#Lawn Mowing & Edging

[plantanarchy]

this year i got a bad cold the second worst (week 10, our biggest planting week) and worst weeks (mother's day week) of greenhouse spring rip i'm suffering so bad

[fruitless-vain]

I finally have a phone with enough storage space to have music on it again 😭

I was still using my old iPod until it hit the day that it wouldn’t charge anymore, it just died one day and wouldn’t recharge ever again. I could get it to black screen with the Apple but there was never enough juice to turn on all the way

My last phone that I just replaced didn’t have the space for music on it, I didn’t have any games on it, I kept at max 10 pictures at a time and had to export anything I wanted to keep to the computer or else I’d start getting “storage full” messages all the time. Didn’t matter how many times I factory reset it, cleared caches, or uninstalled apps. Every app I needed (gas points card, two social media apps, the bare bones basics) had to be offloaded when not in use otherwise there would not be enough memory to open Instagram. It’d just freeze. Every insta video played in slow motion out of sync with the audio.

I haven’t had music on the go in 5 years at LEAST

I’m so excited 😭

[harri-etvane]

Had a good hour in the garden. I'd forgotten how good it is for my brain to do something useful with my hands 🥰

[scrumpyfan43]

Finally ordered my scythe!

[imsopopfly]

I love my lawn so much

There’s so many different little plants in it

Look at the delicate patterns of these leaves

Fuck people who hate weeds, they’re all such nice little plants and I’d plant them there myself if they didn’t grow on their own. And I’m pretty sure my grass is happy with it too considering everyone else’s lawn gets brown bits and dies a little when the weather isn’t just right and mine stays nice and green

There’s so much life here why do people try to kill it? I have wildflowers! I don’t see any of those single-species lawns sprouting wildflowers!

[biollyante]

toxic relationship between 2 people with violence as an allegory for sexual intimacy, both opposed against each other on their deepest moral levels and wishing for the others death, fearing each other and what they are turned into by each other, yet they are forced by circumstances to forever be entangled, again and again, like clockwork

i didn't say their names but they popped into your head, didn't they?

me and that goddamned grass lawn i have to mow

[green1gardeninng]

Garden Services in Footscray

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[forudunedinlawnnz]

FORUDUNEDIN Lawn Mowing & Garden Maintenance

Phone: 0224637405

Address: 304C South Road, Caversham, Dunedin, Otago, 9012, New Zealand

Website: https://www.forudunedin.co.nz/

Welcome to our Lawn Mowing & Garden Maintenance Services in the Dunedin City area! We take pride in offering a comprehensive range of services to keep your outdoor spaces looking their best. Our services include Lawn Mowing & Edging, Hedge Trimming, Garden Maintenance, Tree Clearance, Rubbish Clearance, Gutter Cleaning and many more.

[lnsmaintenance]

If you want to enjoy a beautiful and healthy lawn always, it is important to trim your lawn often. It is a great way to keep your grass looking neat and tidy. When you hire professional lawn mowing and edging services in Werribee, it helps to promote the growth of the plantation and prevents weeds and unwanted growth in the lawn.

[suguann]

Ex-husband!Gojo who doesn’t understand that the parents (mostly the moms who try to hide behind their giant sunglasses) at Mio’s soccer games talk, and he chooses today to pull you into his lap. Several sideways glances cast your way at how cozy you both must look as you watch your four-year-old daughter run in the wrong direction across the field because she got distracted by a butterfly.

He doesn’t hear what they talk about—aren’t they divorced? I’ve never seen anyone divorced act like that—or (worse) when they try to be subtle about their probing into Satoru’s dating life while you stand there with a stilted smile plastered onto your face. 

(More than likely, he’s listened to every word and doesn’t give it the same amount of thought or care as you do.)

“Gojo,” you hiss, trying to move off his lap to no avail. “I have my own chair.”

“Can you still call me that if it’s your name too?”

A huff. “Go bother somebody else—”

“Shh,” he tells you, tugging you further against his chest. “You’re missing the game. Mio’s finally found her way back onto the field again.”

