out in a short laugh. “Yeah, me too. I’m Max’s husband, Lucas.”

Eddie’s entire face went scarlet. “Oh fuck, don’t tell her I said that. She’ll cut my balls off.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He said with an easy smile as he held the box out and shook it slightly. “I brought these for you.”

Lucas handed the donuts to him and even though Eddie should be wary of the quite literal candy from a stranger (although, was candy really the correct term?), the allure of fried sugar was too much.

“Aren’t you supposed to be having me eat healthy?” Eddie asked, practically diving face first into the box and stuffing as much as he could into his mouth at once. “Minoththuppothsbeowmaheawthmfifthnssjurmy?” 

Lucas blinked at him and Eddie forced himself to swallow the large lump of fried dough, but not without sucking on his fingers first. “Am I not supposed to be on a health and fitness journey? Or whatever you,” he wiggled his fingers at him, “active types call it.”

"Don’t get me wrong, you still need to eat right and exercise but the meal plans I write up are usually for athletes at the top of their game. So the fact that sugar and some fats never made it in just never occurred to me. And no offence to you dude, but you are no athlete.” He smiled and tapped the box. “Everything in moderation, right?”

Things began to even out after that. The boys started to travel between Eddie’s house and their own homes, checking in on him less and less the better he got. Finally getting to spend some well deserved time with their families rather than babysitting their problematic frontman. 

Wayne still stuck around. Eddie’s literal rock in everything he’d ever done in his life ever and Chrissy was no longer riding him so hard about getting the endorphins pumping. 

Honestly video games could do the same thing for him but she refused to accept that.

When Steve walked back through his front door some two weeks after he’d left for a second time, he took Eddie by surprise all over again, manifesting behind him like some kind of ghost and scaring the ever loving shit out of him.

But he didn’t throw himself at Steve this time. 

He didn’t have that right anymore. 

The ball was in Steve’s court and he would be the one that would decide just how fast they moved from now on.

He noticed the difference in Eddie almost immediately because of course he did. Telling him off hand that he looked good, healthy. That he hadn’t looked like that since their second studio album blew up, which caused Eddie to blush furiously and hide his face behind his hair like a fucking schoolgirl and not someone who had appeared in fucking ‘Playgirl’, which he had.

Usually in his down time he would have been spending it hanging out with Steve and his weird little found family. And with Wayne, flying in between LA and Indiana and getting to remember what it felt like to just be a normal person again. 

But it had also been the time Eddie would let loose and go hard into everything could. The kinds of things he couldn’t manage when on tour. 

Days long sex parties, kink clubs, high quality drug dens, week long getaways to someone’s private island or luxury yacht that probably collectively took ten years off his life every time he went.

But they were a thing of the past now.

Eddie found he was kind of enjoying the slower summer getting clean afforded him. He’d started to enjoy the things he used to love so much, but lost over time. 

Reading, losing himself in a writing haze, feeling the frantic passion of ideas and creativity overtaking him, and all with a clear head this time. 

Days spent in his basement studio no longer fueled by cocaine and other stimulants, now only fueled by caffeine. 

Before, he’d be able to go a couple of days awake in his writing haze but caffeine was no substitute for coke. 

As a result of that, being under the influence of only caffeine, sugar and nicotine he usually ended up crashing on the couch down there before he even realised he was falling asleep. Sometimes he’d wake up with handwritten pages stuck to his cheek or forehead, sometimes he’d wake up with the mother of all back aches and stiff fingers. But sometimes he’d wake up with a blanket thrown over him, the ghost of a hand in his hair and a strawberry frappuccino waiting for him on the coffee table.

The downside of being lucid and sober was that Eddie was now painfully aware of his shithead behaviour over the last number of years and it constantly threatened to push him back into a spiral again. 

He was actually mentally present for the first time in he didn’t know how long for a meeting with the label executives to discuss a timeline for the next album and tour. He had no idea just how much Steve had been doing for him, especially when it came to this. 

Making decisions on his behalf that always benefited him far more than anything he’d have been able to negotiate himself, making excuses for why he was so out of it all the time that everyone could see through. But the execs always let it go because Corroded Coffin were one of the labels biggest bands, on of their biggest money earners and continued to be, no matter how fucked up Eddie was.

And it wasn't just meetings with execs he now had to deal with. The people refused to get the god-damn memo. The invites to all the debauched shit he usually took part in just kept coming and people actually started getting defensive whenever he refused.

No matter what he told them. 

He told them he didn’t want to go. He was healing. He was off the shit that would be shared around like pass the parcel. They were down right offended to hear it. Like Eddie was somehow telling them all he was better than them by holding up a mirror towards their own actions which… maybe, yeah actually.

The only invite he had accepted was a charity fundraiser for queer homeless youth. But only with a firm stance that he would not be going to any kind of after party, so don’t even bother asking.

But it would be fine. 

There’d be alcohol and probably some drugs and probably some people trying to get into his pants there but Chrissy and Steve would also be there, all but chained to his side. Gareth, Jeff and Grant would be taking up the mantle of schmoozing so it would be fine.

