#Holy Soil

[rusquared]

just realized that ramadan is in like, a month. ramadan is supposed to be a month of joy for muslims, because its the holiest month (its believed that the devil is jailed away during this time, so its also a time to increase your good deeds) and you gather as a family and a community. thinking of the palestinian muslims in gaza who are barely surviving. the many muslims in the west bank who are terrorized EVERY ramadan, every year, are attacked during their prayers in the al-aqsa mosque, are targeted this month because the point of the idf is to never give palestinians joy. may we, at the absolute minimum, have a permanent ceasefire before the holy month starts.

[ampleappleamble]

okay but what if the harbingers saved vatnir's body parts after they fell off or out of him– his frostbitten nose and lips, his shriveled eyes and blackened fingernails and decayed teeth– what if they saved them and preserved them and put them in glass cases or even repurposed jars and bottles, all lovingly decorated with what little precious metal and gemstones and adra they could scrape up out of the ice or trade fish for, and then they displayed them all in the chapel mere feet away from where the man himself, still alive, stood preaching to his flock every day, like the world's most fucked up catholic reliquary. what then.

[essektheylyss]

Also there is a square foot BLOCK of condensed potting soil that I removed from a pot to add a bunch of coarser material to that is sitting on my back deck on a tarp because I need it to dry out. That's what my poor ferns were languishing in. The pot was half the weight by the time I finished. Horrific. No wonder my poor elephant ear died.

[macroglossus]

mannnn i just do not really care about science at all :/ like i understand theoretical importance genuinely but trying to read an article is like trying to shove through a crowd that actively doesn't want me moving forward like i have to read every couple words eight times before they vaguely materialize into something that makes some sense and then all knowledge of the concept immediately flies from my mind and vanishes forever

[bloomingbutterflies]

Ssand… SAND… *sand anon rises from the sand dunes of hell and starts building an empire of sand*

NO. WE ARE NOT DOING THIS. GEETT OUUT.

[mono-socke]

just wanna mention that y'all are free to give me requests/suggestions for art

not paid, don't worry, just for fun

like, either ship art, or just single characters or, my favourite, characters as besties/platonic relationships

any fandom I'm in is fine, cross fandom things are fine too

fandoms are in the tags

[miraphoenix]

This is such a weird gripe, but I hate posts like this where there's some (invariably unsourced) claim that a given list of plants is invasive across a wide geographic area.

Because yes, sure, the majority of those plants are in fact invasive across the USA. English ivy is a scourge in my area, and knotweed is worse.

But Concord grape? Is a North American east coast native cultivar; it's one of the many cultivars of Vitis labrusca. If you're east of the Mississippi, and you've got grapevines up your trees, up your shed? There's about a 95% chance that's a native species! It's aggressive as all fuck (source: I have pulled 45ft of V. labrusca out of trees before), but aggressive growth doesn't make something invasive!

So like. If the screenshotted person's in the west coast? Sure, the claim that everything there is invasive has more ground. But calling V. labrusca invasive across the whole USA when that's the native fucking grape you're talking about makes me irrationally pissed off.

[andrumedus]

With the Names, we recall the world from its chaos: The sea. The desert. The stone. The wind. The water. The trees. The fire. The female. Darkness and light.

Muhammad Abdul-Hai, tr. & ed. Adil Babikir, Modern Sudanese Poetry: An Anthology; “The Signs Ode”

[tom4jc]

Ezekiel 17:8 Planted To Bear Fruit

It was planted in good soil by many waters, to bring forth branches, bear fruit, and become a majestic vine. Ezekiel 17:8 When a person plants a fruit plant, it is expected to grow and produce fruit. This can be expected when the plant is properly cared for with first being planted in good soil and then being watered correctly. Problems usually arise when a person does not properly care for the…

[phatburd]

🧂

[einaudis]

1) You tell them, Evan!!!!!!!

2) What on earth is a faith night??????? I'm genuinely asking. What do they do on faith nights? Do they pray between the innings?

[bloomingbutterflies]

Waaaaterrrrrr anonnnn... Splash splash...

NO. YOU STAY OUT OF THIS.

[brewed-pangolin]

Early morning workout Johnny who makes it a habit to run by your house every day at the stroke of 9.

He's got your routine down to a science. He's not a creep, he just likes a schedule. As do you.

He knows you'll be out on your porch by 8:45 with your cup of coffee. Just in time to watch him stride down through your cul-de-sac like some muscle wrapped machine.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it. Giving him a courteous wave, to which he politely returns with his own and million dollar smile. Sipping your warm brew, his sunlit silhouette disappearing in the distance to turn down the next street.

Except it all changes one fateful morning.

You weren't on your balcony. No coffee mug on the table. Not a single shred of evidence you had been home at all, other than the car in the driveway.

He makes one circle. Then another.

And another.

After the fourth, he's running low on fumes and you're still nowhere in sight. And amidst the fog of a draining runners high, he miscalculates his steps and smashes chest first into your mailbox.

Hurdling down with a thud, a few choice explatives that alert the neighbors and jolt you from the sleep you had been so deep within on your couch.

"Holy shit! Are you okay?" You call out, swinging the front door open. Hair a messy mop. Shirt warn and wrinkled and a thick crease running along the circumference of your cheek.

Soap is nothing more than an apologetic mess. Battling with a mud ladened 2x4 and peppered with an array of junk mail and enveloped bills.

"M'good, lass. M'good."

"You sure? That mailbox is basically destroyed. You must have hit it pretty damn hard."

You reach down, giving him a hand up to which you are given the strongest grip you have ever felt. Playing off a wince with a smile, letting your eyes take him in while he brushes off a layer of dirt and grass.

"Aye. Bulldozed straight into it. Sorry bout tha'."

You have off his apology, taking a gander at the damage and mentally beginning to plan out the finances to fix it.

"I can get ya a new one. If ya let me."

His deep brogue interrupts your thoughts. Raising a brow and a hand to block the bright morning sun.

"No, don't worry about it. It's an easy fix."

"Nah. Please. It's the least I can do, lass. Besides. I am the one at fault ya know."

You hesitate only for a moment. The blue of his eyes mirrored by the sunlit sky behind him. Feeling a certain pull towards him, as though those morning waves had cemented a bond that was only beginning to solidify in the morning sun.

"Okay."

"Aye? I'll be back after yer shift. 530 right?"

You push aside the fact that he knows your work schedule as he reaches out for a friendly handshake. His grip less firm, more cordial. Gentle, even.

"Yeah."

--

After an unremarkable shift that you wish to push deep into your memories, you sit out on your balcony with a refreshing drink in hand. Taking in the hard determination of your mailbox destroying neighbor as he singlehandedly hammers it into the ground.

You had offered to help, to which he emphatically responded with a solid 'no'.

"You've got good taste."

Your seal of approval is all he needs. Taking a welcome cold beer from your hands with that million dollar smile and a final hammering to cement the pillar into the soil.

"Thought it'd fit the style a yer home. Glad ya like it."

You begin to realize this runner is a man who misses nothing. His choice of mailbox color not too dissimilar to the one of your preferred coffee mug. The shade matching almost perfectly, only shifting in hue by the extravagant sunset.

"You hungry?"

Your politeness thankfully overshadows the sudden flush erupting within your chest. You'd blame it on the alcohol if he asked, but you know he'd see right through it.

Dinner starting innocently at the table, shifting seamlessly towards the living room and finishing the main course in your bedroom. Coming to a close in a cacophony of growls, moans, and the aroma of sex.

The pièce de résistance being the loud creak of the bed, falling to the floor in a heap of laughs and entangled bodies as he broke your walls and nestled himself into the chasm of your soul.

Under the Blue Moonlight Masterlist

Drabbles Masterlist

[hyp3rfixation-h3ll]

PERMISSION TO KISS HER???? KISSIES???? KISSIES FOR MY BABYGIRL?????

Make way for the Lost Bots’ self-proclaimed bodyguard :D