“But everyone’s staring at us.” You catch the eye of a mother tearing into a pack of fruit snacks.

“So? Let them stare.”

Everyone starts cheering, and you both watch Mio chase the ball down the field, her little body ducking between the taller kids. 

“That’s my girl!” Gojo shouts over the other parents.    

And then Mio kicks the ball into— 

The wrong goal.

“Maybe we should have let her join t-ball,” you whisper, though you both clap as your daughter starts doing not-quite cartwheels in the middle of the field.

Ex-husband!Gojo who still does work around the house every Friday, and to your dismay, shirtless now that the weather is warmer.

The plate in your hands has a few scuffs, half of a cartoon character’s face scrubbed off to oblivion that Mio will have something to say about later. Doing everything to stop from staring out into the yard where he’s mowing the lawn because the window is right there, above the sink, to tempt you.

It’s difficult when his chest glistens with sweat from the early-summer heat and how those stupid gray cotton shorts (that you know he picked out with the sole purpose of torturing you) sit dangerously low on his hips— 

He looks towards the kitchen window, a crooked smile stretching across his lips. The blood rushing to your brain, that must be what makes you give a sudsy wave and cause heat to creep into your middle.

Ex-husband!Gojo who strolls into your room while you’re putting away laundry one afternoon, and unsurprisingly shirtless as he crowds you against the dresser. Front to back. His mouth at your ear.

That steady resolve you pride yourself in crumbles at your feet, and you swallow the tiny, helpless sound working its way up your throat. A slippery thing that slips out. “Satoru…”

“You know, these little shorts were always my favorite,” he tells you, his fingers playing with the elastic waistband.

“Were they?”

“Don’t you remember? Couldn’t get them out of the way fast enough.”

Your mouth is dry, something playing in a loop in the back of your brain. Early morning, breakfast cooling on the stove, crumbs stuck to your cheek, these shorts dangling off the leg propped up on the counter—

“Where’s Mio?”

A kiss to your nape, a knowing smile. “Taking a nap.”

Ex-husband!Gojo who works your shorts and underwear off your legs before pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

“Satoru, we—we can’t keep doing this—”

Your words trail off into a moan when he slaps your clit with the leaky tip of his cock, and wet sounds echo in the room.

“Yeah? Go on, baby,” he tells you, slowly splitting you open, stuffing you full, two puzzle pieces slotting perfectly into place like it should be (how it’s always been). “Tell me some more why we can’t keep doing this.” 

You can’t, not with how he’s filling you up in the way only he knows how. Not when he hooks two thick fingers into your mouth because you’re getting too loud, pinning you against the bed with your cheek buried into your pillow, every sound choking into nothing.

You wriggle underneath him, fingers clawing at the comforter and your back arching.

“Christ, look at you,” he growls, leaning over you, teeth bared. “Fucking look at you. You needed this, didn’t you?”

Ex-husband!Gojo who presses what leaks out back inside you with his thumb after he pulls out, wet and sticky circles between your legs until you fall apart again with a soft cry. His thumb is there again, at your entrance, pushing and stopping like a plug, muttering something under his breath that sounds like, “Can’t waste it.” 

And quieter, “Maybe it’ll take.”

(Who knows?

Maybe it will. Worse things have happened.)

Ex-husband!Gojo who stays for dinner for the fourth time that week, and none of the reasons have been because Mio asked if he could. It’s more about the fact that you’ve enjoyed how whole your family feels again, that you can pretend for a moment this is what you do every night.

(How it was probably always going to come back to this.) 

That your wedding ring doesn’t sit in the back of your sock drawer, and his isn’t tucked away in his wallet. That you don’t feel guilty when you think about saying I love you or wishing he’d stay longer—

“Daddy, you gonna lose,” Mio tells Satoru as Mario Kart appears on the screen.

“We’ll see,” he laughs, tugging on one of her pigtails until she’s giggling and swatting his hand away.

You lean back against the couch, watching them with a small smile you share with Satoru over your daughter’s head.

[readwritealldayallnight]

You haven’t noticed him yet.

Lost in the words printed on the pages, you haven’t glanced up from your book since Simon stepped out of the shower, peeking at your figure through the window panes.