Plus, he was close to hitting his ninety days so he was definitely stronger than he had been at the start, right?

Yeah.

Either way, the alcohol, the drugs, the horny people… it would be the kind of shit that would be unavoidable in his line of work. So he’d have to get used to temptation being thrown in his face regardless and this would be a nice entry level experiment.

“You sure you want to do this?” Steve asked him, with an arm around his shoulder. 

The return to normal touch had been gradual, happening over the last few months and it was doing wonderful things for his nerves right now. The three of them were sitting in the back of the big fancy car, stalling.

Steve flashed him a cheeky grin. “We can leave and head to the McDonalds drive-thru right now if you want.”

Eddie smiled and stopped twisting his rings around his fingers. This was an overly fancy event, probably requiring white gloves as part of the dress code but Eddie wasn’t going to start worrying about expectations like that now. 

They knew who they’d invited. 

“I’m fine. It’s fine.” He tipped his head over until he was leaning against Steve’s shoulder and laced his fingers with Chrissy’s gloved hand. “Let’s just get this over with. Maybe we can leave before I turn back into a pumpkin, though?”

Steve smiled. “Sure thing.” He pressed a quick kiss to the top of Eddie’s head and smoothly exited the car. 

It was definitely not the most intimate thing they’d ever done together in their decade long friendship but definitely the most intimate thing that they’d done in the last three months and Eddie’s stomach exploded with butterflies.

“Cinderella doesn’t turn back into a pumpkin at midnight.” Chrissy said, shaking out her large pale pink dress as she stepped out of the car after Eddie. “Are you calling yourself the carriage?”

“Yeah.” He offered her his elbow. “I have plenty of carriage.”

“Twinkie,” she shook her head, “you have no carriage. It’s a tiny little fuzzy peach butt.”

“Excuse you, it’s a pumpkin!”

She rolled her eyes and gave his ass a little pinch out of view of anyone. “It is not.”

“It’s really not, Eds.” Steve put in with a not so subtle up-and-down look.

“This is a betrayal of the highest order,” he pointed at them, “and the both of you are terrible people.”

Overall, things went pretty well. 

He didn’t really have to talk to anyone, the Corroded Coffin boys as previously discussed between them, were dealing with the majority of boring ass rich people conversation and Steve had enough experience from his upbringing with his parents to deflect the most persistent of wannabe schmoozers. Eddie had been sticking only to mocktails (his favourite would always be a Shirley Temple but they had some strawberry thing which was essentially just strawberry limeade but it was fucking delicious so who gave a fuck) and some really nice non-alcoholic champagne that honestly tasted better than the regular champagne without the tang of alcohol in it.

Steve had to lead someone away, almost with a hand at their elbow when they just kept pushing for conversation. Chrissy was in a gentle discussion with a new young artist who looked like she was about to vibrate out of her skin from fear. And Eddie felt a shadow descend into the chair next to him.

He turned, still trying to suck the last dregs of his Shirley Temple out of the bottom of his glass.

The guy who sat down looked vaguely familiar, in that kind of memory signal way. His subconscious definitely knew they’d crossed paths before but that could mean anything. Maybe he’d collaborated with him in the past? Maybe he was an old supplier? Maybe he’d slept with him, who knew?

“Hi!” The guy said with a smile and dark bedroom eyes.

Well, okay.

He slid a drink towards him, cold and beading with condensation and the most beautiful amber colour.

Eddie swallowed, unable to take his eyes off of it. He picked up the edge of the white tablecloth, using it to push the drink away. He didn’t even want to risk touching it.

“I’m clean.” Eddie pretty firmly kept the now empty Shirley Temple glass up, still sucking the straw around the bottom, trying to keep a barrier between them because no thank you. Not tonight. Not ever, anymore, if life worked out the way he wanted.

The guy nodded and smiled again, a little condescending, as though Eddie’s attempt to stay sober was cute. “I've been watching you. Trying to find an opportunity to say hi.” He scoffed lightly with a raised eyebrow. An attempt at an inside joke only one of them was in on. “Your bodyguard’s got a pretty tight grip on you though. Glad he finally gave you a chance to breathe.”

“Steve’s not my bodyguard.”

Even though he could be. Has definitely had to act like it before. More than once. 

God, Eddie was a shit.

“No? He’s certainly acting like it. Won’t let anyone near you. Seems a little possessive if you ask me.” The guy scooted a little further forward and started brushing his leg up and down Eddie’s calf and Eddie retracted almost immediately.

“That’s going to be a solid no from me. I’m off the market for the foreseeable future.”

The guy couldn’t hide his surprise quickly enough. “Seriously? Someone get in your head about it?” The corner of his mouth tilted up in a smug grin. “Couldn’t stop thinking of a particular night? I couldn’t stop thinking of it either. I heard you stopped making the rounds after.”

Eddie could do nothing but blink at the absolute balls on this guy. But apparently this was a one sided conversation because the guy was still talking.

