#enjoy the bees ]

[yangsbandana]

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: RWBY Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long Characters: Blake Belladonna, Yang Xiao Long, Ruby Rose (RWBY), Weiss Schnee Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, wtf do i tag, um, College Radio AU, the bees do radio, weiss and ruby are there sometimes too, Smut Eventually, adam flashbacks are here now i'm sorry, Emotional/Psychological Abuse Summary:

Blake turns to the soundboard and slides the song’s volume down, turning up the mic’s. She takes a breath and conjures her radio voice, low and resonant in her throat.   “Hey there. You are listening to Nightshade on OZPN 96.7 FM Beacon College Radio….”

Or

The Bumbleby college radio AU no one asked for.

[homoquartz]

i may be guilty of employing this move

[mischiefbuckley]

abc really said let’s go ahead and make wikipedia late night deep diving Buck who’s trying to learn all he can about current hyperfixation canon and I love it here so much

[hansuart]

🥹🥺😭

[theminecraftbee]

Grian had taken her aside quietly. He'd awkwardly talked around the idea of her remembering now; apparently, he didn't know if her victory counted. She'd rubbed the back of her head and hadn't quite realized what he was talking about and said something about the games and, ah. Apparently she does remember now. Apparently the victory counts. Apparently this means he needs to say sorry.

Cleo considers not accepting the apology. Grian would get the wrong idea then. If she said: you don't need to apologize for shit, or maybe, there's nothing to apologize for, he'd take that as: you are exactly as bad as you're convinced you are. Honestly, Cleo's not sure whether that means Grian would decide he'd done nothing wrong or everything, but that's besides the point.

She'd never not remembered, is the point.

Frankly, Cleo hadn't realized people were meant to be not remembering. She's honestly a bit embarrassed not to have figured it out. Surely that can't be right. Cleo has held every single slight and every single ally and every single person she has ever connected to right in her ribcage, next to where her carved-out, unbeating, torn-up heart lies, the entire time these games have gone on. Each game, a new fact carved into the bone that makes them up.

Names ribbon around her memories. Bdubs and the Crastle and Scott and soulmates and Pearl and friend-turned-foe and Etho and survivor and Bigb and traitor and Scar and son and everything else. She wouldn't be the same at all if she didn't remember. Everything she is, it's built on top of everyone that was.

Maybe it's a zombie thing. The undead are said to be memories that can't fade as much as anything else, after all.

But she can't really explain this to Grian, of course. If nothing else, that would require explaining the place he's taken next to her heart, too, and frankly, that's way too mushy for the both of them. What ends up coming out her mouth is: "Oh. Does that really change anything?"

Grian stares at her a moment.

"You know, I guess not?" he says.

"Right then," Cleo says. "Cool. Good to know my victory means nothing then."

Grian squawks. "You can't just say it like that! That's depressing!"

Good enough.

She buries 'not-supposed-to-remember' 'not-sure-if-it-counts' 'laughing-as-scott-dies' and 'I-have-always remembered' in the same place in her ribcage, so she won't forget it, and then she does the thing that sets her apart from the common zombie:

She moves on.

[formosusiniquis]

for @thefreakandthehair and inspired by this. Everyone enjoy some bee keeper!Eddie saving the day so Steve can play some baseball

Eddie picked up beekeeping the way he picked up most things in his life: accidentally and by virtue of following a crumb of serotonin straight down the rabbit hole of obsession. It isn't what he expected to do for a living, and at this point he does have to admit that when it accounted for 91% of his taxable income last year it is what he does for a living, but he likes that he gets to work outside and set his own hours. He likes that the regular customers he has who buy his honey are nice, and likes getting to advise people about things like flavor profiles and what they taste best with, it was the thing he liked best about his position at the dispensary that was now more of a side gig. And then there's his contract with city animal control that gets him called out to parts of the city he didn't even know existed to relocate hives a lot more often than he thought would happen.

It's a good life, and he likes that he's made it himself.

But it's the kind of life that gets him calls from people late at night when trying to finish binging Fallout before the internet can spoil it for him. He has a rule to always answer when Chrissy calls though, he isn't going to miss helping her if it's an emergency.

“I need a favor,” she says before he's even finished answering.

“Anything for you,” he agrees.

“You might regret saying that.”