You’re out on the small, cramped balcony of your shared London flat, curled into yourself to squeeze all your limbs as comfortably as you can onto the wicker chair.

The half empty cup of tea sitting on the small side table next to you is no longer as warm as it was when you first brought it out. Without a second thought, Simon goes to warm up the kettle again, not wanting you to get cold.

He frowns as your fingers quickly catch the edge of your book before the wind can flip your current page away, your hair being blown away from your face. He spots the tiny shiver that goes through you and decides he’ll bring out a throw blanket for you as well. Maybe one of his hoodies.

You’d teased him about something like this the other day, after he’d finished tucking your chair in at a local cafe. Saying that his love language was sooo obviously acts of service.

He’d playfully rolled his eyes, joking about how yours must be to never stop talking, chuckling at the half hearted kick he received underneath the table, before you explained that that wasn’t what love languages are.

Simon wasn’t so sure about that whole idea. All he knew was that he liked taking care of you, just as you took care of him. Simple as that.

He knows he always feels lighter after you send him a thankful smile any time he carries your bag for you or opens your door.

He knows you can’t stop smiling for at least a minute any time you swipe an eyelash off his cheek, carefully holding it in front of his lips so he can blow it away and ‘make a wish’.

He knows his chest always swells with pride any time you compliment his cooking, whether he attempted a dish on his own or simply added a seasoning to something you were already making.

He knows all the tension disappears from your shoulders when you’re sat in his lap, gently wiping away his black face paint from around his eyes, taking extra care around his delicate skin, humming a soft little melody for the both of you to hear.

He knows there isn’t anything in this entire god forsaken earth that makes him happier, than making you happy.

That’s why he’s been secretly looking into a new place for the two of you. This tiny shoebox of a flat had been fine when it was just him crashing here a handful of times a year between missions. When you got together and began spending more time sleeping here than at your own place, it only made sense to move in once your lease was up.

But now your books are piled in stacks along the baseboards, the closet can barely contain your clothes mixed in together, and the sight of you sitting out on that cramped balcony just doesn’t sit right with him.

He wants to give you a proper place, a home. He wants to be able to give you an actual yard with room to sprawl out and grow a garden if you want, or just lay out a picnic blanket and read until the sun sets.

He wants to hear you nag him about mowing the lawn, or raking the leaves, or shovelling the driveway. He wants to run out into a sudden summer storm with you to quickly pull off the laundry that had been drying on the clothes line, laughing the entire time.

As though sensing his gaze on you, you slowly lift your head, a chuckle slipping past his lips as your eyes immediately light up with excitement, a sweet smile gracing your lips as you send him a wave.

He lifts his hand, waggling his fingers back at you, the same corny grin on his face, knowing that there isn’t a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for you.

[foxmowigact]

Garden Maintenance, Edging and Mowing Services

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[mongrowlawnservice]

Website: https://mongrowlawnservice.com

Address: 9201 Windsor Drive, Oak Point, TX 75068

Phone: +1 940-391-7261

Mo-N-Grow Lawn Care Service is a family-owned Lawn Maintenance and Landscaping Company based out of Oak Point, TX. Since our creation in 2017, we have been passionate about Hard Work and Great Service, which we believe translates into a great foundation for your property. It is on that very same soil that we have been able to cultivate a great number of clients whose lawns have benefited from our down-home, well-trained, and capable approach to Lawn Care.

[headspace-hotel]

Chemically sterilized...or mechanically sterilized?

It is clear that applying chemicals to your yard and landscape, be it fertilizers, weed killers, or pesticides, has devastating effects to the community of life that is present in every place.

But is the terrifying decline in insects explainable by chemicals alone?

When i am in mowed environments, even those that I know have no lawn chemicals, they are almost entirely empty of life. There are a few bees and other insects on the dandelions, but not many, and the only birds I see are American robins, Grackles, and European starlings.

Even without any weed killers at all, regular mowing of a lawn type area eliminates all but a few specially adapted weeds.