“I was hoping you’d call me again.” He attempted to nudge Eddie’s knee with his hand but Eddie pulled back again with a hard glare. The guy scoffed again. “Unless, of course, your phone privileges have been taken away by the help.” He laughed at his own pathetic, mean excuse for a joke. “I think we could be quite good together, Eddie.”

“I don’t fucking think so.”

The guy pushed out his bottom lip and batted his big eyelashes at him, like Eddie’s rejection was performative, like he was playing hard to get. “Awh. That’s too bad. You marked me up so good last time.”

It was only then that it finally clicked for him. “You’re the guy from the ‘Sucker’ video.”

The guy's bravado faltered, clearly not expecting to be forgotten so easily.

“Obviously.” He bit out.

He was the last guy Eddie had slept with before everything had happened.

Steve had shown him out and left on his vacation almost immediately after.

He’d been so upset.

“What the fuck did you say to him?” Eddie hissed, finally setting his glass down.

The guy blinked with a curl at his lip. “Who?”

“Steve.”

“Oh, him?” The guy laughed, short and sharp and mean. “Not my fault if he wasn’t ready to hear some harsh truths.” He shrugged. “I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t deserve to hear. Practically did you a favour, by the way.” The guy rolled his eyes. “Just had to get it in his head that he didn’t have a shot, shooting above his pay grade and if he couldn’t handle it he should take a long walk off a short pier. Even if you did let him weasel his way back in-”

There was something shoved hard into Eddie’s chest and he only had a second to register what was happening before he had to catch Chrissy around the waist and pull her back to stop her clawing this guy's eyes out. 

The purse she’d pushed at him fell to the floor as Eddie was jerked forward, using his all of his weak as shit strength to keep a firm grip on Chrissy who was always so strong with her hidden jock prowess.

“Jesus Christ, put a leash on her, would you?” The guy had fired himself backwards, nearly toppling himself out of his seat.

“You motherf-! Edward, let me go!” Chrissy was swiping at the guy with one arm while the other dug into Eddie’s arm, trying to loosen his grip. 

Before he could consider whether the spectacle of Chrissy Cunningham in her pink meringue dress absolutely wrecking this guys shit would be worth the entertainment enough to let her free, a wall of bodies planted themselves firmly in her way.

“I think it’s time we head out, don’t you?” Jeff asked leaning back, trying to avoid Chrissy’s hands.

“Yeah,” Eddie huffed. Jesus this girl was strong. “Yeah, maybe!”

The four of them were able to manhandle Chrissy, who was still spitting and cursing, shooing her out of the front door. Eddie glanced back and saw Steve leaning down towards the guy with the sharpest smile he’d ever seen, muttering into his ear ‘He doesn’t even remember your name’ before turning and following the five of them out.

There was silence between the six of them outside, save for the sound of Chrissy’s heavy breathing, as they waited for the car to come around.

They all bundled themselves inside and once the door slammed shut Eddie exploded.

“Okay, what the hell?” 

The boys were looking at him with wary expressions, Chrissy was wide eyed and a little flushed and Steve just cocked an eyebrow, well used to Eddie’s tantrums after so long. But that wasn’t what this was.

“Him? Him? I slept with him? He’s not even cute, why the hell didn’t anyone stop me?!” He pointed at each of them in turn, not even bothering to skip out Steve, the fucker would only tease him about it later.

The car started moving and Eddie took a second to send a silent apology to the very nice chauffeur, Marlon, who really shouldn’t have to be dealing with their nonsense.

“Twinkie,” Chrissy huffed, ripping her white opera gloves off, “the amount of times I have tried to slap the dick out of your hand and get you to listen to me-”

Eddie squealed, high and outraged. But he couldn’t even stay mad because Steve was doubled over cackling like a witch on her broomstick and the boys were poking fun at him while literally poking him in the sides and all he could do was slump down in his seat and pout at them with crossed arms.

They did end up going through the McDonalds drive-thru after all.

So... y'all wanna see Eddie's Playgirl cover? 👀 (minors dni)

That magnificent artwork was done by the supremely talented @sporelium and I am in fucking awe of him, like holy shit. I saw it when it was originally posted and I have not been able to stop thinking about it. Thank you so much for letting me reference it here. 😘🖤

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 AO3

@lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring, @child-of-cthulhu, @sweetwaterangel, @anaibis, @katytheinspiredworkaholic, @littlewildflowerkitten, @hallucinatedjosten, @estrellami-1, @gregre369, @stxrcrossed186, @novelnovella, @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme, @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere, @thesuninyaface, @messrs-weasley

#steddie #steve x eddie #stranger things #eddie x steve #fanfic #steddie fic #penny00dreadful #stranger things fic #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar eddie #personal assistant steve #personal assistant steve harrington #modern au #somebody to love

[vampi-fixx]

day 7, ryo: sensory deprivation

kinktobruary day 7

ryo asuka x reader // devilman crybaby.

summary: ryo is not a patient man, or a merciful one. when you don’t show up at your usual time, he can’t resist the urge to punish you.

tw/cw: minors dni, 18+ only, explicit, sensory deprivation, overstimulation, facefucking, degradation, sex toys, fingering, dubcon, uhh Ryo has a very twisted sense of entitlement and possession to someone else

word count: 1.5K

a/n: this was originally for @honeycomb-fics, but i revamped it

Humans were trifling creatures. Constantly disappointing him. Ever since he was a child, Ryo had trouble connecting to them. He never saw people as anything more than pawns in some game he was advancing towards. Akira was the only exception, of course, but Ryo made him into something more than human—a devilman. Akira, whether he realized it or not, was crafted into something beyond the dredges of humanity. 