Chrissy Cunningham turned a full ride scholarship for cheerleading into a business and marketing degree and she turned that into a fancy job with the White Sox that he didn’t fully understand but totally supported. He wore the free cap she gave him, and was endlessly glad that as a white guy he didn’t get gatekept the way girls like Chrissy did, since he couldn’t name a single player on the team.

And it was that endless support that had him in his full gear at the White Sox stadium with his smoker and bee vac.

Chrissy meets him at the front with a harried expression and a warm hug, “I’d say I owe you one but if everything goes right we’ll be totally square before the first inning.”

“What does that mean?” he asks, repeating it louder when all she gives him is an enigmatic smile. 

The only answer he truly gets is being shoved into a little green cart that she drives with a frightening speed. She drives them through the stadium through a route he has no hope of remembering on his own until they reach an opening that leads straight out to the field. Eddie always had a dream, as a kid, of being a rockstar, driving out onto the diamond to a sudden and uproarious cheer is the closest he thinks he’s ever come to truly experiencing what it would be like to be famous on stage.

He hams it up of course. Waves his arms to try to get them to cheer louder as Chrissy stears them toward the lifter that he’s going to have to go up to get to the swarm. And they do, the cheers becoming an enthusiastic roar, a sound so loud he thinks he could climb them up to the bees without the lifter. 

“Focus will you, you’re on national television right now.” Chrissy says, with a subtle elbow to his side.

“Yeah but how many people are watching a delayed baseball game?”

Never one to just take his smartass comments, he’s sure that Chrissy says something super witty and sarcastic back. Only Eddie made the mistake of turning his head and catching sight of the most glorious ass in the snuggest pair of pinstriped white baseball pants and lost the ability to hear. A second elbow in his side reminds his brain full of metaphorical bees that he’s on television and he doesn’t have his veil on, he isn’t about to get caught drooling on television.

The fattest ass in the stadium turns around and Eddie thinks he’s been stung. He has to be going into anaphylaxis with the way he suddenly can’t catch his breath. The guy in front of him, with a hand on his hip and his eyes trained unwaveringly on Eddie is tongue-swellingly hot. And he just keeps getting closer as Chrissy doesn’t stop driving forward.

“Steve, you’re not supposed to get this close, you're our starting pitcher you can’t get stung.” Chrissy chides.

“I just wanted to make sure that he wasn’t going to kill the bees.” The guy, Steve, says.

“He’s not.”

“I’m not,” Eddie says, shaking his head as fast as he can, like that will make things more convincing for the hot baseball guy. But he’s got an eyebrow raised giving Eddie an up and down like he still doesn’t believe him.

“Look,” he pulls out his equipment so Steve can see. “I’ll smoke them with this, that’ll make them calm so they don’t freak out when I vacuum them up with this.”

“And running them through a vacuum isn’t going to kill them?”

“It’s a gentle suck,” he says, immediately filled with a burning mortification. “It’s just enough to move them into the tank where I can relocate them.”

Hot baseball Steve has his big brown eyes open even wider, there’s a twitch at his mouth like he’s about to say something else and Eddie actually can’t have that. “Chris can we get me strapped into this thing, we want to get this big ballgame going right?”

Steve takes a couple steps back, hands raised up in a placating gesture. Whether it’s for him or for Chrissy because he didn’t listen, Eddie’s too busy putting a neon yellow safety buckle on to think about it.

He takes his time, this is basically free marketing so he’s not about to rush through or do a half-assed job. But in just a few minutes he has a vac full of bees and the game is ready to be played. The lifter gently lowers Eddie back to the ground with another round of cheers. He unclips from the safety harness and takes a shallow bow for the crowd.

Then Steve is jogging over, Eddie stands up straighter than he ever has in his life. Nervous for what is about to happen.

“You saved the game, man!” Steve has the nicest smile that Eddie has ever seen, wide and toothy. He is but a man and thus falls a little bit in love immediately.

“It was nothing, really, just part of the job, y’know.”

“Well, here’s something you probably haven’t done on the job. You have to throw the first pitch.”

“No, no, I absolutely will not be doing that.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, a mischief lights up in Steve’s eyes. He jerks his chin up at Chrissy who says something Eddie is too far away to hear into a walkie talkie. He thinks he has a guess though when the loudspeaker begins to drawl, “Laaadies and Gentlemen, our game is about to begin. Tonight’s first pitch will be thrown by our bee rescuer, Eddie Munson!”

The crowd begins to scream again, but the sound is almost like the hive's steady drone when Steve leans close enough to whisper, “It’s just ceremonial, all you’ve got to do is throw it. I’ll even play catcher for you.” And Eddie’s helpless to do anything but nod.

There’s actually a lot that has to happen before they’re ready for him to throw his sad attempt at a pitch. But that gives him the time to settle his equipment out of the way and scream at Chrissy. Still it’s sooner than he’d like before she’s shuffling him over to a big mound of dirt in the center of everything. She pushes his hat and veil back and it feels a little proud father of the bride right until she pats him on the top of his head and whispers, “Don’t fuck it up, nerd.”

His palms are sweaty, they feel too slick to get a good grip on the small, white ball. He thinks he might throw up, only across from him Steve is there. A glove on one hand he sends Eddie an encouraging little finger wave with the other. 

He can do this. 

He takes a deep breath and throws.

It’s awful. Too high and a little off center, but Steve snags it in that large, ungloved palm and the crowd cheers again like he’s done something fantastic. He’s starting to think they’re just happy to be here.

He starts to walk off the field, toward Chrissy where he knows he’s safe. But he can’t help noticing that Steve is jogging his way too; the ball that Eddie just threw in one hand, a sharpie in the other, his glove tucked tight under his arm. “Eddie, hey, you gotta take this with you, dude.”

Steve lobs it at him in a soft underhand, and Eddie still fumbles the catch, “Thanks, man, but really, I don’t-” the rest of his response dies in his mouth when he realizes just what Steve has scribbled across the ball.

“Give me a call if you’re interested,” Steve says, walking backward toward the mound Eddie just left, “I can show you my gentle suck.” He laughs at his own shitty pickup line, which is somehow more attractive than his whole hot jock thing.

Eddie thinks he must be blushing up to his hairline by the time he makes it back to Chrissy and his things. She looks too smug for it to be any other way. “Told you we’d be even before the end of the night.”

“Chris, if this goes well I might owe you a favor. Now we gotta go, I’ve got bees to relocate.”

[djinn-ale]

bring back ghost bumblebee

[mr-malumm]

Cringetober day 22: candygore!!!!

Never drawn candygore before and i don't really do a lot of gore in general so this was unusual for me but i think its super cute and fun and i wuv it :))

[mizgnomer]

David Tennant at the 2024 British LGBTQ+ Awards where he was the recipient of the Celebrity Ally award

for Tennant Tuesday (or whatever day this post finds you)

Bonus: Video of part of his excellent acceptance speech [ x ]

[cl4y-t33th]

WOOOO NEW BARREN CLAN UPDATE!!! Anyways this moment really stuck out to me and I chose to refresh myself with traditional art with a redraw of it.

Anyways all these characters belong to @barrenclan !

[graciereadshannigram]

re: sex, power, and hannigram (the bees in my head have struck again)

y'all know the quote, everything in the world is about sex, except sex – sex is about power? Will, someone who has been consistently denied agency and power in his life especially by Hannibal, and Hannibal, a man who has kept himself under such strict control around other people, despite desperately craving true connection to another person – sex would be a natural extension and exploration of these pre-existing dynamics. 

Will and Hannibal’s entire relationship is based on their emotional and intellectual connection as they play this cat and mouse game where the power dynamics are fluid and unstable! the mental arousal they provide one another is an integral part of their connection. and that’s what attracts and excites them! and you know what increased psychological arousal leads to (or at the very least, enhances)? physical arousal!! 

which brings me to my next point: we know that Will is mentally aroused by the prospect of both saving and taking lives (s/o to our boy Chilton, man was a rat, but he was right!) because doing bad things to bad people feels good. 

so when Will finally Becomes by killing the dragon with Hannibal and they start exploring how they kill together, of course bloodlust and regular old lust are going to start blurring. not because either of them are sexual sadists who get off on the act of murdering someone, but instead on the power they each hold over death, the thrill of being truly seen and accepted by the other. 

not to mention the fact that sex provides an outlet for some of their more destructive urges, as well as a way to rebuild trust and psychological safety, two things they haven’t really had much of?? which is not to say that i believe everything they’d do would be safe, sane, or consensual, but i do think they’d be providing each other with what they each authentically need to move forward with one another. 

basically, i'm trying to say Hannibal tried his own brand of therapy on Will and look where it got them. i think the next logical progression would be sex as therapy and therapy as sex.