The plants of a lawn where I live include: Mouse ear chickweed, Birds-eye Speedwell, Common blue violet, Dandelion, Wild Garlic, Creeping charlie, White Clover, Black Medick, Broad-leaved plantain, Mock Strawberry, Crabgrass, Small-flowered Buttercup, Ribwort Plantain, Daisy Fleabane, a few common sedges, Red Deadnettle...That sounds like a lot of plants, but the problem is, almost all of them are non-native species (Only Violets, Daisy Fleabane, and the sedges are native!) and it's. The Same. Species. Everywhere. In. Every. Place.

How come...? Because mowed turf is a really specific environment that is really specifically beneficial to a number of almost entirely European plants, and presents stressors that most plants (including almost all native north american plants) simply can't cope with.

The plants mentioned above are just the flowering weeds. The grasses themselves, the dominant component of the lawn, are essentially 100% invasive in North America, many of them virulently and destructively invasive.

Can you believe that Kentucky bluegrass isn't even native to Kentucky? Nope, it's European! The rich pasture of the Bluegrass region of Kentucky was predominantly a mix of clover, other legumes, and bamboo. The clovers—Kentucky clover, Running buffalo clover, and buffalo clover—are highly endangered now (hell, kentucky clover wasn't even DISCOVERED until 2013) and the bamboo—Giant rivercane, Arundinaria gigantea—has declined in its extent by 98%. Do European white and red clovers fulfill the niches that native clovers once did? Dunno, probably not entirely.

One of the biggest troubles with "going native" is that North America legitimately does not have native grass species that really fill the niche of lawn. Most small, underfoot grassy plants are sedges and they are made for shady environments, and they form tufts and fancy sprays, not creeping turf. Then there's prairie grasses which are 10 feet tall.

What this means, though, is that lawns don't even remotely resemble environments that our insects and birds evolved for. Forget invasive species, lawns are an invasive BIOME.

It's a terrible thing, then, that this is just what we do to whatever random land we don't cover in concrete: back yards, road margins, land outside of churches and businesses, spaces at the edges of fields, verges at bypasses and gas stations...

Mowing, in the north american biomes, selects for invasive species and promotes them while eliminating native species. There's no nice way to put it. The species that thrive under this treatment are invasive.

And unfortunately mowing is basically the only well-known and popular tool even for managing meadow and prairie type "natural" environments. If you want to prevent it from succeeding to forest, just mow it every couple of years.

This has awful results, because invasive species like Festuca arundinacea (a plant invented by actual Satan) love it and are promoted, and the native species are harmed.

Festuca arundinacea, aka Tall Fescue, btw is the main grass that you'll find in cheap seed mixes in Kentucky, but it's a horrific invasive species that chokes everything and keeps killing my native meadow plants. It has leaves like razor blades (it's cut me so deeply that it scarred) and has an endosymbiont in it that makes horses that eat it miscarry their foals.

And this stuff is ALL OVER the "prairie" areas where I work, like it's the most dominant plant by far, because it thrives on being mowed while the poor milkweeds, Rattlesnake Master and big bluestems slowly decline and suffer.

It's wild how hard it is to explain that mowing is a very specific type of stressor that many plants will respond very very negatively to. North American plants did not evolve under pressures that involved being squished, crushed, snipped to 8 inches tall uniformly and covered in a suffocating blanket of shredded plant matter. That is actually extremely bad for many of the prairie plants that are vital keystone species. Furthermore it does not control invasive species but rather promotes them.

Native insects need native plant cover. Many of them co-evolved intimately with particular host plants. Many others evolved to eat those guys. And Lord don't get me started on leaf removal, AKA the greatest folly of all humankind.

So wherever there is a mowed environment, regardless of the use of chemicals or not, the bugs don't have the structural or physical habitat characteristics they evolved for and they don't have the plant species they evolved to be dependent on.

Now let's think about three-dimensional space.

This post was inspired when I saw several red winged blackbirds in the unmowed part of a field perching on old stems of Ironweed and goldenrod. The red-winged blackbirds congregated in the unmowed part of the field, but the mowed part was empty. The space in a habitat is not just the area of the land viewed from above as though on a map. Imagine a forest, think of all the squirrels and birds nesting and sitting on branches and mosses and lichens covering the trunks and logs. The trees extend the habitat space into 3 dimensions.