But then there was you. Akira’s friend, and his newest lab assistant. A part of Ryo had to admit that you weren’t… awful. A complete letdown. You were intelligent, on top of things—useful to him. But frustratingly beguiling.A distraction. More often than not, he found his thoughts filled with you; it made it hard to concentrate on his work. 

Ryo had only one goal, and that was to expose the existence of demons, to finish Professor Fikira’s work. But you threw a wrench in those plans, with your damn empathy and kindness and—and humanity. Loathe as he was to admit it, he’d even started growing used to your presence in his life, craving it almost as much as he did Akira’s.

Which is why he was annoyed when you didn’t arrive at your usual time. The minutes ticked away, and with it, Ryo’s aggravation grew. He found himself continually checking the clock, growing more irate when you didn’t appear. What the hell was taking you so long? He hacked into your phone’s camera, because of course, he had downloaded a tracking app onto your phone when you started working here. A precautionary measure. Certainly useful for times such as this. And what he saw had icy fury chill his actions. 

You were talking to some dopey delivery boy that had stopped to ask you for directions, a few blocks from his apartment. But even so, humans wereso easy to read. Ryo could discern the signs of interest. The way he chattered on for too long, the slight flush to his cheeks. And then this human had the nerve to ask you for your number in case he got lost again. Ryo’s hands were moving before he knew it. He watched the surprise play across your face when your phone screen suddenly blacked out, and wouldn’t turn back on. You apologized profusely to him, saying you were late for work and couldn’t spare much more time.

Heh. Good.

Maybe it was a reaction to Akira siding with that stupid human girl, still fresh in his memory. His refusal to let Ryo eliminate her angered him in ways he couldn’t understand. 

But what he did know was that you were his assistant. The human he’d chosen to grow attached to. And he would make sure it was ingrained into your very being.

“Ryo,” your voice comes from his live feed, bringing him back to the present. Even through the static, he can detect the strained, desperate quality to it.  He glances back at the video impassively. You’re blind-folded, arms bound behind your back. Leather straps criss-cross your naked form, press enticingly into the dips of your flesh, and even through the feed, he can hear the distinct sound of the vibrator he’d left inside you still buzzing away. “Ryo, please. I’ve cum several times already... I-It hurts.”

He pauses, before pressing down on the button that connects his mic to the audio in your room.

“I’m certain you can handle more,” is all he offers. Disinterested, disengaged.  As if the mere sight of you bound up and helpless hasn’t awakened something sinister inside him, a burning desire to have you bound up all the time. At his mercy. Every day.

“Ryo, please—”

“Maybe you’ll remember this experience the next time you consider coming in late.”

“I—”

“Fifteen more minutes. Surely you can last that long,” he says indifferently.

“I-I—” Your voice cracks. Tears stream down your cheeks, your words coming out somewhere between a gasp and a sob. “B-But… I don’t think I—c-can—”

He shuts the live feed off, disconnects his mic, then scrutinizes the tent forming in his sweatpants. He isn’t as unaffected by your display as he acts like he is.

Staring at his unfinished correspondence, he sighs before standing up, swiping the bottle of lube from his drawer. He could hardly concentrate with this kind of temptation before him. Ryo hardly considers himself religious, but he toys with the idea of flagrantly defying God even further, just as he toys with the remote to your vibrator in his pocket.

After all, Ryo could be merciful sometimes.

Plus, you need to repay him for getting him so entirely off-track.

—

He slips into the room you’re in, silent as the night. His finger thumbs the power notch on the vibrator as he watches you closely. The vibrations racking your core cease, and you sigh in relief, slumping forward as much as the straps binding you to the chair will allow you to. 

“H-He must be in an especially bad mood,” you mumble. You squeeze your thighs together, whimpering when the move brushes against your sensitive nub. 

There’s something Ryo’s always been curious about, a question that spurs him to approach you silently. How do humans act when they’re on the edge of desperation? How would you act on the edge of desperation?

As he hovers in front of you, he pushes down his sweatpants until its caught between his spread knees. His hard length bobs towards the lean muscle of his stomach. When he brushes it against your lips, you freeze, not even daring to take a breathe. It has him throbbing harder.

“Well?” His voice echoes in the quiet room. “What are you waiting for? Suck.”

“R-Ryo?”

He shoves his cock into your mouth, and you gag. Ryo hisses at the way your throat constricts around him. He begins pumping into your mouth in sharp, stiff thrusts, uncaring of the way you choke around him. But it’s not enough. Ryo reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants, flipping the switch on the vibrator again. You come to life, moaning around him. He pulls a grimace at the way it travels along the length of his cock.

