transplantedbees

[transplantedbees]

[transplantedbees]

HA GET ROTATED

[transplantedbees]

#I think the execution of this line is severely underrated

[transplantedbees]

just found this pic and thought that I want Schlatt there.

[transplantedbees]

cat mom for mother’s day in a few days (:

[transplantedbees]

I managed to do something pretty neat folks- and so as a break from the usually scheduled dragon programming I offer:

Personal C!Awesamdude design!

He of course is a creeper-taur based on my own interpretations of them, though he's not exactly normal by any means - even by creeper standards and they're well... Odd.

I do have an alternate design in mind for a medieval painting themed dragon-taur but for right now I'm really proud of this!!

There's a few extra silly Sam Notes/Headcanons of mine under the cut :)

Fun Notes/HCs:

He stands at roughly 8ft (2.4 meters) tall normally, though that can dramatically increase if he rears up on his back legs! Usually rearing is only something he does if he's really pissed off or for extra intimidation points.

His fur is more akin to moss than anything and will vary in color depending on how well he's doing - as well as sunlight exposure. His coloration gets superrrr dark during his time as The Warden, and during the Daedalus Arc, though at the start of the server he'd be far more vibrant.

Despite what you'd think Sam is a shockingly adept swimmer! That long tail is used for swimming much like the tails of several species of monitors and other semi aquatic lizards, thus is less prehensile but can still for sure be used as a whip-like weapon.

His front 'paws' are scaled, with the 'fur' stopping around the ankles so he has a look similar to those fancy pigeons!

This current body is Vers:5.6 of his clones and what Sam considers the best of the forms he's made, thus he's spent the most time with it, I'd say he's had this body in particular for at least a few years before the start of the SMP if not longer.

This body features DNA/Attributes from NUMEROUS creeper species - most notably the Tundra/Extreme Cold, Jungle & Cave Variants, alongside the base which is a Mangrove Swamp creeper (OG Sam or Sam Prime as I call him is simply a mangrove creeper). Due to this Sam's instinctive reactions and behaviors can be rather conflictive with one another, usually he's quite good at reigning everything in as to meld with society better - though now and again he slips or it affects him in other ways with his habits and reactions to certain things.

Sam has a shocking amount of nonverbal vocalizations he'll make now and again, these range from hisses and various growls to chuffs and almost purr like sounds.

[transplantedbees]

emduo my beloved

[transplantedbees]

Cranboo doodle i made in school

[transplantedbees]

[transplantedbees]

techno left his cape…

[transplantedbees]

drew schart

[transplantedbees]

Their brains is merged and become nonexistent-

(Special thanks to @simplepotatofarmer >:3)

Original source

[transplantedbees]

Thinking Affections again, and idk if this counts as a prompt or not, but in itwall you mentioned how cPhil constantly touches cDreams hair to calm him down and is just sth he likes so just that being a their thing they do when cuddling or sth is just phil petting and massaging his head

anything can be a prompt if i brainrot hard enough

/dsmp /rp

Dream wasn't sleeping well.

Sleep was always a fickle, delicate thing with him. There were plenty of nights where his exhaustion would take over and he would sleep soundly, especially early on during his time at the cottage, but there were also long periods where he'd barely sleep at all. He would wake from nightmares and seizures, or he'd simply tremble on his mattress for hours and hours, unable to slow his heartrate from its anxious pace. Em helped him to feel safe those nights, but even she couldn't keep his fears at bay completely. For as loving as the dog was, she couldn't stop someone from coming in the night to drag him back into the hell he escaped from. The hell he planned to return to someday. He laughed, sometimes, at the odd predicament he created for himself.

He procrastinated sleep by reading in the living room.

Techno gave him some shitty novel about an underground culture of elves. It was entertaining enough. He sat on the floor with a dog on his lap, leaning against the couch, and pulled his hair from his face. He had to tilt the book forward so the dim light of the fireplace could illuminate the page.

He heard Philza sit on the couch behind him.

The old man hummed thoughtfully before threading his fingers through Dream's long hair, pushing it behind his ears. "Might be less annoying if I braid it," he offered.

"I'm gonna take it out before bed," Dream replied, "but go ahead."

"It's my pleasure, mate." Phil's voice edged close to a whisper. He began carefully selecting some strands of hair from Dream's hairline and drawing them back, letting his fingertips trail along the boy's scalp. Dream shivered at the touch, feeling his skin erupt into goosebumps. "You should be sleeping," Phil continued.

The offer to braid his hair was a trick from the start; Phil wasn't doing anything that seemed close to a hairstyle. Instead, he rubbed and massaged along Dream's head, sometimes scratching with his fingertips. The book slowly dropped to his lap as he couldn't focus on the words anymore. His eyes fluttered closed.

"In... In the prison," Dream started, "Quackity liked to grab my hair. He'd grab it, like, in the front, and slam my head on the ground."

Phil's fingers trailed softly along the back of his skull. "Dream..."

"Sam hated when he did that. My skull would crack, and it would bleed a lot."

Phil could surely feel the bumps and valleys along his skin. They were hard to miss. He would feel rough scars and some patches of flaky, dry skin. Maybe some sharp lines where a crack healed. Dream's hair has been a source of frustration and humiliation for a long time; he hated that Quackity could feel the thick mats, the tangles, the spots of blood he couldn't wash out.

He felt Phil plant a kiss on the top of his head.

"Join me on the couch?"

Dream would spend the night there, on the couch, lying on top of Philza with his head on the old man's chest, sighing at the sensation of his head being massaged until he fell asleep.

