This is the Jataí, a bee native to Brazil. Like all bees native to Brazil, she has no stinger and is super chill (nowadays we have bees with stingers, but they all came from Europe and Africa).
They like to build their hives inside nooks in solid rock or concrete and make a distinctive tube-like entrance that is carefully guarded against predators.
They’re really tiny and aren’t at all bothered by humans getting close to their hive so long as we leave them alone - my grandma had a hive on one of the walls in her yard for over 25 years, right by the narrow staircase that went up to the second level of the house where my gran lived (my cousin lived on the bottom half) and those gals gave zero fucks that a bunch of pinkish giants would stomp by their doorway on a regular basis.
I could stick my face right by their hive to watch them from close up and so long as I didn’t disrupt traffic absolutely no fucks were ever given.
So it’s my second time DMing ever and my 8 year old cousin wanted to have a D&D themed birthday party. I’m familiar with 3.5 so I’m glad to do it. So him and his brothers, the oldest of which is 14, and his parents, both in their forties, all play.
I make up an original Island Adventure scenario that’s basically a fetch mission for a magical item they can trade the locals for a boat to go home in.
So they were deep into the jungle of the island and hadn’t fought anything too damaging. But then I set them up against a Giant Constrictor that started to give them a run for their money. They had it down to less than half health when the monk (the 8 year old’s character) was knocked unconscious.
Me: And the Snake manages to grab a tight hold of Gantea. Thora (the mother’s fighter) is up next.
Fighter OOC: Can I shout a battle cry before I hit it with my warhammer?
Me: Sure, that’s a free action to me.
Fighter: RULES OF NATURE!
Me: Ok, roll to confirm the crit.
*Nat 20 True Critical*
Table goes ballistic.
Me, in disbelief: So with the maternal savagery of a mother bear defending her young, you hit this snake so hard not only is its head taken off, but its entire skeleton is knocked clean from the skin. Gantea is no longer being constricted.
Fighter to Monk OOC: Remember this next time I tell you to clean your room.
I’m a very logical person, and I believe most things can be explained through science, but I’ve had a few experiences that I’ve had trouble explaining to myself–moments my body tells me has happened, but my mind tells me should not have. I guess, according to sixpence, they’re called “glitches”.
As I said, I’ve had a few of these experiences, but most of them have been fractions of seconds long. I’m not superstitious or overtly paranoid, but last summer, on a cruise with two of my cousins around my age, something happened that I haven’t quite been able to shake.
It was our second night on the ship, and we thought it would be funny to run around causing havoc, in a real “Leonardo Decaprio sticking it to the upper class in Titanic” sort of way. We found our way to the richer levels, and laughed our way down elaborate hallways with beautiful lighting. While walking (or rather, stomping) we discovered that each door had a doorbell. These halls were different from the rest of the ship in that they were long and dead-ended. This meant that when we decided to ding-dong-ditch everyone, it required that one person stand at the end of the hall, then sprint to the two waiting at the exit while slamming their hands on each doorbell. After much discussion, we decided that my boy cousin was faster than both of us, and would be less likely to get caught.
After a few seconds of preparation, my cousin and I danced on our feet, watching him speed through the halls, itching to run from our self-inflicted trouble. When he got to the end, a large man stuck his head out of his fancy door, and after watching us giggling and pressing more doorbells, decided to chase us. There aren’t many places to hide if you get caught on a boat, so an unspoken consensus was made that we would need to run fast enough to not be recognized.
We sprinted down levels and levels of stairs, until we reached a landing with no where to go, except for into the endless hallways. Now the hallways were set up so that if you kept running in one direction, you would go in circles, but each landing had an exit to the left and an exit to the right. We knew we had a few seconds to debate which way to go, but for the first time that night, I disagreed with them. I thought it would be more faster to get to our room if we went to the left, and they thought the same of the right. We didn’t have time to debate and agree, because we soon heard yells and stomps from the stairs in front of us. Without thinking, we split up. I pulled out my timer, just to prove without a doubt that my way was faster, and began sprinting, quickly finding my way towards our room. My timer, which I screenshotted, said 1 minute, 34 seconds. I entered the room smugly, convinced I had beat them.