His next thrusts forces you to take him all the way in, till the tip of his cock is nudging the back of your throat. He holds you there, one hand gripping the back of your head as he turns the vibration up all the way. As you splutter and cry out around his cock, it’s your tears spilling onto his length that get to him. He jerks his hips away. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, as his spend spills in ropes along your cheeks. Then he’s leaning forward, resting his hand on the chair you’re strapped, surveying the mess he’s made of you.

“Clean that up,” Ryo says once he can, shucking his pants back on. But then he realizes your hands are still bound, your mobility limited, and he scoffs. “Fine. I’ll just do it myself.”

He swipes his fingers through his cooling release on your face. And then he’s yanking out the vibrator from inside you, before replacing it with a plunge of his fingers. You jolt as if stunned. He fucks his release into you, your arousal making it easy for him to bury his fingers into you till the knuckle, and it’s borderline painful considering how overstimulated your every nerve feels.

“R-Ryo!”

“You’re going to cum for me one more time, (Y/N),” he says, cool determination hardening his words. “I don’t care if you don’t think you can. I want to see it and feel it, this time.”

His thumb extends to rub against your twitching nub as he spears his fingers into you, and you’re shuddering. Your hips press down into his fingers before retreating, attempting to put some distance between you two, but his assault is merciless. As lights burst beneath your eyelids for who knows how many times that night, you cry out his name. Your walls constrict around Ryo’s fingers, and he finds himself soaking in every last detail of your rapture.

Then not only is your world fading to black, but your consciousness too. When you come to, you’re surprised to feel you can move your arms again. You blink. The straps are gone, The blindfold’s taken off, but your sight is soon stolen by Ryo’s lips pressing against your eye. You call out his name again, and he hums. 

“I’m not certain what you’ve done to me,” he starts, fixating his icy stare on you. “But... seeing you like that, overstimulated and on the verge of collapse—it makes me want more.”

Your heart stills to a mere stutter as his words sink on.

“Will you be obedient to me?” He slips his cock, once again hard, out of his pants and lifts your hips up slightly. You gasp as he drops you onto it, finally entering you, your hands clutching at his shoulders. “I really need to finish this correspondence, but I also...want to finish inside of you.”

#ryo x reader #ryo asuka x reader #dmcb x reader #devilman crybaby x reader #tati writes #not sfw #kinktobruary

[writtenonreceipts]

A drabble for Day One of jilytober! @jilytoberfest

A Picture and A Smile

“Smile!”

Her voice is bright, carefree, and utterly at ease.  Before James knows what is happening the young woman next to him slings an arm around his neck and draws him in close to her side.

Immediately, he’s enveloped by the warm scents of vanilla and honeycomb and Lily Evans is there.  She’s leaning into him with a smile and a laugh as one hand extends out holding a polaroid camera.  The picture snaps before James knows what’s happening. 

They’re in the shadows of the ice cream parlor, one of the tables nestled close to the wall and away from any prying eyes.  It doesn’t stop the heat of the late summer day though.  The sun is high in a startling blue sky and makes for a 

When Lily pulls away she narrows her eyes at him. “You did smile, didn’t you?”

“Warn a guy next time, yeah?” James tries to scowl, but it’s Lily and she’s the sun incarnate that he can only grin cheekily at her.

“That’s why I yelled smile, Potter,” she says.  She takes the picture as it’s ejected from the camera.  

It takes him a moment to realize that the camera is muggle, not wizard.  He can tell by the winding noises it makes, the worn edges, and the flash was just a little too dull to be from a wizard's contraption.

They’re in Diagon Alley just days away from the start of seventh year.  Barely two months ago they’d been saying good-bye, hesitantly exchanging hugs.  But there had been a change in their friendship.  Something new and tentative.  And now that they’re friends.

Lily sighs and looks over the picture as it slowly takes form.  “Well, I guess this is acceptable.”

“Of course it’s acceptable, it’s a picture of me,” James says.  He snatches the photo, ignoring her gasp of protest.

“James!” she reaches across him and tries to snag the photo back.  

He easily keeps her at bay.  She’s smaller than him and his long arms put plenty of distance between Lily and the photo.  

James takes a look at the photo.  It still has a pale white sheen to it, but the vibrant red to Lily’s hair is hard to miss.  And the grin on her lovely face oozes joy as she leans into James.  He’s blurry as he’s trying to look between her and the camera with hardly any time to prepare.  But it’s him.  His wild hair and askew glasses.  

Just the two of them.

“I’m smudged!” he says.

“Because you moved.”  She manages to pluck the picture from him and sets it before her on the table.

They’re just outside Fortesques, ice cream long since eaten.  They’re supposed to be discussing how they’ll approach being Head Boy and Girl together.  They’re supposed to be preparing patrols and speeches and ground rules.  They’re supposed to be making this year easier for professors and students alike.  

Instead, they’re eating ice cream.  They’re laughing.  They’re talking.  They’re--

“One more,” Lily says.  She leans into James again and holds the camera aloft. “And try to behave.”