Any type of plant cover is the same. A meadow where the plants grow to 3 feet tall, compared with a lawn of 6 inches tall, not only increases the quality of the habitat, it really multiplies the total available space in the habitat, because there is such a great area of stems and leaves for bugs and birds to be on. A little dandelion might form a cute little corner store for bugs, A six foot tall goldenrod? That's a bug skyscraper! It fits way more bugs.

It's not just the plants themselves, it's the fallen leaves that get trapped underneath them—tall meadow plants seem to gather and hoard fallen leaves underneath. More tall plants is also more total biomass, which is the foundation of the whole food chain!

Now consider light and shade. Even a meadow of 3ft tall plants actually shades the ground. Mosses grow enthusiastically even forming thick mats where none at all could grow in the mowed portions. And consider also amphibians. They are very sensitive to UV light, so even a frog that lives in what you see as a more "open" environment, can be protected by some tall flowers and rushes but unable to survive in mowed back yard

[sweetimpurity]

Older neighbor Miguel accidentally seeing you half naked. He’s almost as old as your Dad, living next door to your family for the past few years. You always thought he was hot. Watching him from your bedroom window whenever you were back from college. When he was fixing up his car, mowing the lawn, repairing the front porch steps, bringing his little daughter home for the weekend. Hearing him sigh and huff while working on the house, watching the sweat on his neck glisten in the sunlight, catching a glimpse of his toned skinny waist when he lifts up his shirt to dab the perspiration on his face. Oh. That really got you going.

Light pink with lace around the edges, summery, pretty, dainty. Walking around the house in the matching panty set because there’s no one else home. And then you see him. Through the living room, the bay window, your neighbor Miguel, eyes wide at the sight before him. He tries not to look, but it just happened. He wasn’t even looking, just fixing some fence posts where your two yards meet. But he sees everything, your thick thighs, soft, plushy tummy, breasts bouncing in the lacy material. He saw it all before he could manage to look away, before you could duck and cover. Literally just hitting the deck, on your knees to get out of the view of the window. And crawling across the floor to the kitchen. “Fuck fuck fuck-” You hiss, all panic and embarrassment.

It’s only that night his thick fingers pull back the lace material, pulling it to the side in a strong grip and pounding his thickness inside you. Dicking you all the way down on your pale pink comforter, practically ripping your pink panties to shreds. You look back at him, seeing that sweat glisten on his hairy chest, like the sun is a direct spotlight on the righteous sight of him. Naked, hot and sweaty on your bed, pumping into you like there’s no tomorrow. Grabbing your bouncy bum in his big hands and squeezing as he throbs inside you, and you just know you’re on your way up to sweet release.

He leans down by your ear, his chest pressing down on your back, your big glossy eyes meeting his as you crane your neck to look back at him. Hearing those sounds you’ve heard him make before in the yard. Grunts and sighs. All the pieces of him you’ve collected stitched together and fucking you raw. His breath fans your ear, a heavy hand pressing down on your lower back, arching your back into his powerful thrusts. Right when you think you’ll come, his deep voice finally hums in a hushing whisper…

“You need to wake up now…”

Part 2

[ace-turned-confused]

planted in your garden | joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist | read on ao3

summary: joel has always shown his love for you through flowers, and now it's your turn to do the same word count: 1k warnings: 18+ only, reader has tattoos & is shorter than joel, joel being soft & lovey-dovey & just the best in general, bit of spiciness at the end a/n: written for @morallyinept's Fauna & Flora Challenge ❤️ not beta’d or any of that jazz, please enjoy :)

If there’s one thing you know about Joel Miller, it’s that he will always find a reason to buy you flowers, no need for a special occasion. It’s been a long hard week and I wanted to get you something, saw these pretty flowers and thought of my pretty girl, got them just because I love you. Whether it’s an entire bouquet or just a few wild stems tied together by a ribbon, you’re sure he’s given you more flowers than you’ve received in your entire life.