[transgendercastiel]

Season one Troy and abed I love you…

[redbuddi]

commission for onesecretperson

had a lot of fun designing a Sonic Boom version of Charmy!

commission info ko-fi

[xulips]

i hope u don't mind but ur tokoha drawing singlehandedly killed my writers block and now this exists inspired by it!! ty for Them it bought me insane amounts of joy <3 have a nice day!!

i enjoyed it quite a bit

[theminecraftbee]

After he’s finished laughing at Iskall, the two of them start working together to finish drying off Iskall’s clothes. Beef knows full well that if he doesn’t, the man will almost certainly spend the next week naked, just to spite Beef. It’d go against the spirit of the message, to have Iskall turn around and strip because of it.

“I still can’t believe you filled my house with fishes! After I spent a whole ten minutes getting them for you!” Iskall complains. “You do not understand being neighborly. It’s sad.”

“I told you, the more fish you got me, the better your interior would be. You should be grateful, really. Many people would only dream of getting to sleep with this many fishes. It’s a much kinder warning of what will happen when you mess with me than some people get,” Beef advises. “Big Salmon isn’t very happy with you.”

“Sleep with—okay, first, I cannot sleep with salmons, because it gets all my clothes wet. I respawned underwater, Beef!”

“Well, better not upset me more,” Beef says.

“Second, I do not know phrases well. I thought that was a… a saying meaning that you kill them, when you make them sleep with fishes? I thought it was a crime thing. I did not think—sleeping with actual fishes was involved,” Iskall continues.

“I find that in my line of work, double meanings are handy to really drive the point home,” Beef says. “You’ll never know how you’ll sleep with the fishes next time, after all.”

“Right. Okay. Sure. Third: since when were you in Grian’s weird fish cult? Because, dude, I don’t know if I would have spent a whole ten minutes gathering salmon for you if I knew you were in a weird fish cult.”

Beef huffs, offended. “Not a cult! Thats the wrong—I assure you, religion has nothing to do with Big Salmon, just profits and salmon-related—hold on, wait, did you say Grian?”

Iskall stops, confused, from where he’d been airing out his jeans next to a campfire, nearly setting the article of clothing on fire in the process. Beef and Iskall are promptly distracted trying to put out the pants fire, and for a moment, Beef nearly forgets his conversation. After the now somewhat singed and somehow still not dry pants are rescued, though, Iskall remembers.

“Anyway, yeah, Grian. I didn’t think you were involved with him. He made a whole weird cod cave and everything. I think he was trying to worship some ocean fish thingy. It was weird.”

“I don’t know how to unpack that,” Beef says.

“You’re doing it too!” Iskall accuses.

“No, I’m making legal business decisions,” Beef says. “I think I would know if I were in a fish cult, especially one for something as gauche as cod.”

“Technically the cult is about a mending book,” Iskall says.

“Okay, sure,” Beef says.

“He tried to tell me it wasn’t a cult too, but dude, it definitely was. I am judging him. And also you. Get better things to do.”

“It’s not—you are misunderstanding. It’s a family,” Beef says.

“Still don’t get it,” Iskall says.

Beef groans and rolls his eyes. “Like the Godfather.”

“Oh! You are trying to kill me, but for dramatic crime reasons! I get it now. You know, the whole salmon thing still seems a little creepy though, especially with Grian’s cave. Are you sure…”

“Absolutely positive,” Beef says. “I can’t believe you accused me of following something Grian started. I’m offended.”

“Shouldn’t you be more offended at the cult thing?” Iskall asks.

“You’re the one with the giant monolith. You’re one to talk,” Beef says.

“I don’t see how that’s related,” Iskall says.

Beef looks across the neighborhood to the giant looming grey obelisk, covered in runes and filled with esoteric blocks Iskall had collected from all of the hermits. He looks back at Iskall.

“Yeah, fine,” Beef says. “Let’s just finish drying out your clothes.”

“You owe me even more now,” Iskall says.

“I absolutely do not, don’t even start—”