“I always behave,” he replies.  Her narrowed eyes and slight tilt of her head tell him that she doesn’t believe him.  James can only laugh as he slings an arm around her shoulder to pull her close.  So close that it’s distracting.  That maybe this could be more than just a picture, that this could be a new normal for them.

Hell.  There’s just something about her he can’t get over.  And if he were the same person he was even two years ago he would have tried to steal a kiss.  

He grins as the camera flashes.  Maybe one day he’ll get that kiss.  For now, he laughs as Lily scowls and waits for that little polaroid to develop.  He already tried convincing her to get a spelled camera, but she refuses.  Some things are meant to be mundane.

James thinks he’s beginning to understand what she means by that and is more than willing to accept it for himself too.

...

i hope to share more throughout the month, but for now, here’s this!

#jily #jily drabble #James Potter #Lily Evans #james potter x lily evans #lily evans x james potter #canon #drabble #harry potter #jilytober #fanfiction #jily fanfic

[jihyology]

THE SYMPHONY OF HELL | shin ryujin.

— WARNINGS; greek mythology au, lazy writing towards the end bc I didn’t know what to put.

“deep in her hollow bones, the pleas of serenity blended with the devils bargain.

the angel on her shoulder was now tainted with immorality. she had stained it with the blood of a sinner; and the crimson replaced the pristinely white purity in an act of great foolishness, and petty intrusion.

a childish urge had bristled thorns into her heart, coaxing a pain that had gone numb with the neglect of feel.

she used her head now, hearts were fickle and thin; an Achilles heel common among every person.

she didn’t want to be Achilles. She wanted to be Medusa.

she wanted a stony gaze that anchored the burliest of men, and the smartest of goddesses. she wanted to settle into the grass, as silent as a cemetery, and sink her fangs into the neck of opportunity.

so, her mouth had now began hissing and spitting with the venomous teeth of a snake; her voice projecting a sweet and unsuspecting poison, that fizzed and burnt on the tongue.

her presence had shifted, from a blinding reflection of sun on the sea, to a shadow among unlit, unexplored, caves.

she’d live in the dark, watching, waiting, ready to pounce.

a chiselled stone piece, blended with the world she had wished to destroy; until it came time for her reckoning to begin.”

the book slammed to a close, pages flickering into a pile, as the hardback cover thudded neatly with the worn, coffee-coloured paper. the eyes of your professor gleamed with excitement, his lips drawn into a thin smile.

“that, my friends, was the story of Shin Ryujin. any hands to be raised for questions?” he spoke gruffly, the leather bound book clasped protectively in his grip still; despite the delicacy of his hold, it was evident that his fingers would tighten periodically. it seemed to be important to the man, not that you really cared.

your eyes slightly rolled, ears turning the inquiries of your classmates into white noise. a few people blabbed on to the man, waiting patiently as he hastily popped their bubbles of question. despite a hollow mind of thoughts, time seemed to be speeding past magically.

“y/n~”

you frowned, sneaking a glance toward the wildly gesturing professor. his body was positioned away from you, chatting animatedly with a girl whom you barely recalled the name of. with a small sigh, and a glance around the room, you soon shrugged off the whisper.

“y/n.” the fuzzed voice called again, a sweet whisper hung below your ear. Your skin felt warm, and thudded by heat every few seconds. your head snapped up hesitantly.

your eyebrows drew together, and your eyes slightly faltered as they darted around. Not a peep sounded, no whispers at the back of the class, no birds chirping their sweet lulls. not a sound.

the people surrounding you seemed frozen, hardened with concrete and glazed with sealant. not a muscle spasmed, not an eyelash fluttered.

“oh little duckling, why do you ignore me?” your body jolted, a jagged breath streaming from your lips.

from the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of tanned skin blooming from seemingly thin air.

“don’t be shy, my love, turn your head to look at me.” the voice spoke, clearer than it had been moments ago. it was sweet sounding, as if the letters falling from its lips were coated in honeycomb.

you heard a string of tuts, and a warm hand quickly cupped your chin.

a smile grew on your face, and you let the warmth guide your chin gently. it cupped your chin with great delicacy, like a butterflies wing feathering along your skin.

“you know I’m busy,” you hummed, fluttering your gaze to her with amusement blooming at the corner of your lips. studying the woman before you, your fingers raise to weave into her hair.

“yeah~” she drawled, melting into your touch. she huffed slightly, licking her frowning lips.

“yeah?” you teased, fiddling with the strands of her hair. her eyes rolled weakly, a transparent veil of faux annoyance within her motion.

“I missed you, I can’t wait anymore.” she whined, childishly flailing her limbs in a fast flurry. an eyebrow raised at the woman, and you looked to the clock on the wall.

“five minutes left, Ryu. five minutes, and I’d be back home to, well, probably cling to you the rest of the day, if I’m honest.” you slightly chuckled at your girlfriend, reminding her subtly of the instantaneous transportation home.

home was the underworld, by the way, as Ryujin had been named the goddess of the kingdom a few years after the setting of the story your professor had told. but that’s a story for another time, and it very much links to how you met her.

“fine. but I’m speeding up time. see you in a second, flower.” she relented, clicking her fingers together audibly, and letting the hands of the clock speedily move time forward. she surged forward for a quick kiss, and vanished as quickly as she appeared.

you fell back into your chair with a chuckle, and soon enough, the scraping of metal yanked you from your blank stare, pulling it instead to the clock hung against the cream wall. the hands had began moving normally again, clucking systematically. your gaze flickered around the room, noting the movement with amused eyes.

“ah, class dismissed.”

#itzy ryujin x reader #itzy x reader #itzy ryujin #itzy ryujin imagine #ryujin imagines #ryujin imagine #shin ryujin x reader #shin ryujin imagine #shin ryujin imagines #itzy imagine #itzy imagines #low-key don’t like this

[bluebirdsongs16]

desultory: 1) lacking a plan, purpose, or enthusiasm; 2) occurring randomly or occasionally.

600 words of food porn and Aziraphale and Crowley enjoying each other's company under the cut~ 🍋🍰🍷

Preview: Brunch became luncheon became afternoon tea, their familiar ritual of finding excuses to linger.

Between them, the tarte au citron meringué de Menton with thyme gelée and honeycomb crystals disappeared in desultory bites. Aziraphale savored every dainty forkful, his expression melting into bliss each time the airy, whipped peaks kissed golden via brulée torch and rich, tart-sweet filling atop crumbly pie crust touched his palate.

Or so that was what Crowley imagined Aziraphale’s taste buds were experiencing. For him, it was enough that the aroma of citrus and lightly burnt sugar wafting in his direction blended nicely with the notes of his rather excellent sauvignon blanc. If somehow the wine in his glass had miraculously traveled back in time to become the particular vintage served at King Charles II’s table celebrating the end of Cromwell’s reign in 1660, well, the Ritz Carlton sommelier would never have to know. The poor woman was no doubt doing her best with the selections available to her.

A few bites of pie remained on the plate, but Aziraphale seemed to have forgotten them. He was lost in a story, recalling to Crowley the exact sensation of warm afternoon sunshine on his skin and the breeze off the sea in his face as he strolled through the lemon groves along the Côte d'Azur in 1905. Crowley had his own stories from those days, fond memories of the marble-and-gold Casino de Monte Carlo in all its glory. When he closed his eyes and pictured it he could still taste the cigar smoke and avarice in the air, could still hear the rustle of bills being counted and exchanged and the clinking of chips.

But he was content to let Aziraphale talk, to listen to him describe the absolutely exquisite lemon meringue éclair he’d found at the most darling petite boulangerie in Saint-Tropez, and how the dessert today reminded him of those sultry, languid summer days on the coast.

Crowley, too, remembered them fondly, and let Aziraphale’s vivid recollection tempt him into sniping the last bit of pie from the plate and popping the forkful between his lips. He couldn’t help grinning as he chewed, far too pleased with himself.

When Aziraphale’s reverie for the Riviera at turn of the last century gave way to the positively scandalized indignation Crowley expected from him, Crowley simply signaled for the waiter.

“Another tarte au citron meringué de Menton, please.” He gave the dessert’s name in melodic, flawless French. Just because he could. Then with a sleight of hand that would have made even lauded Professor Hoffman proud, he miracled their wine glasses full again without a single human noticing.

Having taken an indulgent sip of his newly refreshed Haut-Brion circa The English Restoration, Crowley settled more comfortably into his plush dining chair. Seated on the same side of the round table, it was easy to lean his long-limbed body into Aziraphale’s space with the feigned grace of casual movement.

”We’re not in any hurry, after all, are we, angel?”

"You wily old serpent.” As he said it, Aziraphale’s lips quirked up in that mischievous grin that suited him so well. He clinked their glasses together, and they drank.

To afternoons at the Ritz that would never end.

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfiction #good omens ficlet #my fic

[barbaracleboy]

More Princess Bianca Family Content! This time featuring her and her sisters!

#bug fables #princess bugs #queen bianca #professor honeycomb #dr. h.b. #yes I do say that H.B. and Honeycomb are Bianca's sisters #not sure if that's confirmed but for now it's what I believe #all three are from the last generation (born from the previous Queen)

[giantologist]

Hello professor!! I’m thrilled to finally be able to write asking for some advice, as my city has a new neighbor!

I’ve seen him in the early morning on the edge of the fields, and people living on the outskirts say they feel his tremors throughout the day. Myself and a few other members of the community have put together an improvised welcome committee to invite him to join us in some friendly fashion, but we’ve hit a wall with deciding what to put together for a gift basket of sorts. So far we’ve got a few barrels of wine, loads of honeycomb and some live sheep we hope he can make use of for grazing and wool.

Are these gifts appropriate? They might be a bit of an expenditure but we hope to eventually recruit him for civic duty. We’ve been desperate for an effective town guard and a fellow pushing 100 feet in height might be a good deterrent for cattle thieves!