When I saw my cousins talking closely when I entered, I was disappointed. When they saw me, they were shocked. They had been discussing what to say to my grandma about me getting caught by the man. To them I had been gone for over an hour. To me and my phone, I had been gone for 1 minute, 34 seconds.
The next half hour was spent debating how long I was gone, the games with the doorbells before were completely forgotten.
Everything except for my timer and my mind tell me that they were right, but I know what my phone says, and I know I would not have been able to continuously sprint for over an hour.
That night I lay awake, trying to convince myself that they were right, but I knew how long I had run for, and so I kept asking myself: where was I for the other 58 and ½ minutes?
Recently I went to visit my cousin and her husband for a few days. The first night there we all stayed up late drinking wine and gabbing. On the second night my cousin had to check out early as she had an important work meeting in the morning but would be free later in the day and then for the rest of my visit. So after she called it a night her husband grabbed us each a beer and we got comfy on the couch and ready to watch an action movie that was on. After a few beers and a love scene between the main actor and the hot chick in the movie I extended my foot towards his crotch and began lightly stroking. Soon he had an impressive tent in his pants. At this time I shifted position so I could unzip him and take him into my mouth. Throughout the whole thing he never said a word, occasionally letting very soft moans escape as I worked his hard married cock with my mouth. I could feel him starting to get close so I picked up my pace. His hands on my head guiding me down told me he really wanted me to finish him off which I had all the intention of doing. Soon I heard him say he was going to cum. I moaned mmhm as I took him deeper into my mouth. I felt him tense up then he was filling my mouth with his hot thick load. I eagerly swallowed it all before I kissed his cock, sat up finished my beer then grab us each another before settling back in for the rest of the movie.
“””””“reporters”““““: the DCEU is dead. ded. bye. is affleck an AI specifically created by the CIA (known filthy DCEU lovers) to fool us all? probably. my cousin said affleck’s second brother-in-law five times removed told him batman will be played by a single mop with a cowl. made of… napkins. greasy ones
My Big Fat Greek Wedding was on last night, and I thought – what if this was a Zimbits AU? I put together a little fic outline. Here’s what I came up with.
My Big Fat Southern Wedding
Dicky Bittle is the gifted and talented baking son of Suzanne and Coach Bittle who own The Dancing Pies restaurant in Atlanta. A shy and quiet young man, Dicky spends most of his time baking, confiding in his moomaw, working at the restaurant but he wants more. He wants more for his life than just the restaurant and his very large, very close-knit and overbearing extended family.
When the Bittles expand and build a chain of restaurants, they open up a Dancing Pies in Nashville. It immediately becomes the biggest and most profitable restaurant in the chain, so the Bittles move to Nashville to oversee it.
Enter Nashville Preds star, Jack Zimmermann, who one day upon the insistence of his teammate Tater Mashkov, visits Dancing Pies for some of the pie Tater won’t stop going on and on about.
Dicky is working at the restaurant and feels his heart practically stop beating when Jack and Tater are seated. Dicky doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone as beautiful as Jack in his entire life.
“Zimmboni, everything here is good. You trust me,” Tater says as Dicky pours Jack a cup of coffee.
“Do you recommend anything?” Jack asks brightly.
“If I made it, uh… you’ll eat it,” Dicky says pushing up his glasses.
Dicky remembers how he’s dressed and wants to die. He woke up late that morning and is wearing some baggy jeans, a faded Cookie Monster t-shirt, a smear of toothpaste is just under his lower lip, and his hair is sticking up in the back with a cowlick from hell.
“The bitty baker is too funny, Zimmboni!” Tater yells as Jack smirks and watches the shy waiter from behind his menu.
“You made all the pies?” Jack asks.
Dicky nods nervously as Jack asks Dicky to just bring him what he thinks he’ll like.
They two enjoy their pie and coffee as Dicky dreamily watches from the counter.
They leave and Dicky thinks that’s that – until one afternoon Dicky is at the local bookstore perusing the cookbooks when he hears a voice behind him. “Hey, aren’t you that baker?”
In the world where after dicking around Ancient Egypt, Kaiba came back and brought Atem with him. Getting him kitted out by his tailor (she always has the decency to pretend she’s been in weirder situations):
Tailor: I must say, that young man has the body of a god.
Kaiba: You have no idea how true that statement is.