Full of Bees

Bees bees, the magical fruit

65,332 notes

rhetoricallyradical:

sapphirebones:

uplifted-chaos:

thenimbus:

citadelbloodbeard:

x-oskeleton:

One of my favorite things out there, hands down. I’m in love with the style and music score, gives me chills every time.

That was gorgeous.

I got goosebumps when the violin came into play.

Fucking amazing work.

This is the entire point of human existence, and that is terrifying.

this is the saddest thing ever 

Oh my god this is perfect

(via letitbear)

Filed under p sure I've reblogged this before but it's super fab and creepy video

144,775 notes

vanconcastiel:

ganjaginga:

for-tobacco-use-only:

gameandwatch:

aight look i’ve been playing the flute for ten goddamn years. i can play this without the beatboxing. i can beatbox. but the air capacity required to do this well literally nearly knocked me out. this dude has either gotta be an aerobic superstar or have lungs the size of a small elephant’s

Holy fuck

lmfao he just goes off

*shows this to music school friends*

(Source: adrians, via birdsquirrel)

Filed under lemonyandbeatrice frau patillo would be so upset video

0 notes

when you can’t tell if the game you’re playing is actually setting up a lesbian relationship or if you’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak

29,859 notes

blacksteelgajeel:

novel about a morally grey pirate captain who is cursed to die within 5 years for stealing some forbidden treasure, and only giving her heart to someone and expecting nothing back can break the curse

but rather than go on some journey to find some true love or whatever, she decides to use her last years to travel the seas with her crew and collect treasure and drink and be merry

and on the day of reckoning, she is falling more and more ill, and her crew gather all around her to say goodbye to their captain when suddenly the curse is broken. because she gave her whole heart to her ship and her crew, and expected nothing back.

(via seananmcguire)

726 notes

Too often, accessibility is considered an add-on to an event or space, rather than an integral part. It’s assumed that it’s only necessary to provide access if someone asks for it; and of course, no one asks, because everyone assumes it isn’t and won’t be provided. Announcements typically don’t provide information about what kinds of accommodations will be available, and people who are tired and stressed out don’t want to have to call to get information and then cross their fingers in the hopes that ‘accessibility’ means the same thing to the person on the other end of the line as it does to the caller; the migraineur calling to find out about video content isn’t just concerned, for example, about flashes that might trigger seizures in people with epilepsy.

Access is an add-on, it’s something special, and it’s something remarkable. In this sense, it becomes a way of singling out people who aren’t normative; ‘ah, you’re the one who needs the sign language interpreter.’ ‘I see you’re using a wheelchair.’ It is another reminder that a shared space is not truly shared, because some people are in it by tolerance only, and it would be easy to take that tolerance away and exclude them from the space. When accommodations are something special, they draw attention to the people who need them.

s.e. smith, in Norming Access (via cielito-lindo)

This. It’s so hard to ask.

(via jessiedress)

(Source: tgstonebutch, via forgetpolitics)

Filed under social commentary

102,011 notes

jetn:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

*prepares party popper*


*nervously shakes the party popper*


*slowly falls asleep with the party popper*


*has a wonderful night with the party popper*


*gets married to the party popper*

It’s a beautiful evening in February. My wife and I are sitting at the fireplace, when suddenly a terrible image appears on the screen of my computer.

My wife looks at me. As I look in her terrified, cardboard eyes, filled with tears, she takes a deep breath, before saying with her shivering voice “It’s what you’ve always wanted, dear. Do it.” My hands start shaking and a lone tear rolls down my cheek. “I can’t, honey. I’m not like that anymore.” “I will do it.” a small voice behind us says. As I turn around, my eyes cross with my son; our son. “You don’t have to do this, Benedict.” I say, as I hold his hands.
Ignoring what I told him, young Benedict Popper-Are Optional holds my wife’s cardboard body in one hand, and her long, beautiful string in the other. With tears in my eyes, I turn my head away. A loud pop sounds behind me and I watch in terror as I see my wife’s confetti spread across the room.
"It’s what you’ve always wanted, dad…" my son says, putting his small, cardboard hand on my shoulder. "Yes," I say, "but not like this… Never like this…"

what the actual fuck

jetn:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

*prepares party popper*

*nervously shakes the party popper*

*slowly falls asleep with the party popper*

*has a wonderful night with the party popper*

*gets married to the party popper*

It’s a beautiful evening in February. My wife and I are sitting at the fireplace, when suddenly a terrible image appears on the screen of my computer.

My wife looks at me. As I look in her terrified, cardboard eyes, filled with tears, she takes a deep breath, before saying with her shivering voice “It’s what you’ve always wanted, dear. Do it.” My hands start shaking and a lone tear rolls down my cheek. “I can’t, honey. I’m not like that anymore.” “I will do it.” a small voice behind us says. As I turn around, my eyes cross with my son; our son. “You don’t have to do this, Benedict.” I say, as I hold his hands.

Ignoring what I told him, young Benedict Popper-Are Optional holds my wife’s cardboard body in one hand, and her long, beautiful string in the other. With tears in my eyes, I turn my head away. A loud pop sounds behind me and I watch in terror as I see my wife’s confetti spread across the room.

"It’s what you’ve always wanted, dad…" my son says, putting his small, cardboard hand on my shoulder. "Yes," I say, "but not like this… Never like this…"

what the actual fuck

(via forgetpolitics)

Filed under what