It started on your birthday — you told him you hadn’t planned anything because you didn’t want a big fuss and it wasn’t a number worth celebrating, and he insisted on bringing you dinner so you wouldn’t have to spend the evening on your own. Every number is worth celebrating, it means you’ve been around another whole year. You were floored when he showed up on your doorstep, pizza boxes in one hand and a bunch of red and pink tulips in the other.

“Saw the ink on your arm there and just assumed they were your favourite. None of the stores ever have anything fresh or pretty enough, so I just cut these from my back garden.”

Joel Miller. Cut red and pink tulips for you. From his own garden.

You’d only known each other a few weeks at that stage, and he’d been more observant in that short time than any other man you’d met. At first, you didn’t read into it too much, he’s just doing something nice for you. You told yourself it didn’t matter that this ‘something nice’ was the single nicest thing anyone ever did for you.

You ate your takeout pizzas and talked for hours that night, record player on in the background, sharing stories of years gone by and remembering the person you each used to be. A few stray tears even slipped down your cheek at one point — Joel moved to sit close next to and almost on instinct you rested your head on his shoulder. It was oddly comforting knowing just how vulnerable you could be around him. He was a kind soul, a rather rare find in today’s world, and you found it surprisingly easy to open up to him.

You asked him for a hug that night and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you firmly against him, his chin resting on the top of your head and it was the safest you felt in years. Of course, and next time you don’t have to ask. You smiled into him, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. He eventually pulled back to check on you and planted a hand on your waist; he bid you goodnight with a wink, called you sweetheart and went home, leaving you standing like an idiot, mouth hanging open in a daze and still feeling the heat that had radiated off his palm and the grip of his fingers through your shirt on your skin.

‘Sweetheart’ played in your mind over and over for hours, days, weeks after that — soon enough you acknowledged that you weren’t immune to his charms and you’ve never looked back.

The flowers aren’t only for you to enjoy — you noticed early on that Joel takes great pride in his garden. The lawn always mowed, flower beds always with manicured edges, bees and butterflies in abundance. You’ve spent many hours lounging in the sun just admiring him, your book long abandoned — temples and greying curls damp with sweat, t-shirt clinging to his arms and back, gym shorts showing him off deliciously, all while he potters around tending to his garden, refilling a bird bath, touching up the fence and spewing out endless plant facts.

He even expanded the bed of tulips, planting bulbs of different varieties and an array of colours — ones with frilly edges, ones with pointed petals, and even blooms that look almost hand-painted in their beauty. He told you he’d been planning this for months, long before he met you, but you knew that part of him was doing this for you, too.

Late one night he finally told you the red and pink of your birthday flowers represented eternal love and affection, and sheepishly admitted he only remembered that once he’d already knocked on your door. He had hoped you wouldn’t ask him the meanings that night and figured there must’ve been someone looking out for him when you simply accepted them with a dazzling smile and that twinkle in your eyes. He wonders how things might have played out differently if you had asked him that night.

Now it’s Joel’s birthday and you want to do something special for him — so here you are, lying underneath him in a matching set, simple and white and covered in daisies. Propped up by his elbows, he traces over a flower right in the centre of your bra.

“You gonna tell me anything about them?”

“Daisies supposedly represent innocence and purity…” His voice fades off as he trails his fingers featherlight across you, goosebumps rising in his wake. With a faint smile pulling at his lips, he lifts his gaze to look you in the eye. “But something tells me you already knew that.”

He leans to kiss you, tongue licking into your mouth and you feel him pressed against your core, thick and heavy. You spread your legs wider to accommodate him and he grinds his hips into you, your fingers raking through his hair and tugging ever so slightly. He pulls back and starts snaking a hand down between you, now taken by the same applique daisies on your panties.

“Not sure those words apply right now, though,” he whispers to you, knuckles grazing the fabric.

“What, ‘innocence and purity’? You don’t think that’s true about daisies?”

“I ain’t talkin’ bout the daisies, sweetheart.” He smirks at you and you simply grin at him and huff a laugh in response as he shuffles down your body to pull your panties down your legs.

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics