#Ames Lawn Care

[topsoiloutdoor]

Topsoil committed to getting the job done when it comes to your lawn. With our affordable Lawn Care Services we offer multiple options to choose from. Lawn care has become a part of most homeowners' weekly chore list. Each time you mow your grass, you’re one step closer to a lush and healthy looking lawn.

Here are the services that are included in our lawn care packages:

Mowing: Your grass will be cut to the proper height 3 ½-4 inches, promoting a thick, verdant appearance and help to deter any diseases.

Trimming: String trimming around trees, landscapes, mailboxes, fences, sheds, house, swing sets, stepping stones and other area’s our mowers couldn’t get to.

Edging: Get that nice sharp edge along your lawn where it meets sidewalks, driveways and walkways.

Blowing: Once we have finished mowing, edging and trimming your yard, we will blow all hard surfaces, landscape, driveways and walk ways.

Landscape Maintenance: As an add-on service, we can refresh your mulch beds, maintain weeds and shrubs.

[the-adventures-of-dave]

Watching Dave trim our grass while I get eaten alive by mosquitoes

[hexjulia]

so funny when someone calls you to plant something and you say hey but you can do this, it is easy, you literally just put it in the ground and it turns out they know that but have formed some kind of superstitious belief about your "green fingers" making all the difference in whether the plants live.... girl i do not have plant powers i just google plant care instructions sometimes 😭

[coffentyme]

I. Hate. Landlords.

[cas---2y5]

making my gfs roommate a sim so i can kill her slowly in a healthy and acceptable way :)))))

[sibyl-of-space]

I regret to be vindicated in my personal belief that sometimes getting a re-release of an old game is a bad thing.

Listen, I don’t care about the Gameplay Issues TM or whatever that people are arguing about online. I have already made my peace with that argument by just ignoring any version of Tales of Symphonia that came out after the GameCube one because I don’t want or need them. Other people can play them. Other people can have hot takes about them. Whatever.

HOWEVER, there is something very nice about a game only really existing as mostly a thing of the past: companies don’t bother using all of the newest, shittiest, and greediest tools to capitalize on it. As soon as it gets a hyped up ~modern remaster~, regretfully, companies suddenly care about squeezing all it’s worth from it again.

All this to say.... everyone I know in the ToS speedrun circle has woken up to 4723843902483284 copyright claims on 10-year-old videos of the game because Bamco is seeing dollar signs right now and has started using Content ID to claim ToS stuff. happy remaster released in JP day I guess!!

[DISCLAIMER: from what I can see currently the claims are just allowing the owner to monetize it, and not like, actually blocking or taking down anything. thank fuck. but I preferred it when this stuff flew under the radar! I hate having the radar on stuff made decades ago because a remaster just came out!!!! Because that “monetized claim” switch could be flipped to a full takedown on a whim!!!!!!]

[cinereys]

been calling #goncharov THE GONCH in my head this entire time.

that’s what it is.

no i will not be taking criticism at this time.

[katyspersonal]

I am in that sensitive age where I am too old for my quirks to be endearing, but also too young for my quirks to be endearing. Can’t wait to turn 50 so my random mood swings, swaths of aggression and crazy ramblings about people who don’t exist are seen as ‘silly and fun’

[agentumbls]

Got up and i was like should I have another 2.4 standard drink 8% cider to go with my other 7.2 standard drinks and then I remembered i also took an ambien

[gallusrostromegalus]

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

---

(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)

[tomthefanboy]

I was the danger in the tall grass today.

We got notice from the land Lords. Cut the grass or else.

Trimming the edge of the back fence, my machine ripped away the hardy plants and tossed a young rabbit onto its back.

I lamented, saw it struggling, then used the guard on my trimmer to place it upright beside the fence once more. I continued trimming, flinging fresh cut grass onto its shuddering form. Either as a new nest to give it comfort. Or as a barrow to give it peace.

Capitalism will make monsters of us all.

[sprinklethetangerine]

I am apparently most likely to yell "get off my lawn" when I'm old, according to my sisters.

I can't believe they would be so mean to me. I mean... true, but they could at least pretend it isn't.

[murielles-crowsnest]

Local Woman Thrifts (Possibly) Working Scythe: Filled with Unbridled Joy and Won't Shut Up About It

I was out thrifting today (a bookcase collapsed this month, very sad, very annoy but very little harm to bookles, so not the worst...) I didn't find a bookcase since I am being a picky picker. (THIS time I am on the look out for a SOLID WOOD shelf of correct width/height so it hopefully will hold up to the rigors of reference books and art books that are too hefty for a shelf or my own back's good. If I don't find one by the time I finish repainting the room, I will BUILD it.)((Oh yeah, I am taking the opportunity of moving the big bookcase to paint the room. It's gonna be super cute. Wait and see.)) ANYHOW I am getting off topic.

I wandered into their "Vintage" section which also houses many old tools and things which might be made usable again with some extreme care. AND I SAW IT. A SCYTHE. (There were actually three but I only saw the one at first.) Now, I have secretly and maybe siilily (sure, that's a word) wanted one ever since I became a person responsible for my own yard work. There was a different vintage place that had one once upon a time but by the time I had worked up the courage to buy it, they have mysteriously scarpered off in the night without telling anyone (let alone their landlord) so I had feared I had missed my chance. BUT BEHOLD. I looked at the tag and $30??? REASONABLE!!! Especially compared to the price of buying myself a brand new one online. I gingerly picked it up (noticed the other two) and it was like angelic chorus moment. The handles and blade attachment points were all still wonderfully tight, the wood needs a little love and the blade is rusty as fuck but possibly salvageable with enough work. I was filled with such joy I cannot explain or contain (hence this ludicrous post). Being me though, I set it back down and toodled around the place for the bookcase I was supposed to be looking for. When I went back, I examined the other two. One was lighter (good) but rattled because it was missing some of the bits that held the blade in place (bad!) the other had a breaking/splitting handle (very sad!) so it was back to the first and it was something like love to hold it.

Now I have a scythe that I can clean up, sharpen and try using on the suburban lawn like a completely sane person. Fuck you powered mowers, you are loud, your vibration pains me and scares the critters. I cannot wait to freak out the neighbors even more, who have already seen me trim my hedges with enormous scissors (garden shears) whacking away at weeds with a bladed golf club (grass whip, basically what you had pre-electric corded weed whacker), and chop roots with an axe. I will be the local cryptid I want to see in the world.

Now, to look up tutorials on how to correctly clean it and use it!

[inkskinned]

one of the things that's the most fucking frustrating for me about arguing with climate change deniers is the sheer fucking scope of how much it matters. sweating in my father's car, thinking about how it's the "hottest summer so far," every summer. and there's this deep, roiling rage that comes over me, every time.

the stakes are wrong, is the thing. that's part of what makes it not an actual debate: the other side isn't coming to the table with anything to fucking lose.

like okay. i am obviously pro gun control. but there is a basic human part of me that can understand and empathize with someone who says, "i'm worried that would lead to the law-abiding citizens being punished while criminals now essentially have a superpower." i don't agree, but i can tell the stakes for them are also very high.

but let's say the science is wrong and i'm wrong and the visible reality is wrong and every climate disaster refugee is wrong. let's say you're right, humans aren't causing it or it's not happening or whatever else. let's just say that, for fun.

so we spend hundreds of millions of dollars making the earth cleaner, and then it turns out we didn't need to do that. oops! we cleaned the earth. our children grow up with skies full of more butterflies and bees. lawns are taken over with rich local biodiversity. we don't cry over our electric bills anymore. and, if you're staunchly capitalist and i need to speak ROI with you - we've created so many jobs in developing sectors and we have exciting new investment opportunities.

i am reminded of kodak, and how they did not make "the switch" to digital photography; how within 20 years kodak was no longer a household brand. do we, as a nation, feel comfortable watching as the world makes "the switch" while we ride the laurels of oil? this boggles me. i have heard so much propaganda about how america cannot "fall behind" other countries, but in this crucial sector - the one that could actually influence our own monopolies - suddenly we turn the other cheek. but maybe you're right! maybe it will collapse like just another silicone valley dream. but isn't that the crux of capitalism? that some economies will peter out eventually?

but let's say you're right, and i'm wrong, and we stopped fracking for no good reason. that they re-seed quarries. that we tear down unused corporate-owned buildings or at least repurpose them for communities. that we make an effort, and that effort doesn't really help. what happens then? what are the stakes. what have we lost, and what have we gained?

sometimes we take our cars through a car wash and then later, it rains. "oh," we laugh to ourselves. we gripe about it over coffee with our coworkers. what a shame! but we are also aware: the car is cleaner. is that what you are worried about? that you'll make the effort but things will resolve naturally? that it will just be "a waste"?

and what i'm right. what if we're already seeing people lose their houses and their lives. what if it is happening everywhere, not just in coastal towns or equatorial countries you don't care about. what if i'm right and you're wrong but you're yelling and rich and powerful. so we ignore all of the bellwethers and all of the indicators and all of the sirens. what if we say - well, if it happens, it's fate.

nevermind. you wouldn't even wear a mask, anyway. i know what happens when you see disaster. you think the disaster will flinch if you just shout louder. that you can toss enough lives into the storm for the storm to recognize your sacrifice and balk. you argue because it feels good to stand up against "the liberals" even when the situation should not be political. you are busy crying for jesus with a bullhorn while i am trying to usher people into a shelter. you've already locked the doors, even on the church.

the stakes are skewed. you think this is some intellectual "debate" to win, some funny banter. you fuel up your huge unmuddied truck and say suck it to every citizen of that shitbird state california. serves them right for voting blue!

and the rest of us are terrified of the entire fucking environment collapsing.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Omg!! Think you can do the opposite version of the hickey ask? Where the guys notice a hickey and get all jealous n’ pissy🤩 i love it & your writing🥰

Ha! Anon, you have me giggling and kicking my feet. The hickey ask anon is talking about can be found HERE, but I absolutely love the idea of doing the opposite. Instead of a hickey on one of the guys, it's on reader. hehe. (oh god I need to go touch grass or maybe use my teeth to the mow the lawn right now because I am salivating).