[transplantedbees]

shmol

[transplantedbees]

Chat, look at this guy sleep in the middle of nowhere. He must be homeless.😥

[transplantedbees]

seconds

a short (1,089 words) rivals duo fic about food as love and friendship for @sixteenth-day-event's love month.

Dream didn’t cook.

He had lived on golden apples and pieces of beef that could only charitably be called ‘steak’ and ‘cooked’ and then later he had lived on potatoes, raw and mealy. It had taken months to get the taste out of his mouth. Months of Techno encouraging him to eat until Dream was able to keep down more than a few bites at a time.

It had to be frustrating. Dream had been frustrated, knowing that he needed to eat and knowing his stomach and mind would rebel against it. There had been times he had lashed out and had swept the dish off the table and Techno had rolled his eyes and called him a toddler and a baby and cleaned up the mess.

And he still cooked for Dream, despite it all.

This is so stupid, thought Dream with a groan.

He gripped the edge of the counter and looked down. Half the ingredients of Techno’s pantry sat out: carrots, mushrooms, onions, even potatoes. There were herbs that Dream didn’t know but had passed his sniff test and raw beef that he had dug out of the ice chest.

He had no idea what he was doing.

If Techno was here, Dream would ask him but he was out all day with Phil doing something that was supposed to be secret but Dream knew about anyway because Techno talked and, besides, this was meant to be a surprise.

“How—How hard can it be?” Dream asked the empty kitchen, trying to hype himself up. Outside, the sun was just a little below the halfway point in the sky. “It’s just fucking vegetables and shit in water.”

It was a lot harder than Dream thought.

His hands shook trying to chop the vegetables evenly, the missing fingers making it hard to grip the knife properly and there was one moment where his hand slipped and he grazed his finger, a tiny drop of blood welling up, and Dream had to sit down until he stopped feeling as if his head was full of static. But he had done it.

He had chopped the vegetables (even the potatoes) and then had cut the meat into chunks and had to stop himself from thinking about how easily a person could be carved up. As soon as he was done, Dream had tossed the knife into the sink and refused to look at it again.

Wiping his sleeve across his forehead, Dream began to season his stew. He smelled each herb, tasted some of the spices, dumped a little too much salt into the water and scrambled to scoop what he could out and then tried to mask it with a little more pepper and rosemary. He found dandelion greens and added those, too.

It didn’t taste anything like the stews that Techno made. Dream frowned.

He needed something.

In the back of Techno’s pantry, there was a dusty bottle of beetroot wine, labeled with Phil’s handwriting. That would work. Dream carefully scooped out some more of the water and then poured in half the wine. He added more herbs and spices but stayed away from the salt.

It still wasn’t right and Dream went to the ice chest and pulled out the butter and added a chunk.

Then he put the lid on the pot and let it simmer until Techno got home.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Steam rose off the bowl of stew sitting in front of Techno.

Across the table, Dream was watching him intently, his own bowl untouched, hand on the spoon, waiting for Techno to take the first bite.

“Y’know, you really didn’t have to do this, Dream,” said Techno, stirring the stew a bit.

“Yeah, I know but—but you always cook and I thought—I wanted to cook for...” Dream trailed off, shifting in his seat, finally looking away. “Whatever.”

Techno smiled.

“Nah, I appreciate it, man,” he said. “It looks good.”

That wasn’t a complete lie: the vegetables were clearly painstakingly cut into chunks all of a similar size as was the meat and the broth had a hearty, deep red color to it. Unfortunately, it colored almost everything with a reddish-purple tint to it but that was fine.

It certainly looked better than it smelled because it smelled like Techno’s entire spice rack had been dumped into the pot.

But Dream visibly perked up at his words.

“Yeah? I mean, I didn’t have, like, a recipe or anything.”

I can tell, thought Techno. He said, “Listen, Dream, the secret to cookin’ is you’ve got to cook from the heart, alright?”

A blush, pink and splotchy, colored Dream’s cheeks.

“Ugh. Just—Just eat the stupid stew,” said Dream, not moving to pick up his own spoon.

Techno took a bite.

It wasn’t awful though Techno would have never called it good. There was an odd lack of salt and an even odder mix of herbs and spices, not all of which went together, and a buttery taste that he wasn’t expecting. The beetroot wine was a bit overpowering.

He took another bite.

“Is it—is it alright?”

There was an eagerness on Dream’s face, nervousness in his voice, as he watched Techno.

Techno hadn’t been lying when he said the secret was to cook from the heart. The fact Dream had gone out of his way to cook anything when food had been such a sticking point for him, the fact he had willingly used potatoes when there had been a point he would gag at the mere sight of them, meant something.

It meant a lot.

Techno took another bite, bigger than the first two, and spoke around the mouthful.

“It’s amazin’. You wanna do all the cookin’ from now on?”

Dream scoffed but the blush had deepened and a pleased sort of relief had settled on his features. It softened some of the harshness left behind from the prison.

“Hell no.”

“I’m teasin’ you, Dream,” Techno said, still eating.

Dream pushed his spoon around his own bowl. He was quiet for awhile as Techno ate.

“Yeah—Well, to be—to be fair, you do all of the cooking and I know I’m a pain in the ass,” he said, finally, and finally lifted a spoonful of stew to his mouth. Dream’s features twisted in disgust. “This is fucking awful.”

Techno snorted, reaching across the table to pat Dream’s hand.

“I don’t mind.”

One of Dream’s eyebrows jerked upwards.

“Really?”

“Really.” Techno pushed his chair to back to stand. “Now, I’m gonna get another bowl.”

[transplantedbees]

Being a dream stan is like. Watch minecract video. Reblog post comparing gnf to kitten. Be confronted with the ease of which alt right ideas have been perpetuated in leftist internet spaces. Reblog gnf kitten post again. Shipping discourse