I feel a bit guilty offering friendship and expecting work, but I would like a bit of advice for how to edge that question. I’m the one expected to ask, since I’m the one most knowledgeable on giant courtesy, but I wouldn’t know how ask this of anyone really!

Warm regards,

- A (hopefully) Good Samaritan

Hello to you!

Those all sound like wonderful gifts! As you no doubt have read in my works, it is the thought behind the gifts that is important, no matter how small they may be.

As for posing the question to him, I wouldn't worry about your gift seeming like a bribe. Of course, don't immediately state that you'd like him to work for you, nobody would enjoy that. Instead, I would recommend beginning with wishing to integrate him into your community. Giants know that they cannot simply be part of the village and not earn their keep, they are aware of the strain they put on food supplies and other necessities. He will possibly ask how he can pull his weight before you can suggest he work, and giants have no issue with being guards or even shepherds for your cattle.

If the opportunity doesn't knock, a prompt for him to offer is better than a direct approach, for the sake of politeness. A comment about your issues with bandits inside a list of pros and cons of joining your village is perfect for hinting that you would like him to ward them away. If it is unavoidable, however, a straight question along the lines of 'Are you interested in becoming a guard for our town?' would probably suffice. There is a very slim chance that he will take offence, especially if you work it into conversation naturally.

Honestly, it is possible that you won't need to mention it at all. There is not a rustler in the land that would see the imposing figure of a towering giant amongst his new town and still believe they have free reign of others' property. Simply his presence would be enough, in my opinion.

Best of luck to you!

Professor J Finch

#queries

[cjgladback]

[ID: Four photos of two sock-clad feet standing on an aged wooden deck in direct sunlight. The socks are knit from medium grey yarn in an intricate but mostly-solid lace pattern with alternating diamond grids of wrapped ribs and curves of increased and decreased stitches. They're approximately crew-length with a small area at the toes and the heel in stockinette stitch and only a few rows of *k1 twisted, p2* rib at the top extending the final row of the lace pattern. End ID]

Yesterday was my first time wearing this pair of socks I started in April-May last year! They were my first project back after not yarning for about five years--then I drafted my first sewing project mid-2022 (a pocket I finished this October), wove in the ends of a pair of fingerless gloves I'd been using con spaghetti, and cleaned out my old LYS tote with this yarn, a matching gauge acrylic, and my circular needle. And though I've definitely made a pair of socks before (accidental torture devices for their giftee with the sensory specifics of illusion knit soft cotton and wiry wool) I had completely forgotten and got to research all the techniques again. (If you know me, you know that's a sincere "got to." 😄) In April, I frogged half the foot of a first run with a bulkier cable and honeycomb texture combo that I hadn't planned with sufficient negative ease. And in the meantime ended up browsing the crafts shelf at my library; I checked out the two stitch bibles they had for daydreaming at home. Pattern 88 from "250 Japanese Knitting Stitches: The Original Pattern Bible by Hitomi Shida" (there's a slightly newer, prettier cover with 10 more stitches too but I haven't seen it in person to recommend) was both one of my favorites and relatively narrow at a repeat of 18 stitches. So! I swatched it and measured the swatch gently stretched this time; three repeats around was just about perfect, and I ended up doing one 56-row pattern repeat each above and below the heel turn. I had plans for increasing into the calf without breaking the pattern but was nervous about running out of yarn (the last of a mystery wool cone gifted from my psych professor's stash). If I could do it over, I'd probably knit the pair from the inside and outside of the ball simultaneously so I could have slightly taller socks with a wider ribbing cuff, but as is they're staying up way better than I expected. Guess that's the shape-keeping joy of wool!

#knitting #cj gladback #fiber art #fashion #ha that feels like a weird tag to put on my own clothing #i am legitimately very pleased with these -- they're neither too warm nor too cold between the wool and lace #it has been way too long since dr toby gave me this yarn so i can't remember if she said it was superwash #planning to hand wash it for a while at least before i choose something to frog the swatch for that i'd be okay felting #the knitting will continue until morale improves #thankfully that strategy actually works pretty well #i started the next project as soon as this one was off the needles (did the last two rounds bound off and wove in ends #during the superbowl and also wound all the acrylic my sister bought me to make into a blanket for her before overtime) #i think i broke the first version of this post babbling about the progress and problem solving for that blanket so i'll save it #but yeah! it always feels right to be creating in this kind of space #and if i just keep knitting maybe i won't need to take up nalbinding and macrame and tablet weaving and linen production and -- #ramblings #tag you're writ

[bugs-in-situations]

selkie's association fun facts

eetl is a specific type of frog that we just looked up and already forgot the name of. it's blue but it's not a dart frog you can touch him

artis is not a selkie he just works here

neolith is registered, he's an owl (specifically a tawny owl)

leif's family are all registered

international law says that hawk (hawk) being registered means he keeps his own pelt while working at the bee kingdom. professor honeycomb would let him have it anyway she doesn't care

cenn and pisci's deal now is that they stole some pelts and are pretending to be selkies for. some reason

#selkiebugs old