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, possessive behavior, rough kissing, secret relationships, suggestive themes, jealousy

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John’s grip on your upper arm is a vice.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he says, voice low.

“Let go, John,” you snap. “You’re going to cause a scene.”

“Am I?” he counters. “Everyone’s already been talking. You’re showing that thing off on your neck like you’re proud of it.”

“Maybe I am,” you reply. “Why do you care?”

With a quick tug, John plasters you against him. His body is all heat and muscle. Everything in you ramps up, becomes wanton. It remembers him.

“Who the fuck touched what’s mine?” he asks in a hoarse whisper.

You swallow. Shake your head. “I’m not yours, John. You always push me away.”

John’s lips come dangerously close to yours. “Tell me who touched you.”

“You did. Don’t you remember?”

You feel him freeze, as if his mind and body are frozen as he tries to recall what happened. The two of you had been drinking when you slid into his lap.

John closes the distance, stealing a kiss that is more possession than anything else. The sensation goes straight down to your toes, and pools between your thighs.

“Come back to my office.”

“John—”

“I want to recreate last night.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“No. No. Don’t walk away from me.”

Kyle’s hand grips your wrist. He tugs, pulling you back in his direction. Kyle is right there, standing so close, head bent forward with intimacy that sinks down into your soul and shatters everything you are.

You cannot resist this man. Never.

“I don’t understand why you’re acting this way, Kyle.”

Kyle grasps the side of your face, his thumb pressing down on your bottom lip. “Because someone marked you. I want to know who it is.”

Does he not know? Does Kyle not remember?

Kyle licks his lips and you follow the movement, remembering how he tasted last night.

“Tell me who it is. I just want to talk to them. Set them straight.”

You laugh and Kyle frowns.

“You’ll be talking to yourself,” you reply.

His mouth opens. Closes. Kyle’s hand drops away from your face to settle on your shoulder, fingers delicately tracing the mark on your neck.

“I did this?” he asks, almost absently.

“You did,” you affirm, heat rising to your cheeks. “Last night.”

Kyle smirks. His gaze roams upward, meeting your own. “Want me to give you a few more? Doesn’t have to be on your neck.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Oh, love. What’s this?”

You lean away but Johnny is quick. He corners you, pressing you into the wall. He’s smiling, but you can see the underlying irritation. His gaze roams all over your body.

“Need something?” you bite, knowing that if the two of you linger here too long, someone will come looking or accidently happen upon you.

It’s not like Johnny is being discreet. He has one knee between your legs, and a hand on your hip. It’s a possessively intimate embrace, and it reminds you of all the things the two of you did last night.

“Aye. I do actually.” Johnny lightly pinches the mark on your neck and you flinch.

“What the fuck?”

“Who gave you that?”

You blink. “What?”

“The fucking hickey. Tell me so I can beat their fucking face bloody.”

You roll your eyes and Johnny pinches you again.

“Stop that.”

“Tell me.”

“You’ll be fighting yourself, Johnny.”

Johnny’s demeanor completely changes, becoming a sultry thing that swirls pleasure deep in your belly. This time he doesn’t pinch. He leans in, running his tongue along the mark. When he pulls back, he grasps you tight, pressing his lips to yours, stealing all breath.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You’re mine,” growls Simon as he picks you up and sets you on top of your desk.

You have no space to argue. Simon is already kissing you. Nipping your lips. Drawing forth a bit of blood to suck into his mouth.

“I know,” you whimper as his hand squeezes your thigh, dragging you to the edge of the desk. His hardness grinds against you, and you moan.

“If you know, then tell me why someone else has marked what’s fucking mine.” Simon grasps the back of your neck, drawing you back, and holding firm. Your fingers claw at the front of his shirt.

“What are you talking about?”

Simon growls. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

You blink. Completely confused. “You gave this to me.”

Simon says nothing. He just stares. “Last night.” You shrug. “I mean we drank a lot but fuck. Thought you’d remember that.”

Simon gently eases his hand from your neck. “I don’t. But you know what that means, love?”

You suck on your bottom lip, tasting a bit of blood that Simon coaxed to the surface. “What?”

“Just means I need to give you a few more. As reminders. For you. And others.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @greeniegreengreen @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@whisperwispxx @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @arrozyfrijoles23

[thechekhov]

I have to confess something to you guys..... up until now... I've had.... dog privilege.

The privilege of owning dogs that DON'T want to Eat Every Bug/Leaf/Stick on walks. (Even my Boston Terrier, who was extremely food motivated, did not care for the lawn charcuterie.) This is kinda new territory for me.

I'm learning.

For legal reasons, this post is for fun only. I am not asking for, nor do I need, dog training advice.