#homegrown worms

[zoroslost]

When you have to chaperone your first mate and your adopted father to a concert and run into your friend ex-ally and have to help him out of another insane situation

[zoroslost]

Like this?

one piece au where instead of getting rescued by a normal-ass ship zeff and sanji get picked up by Buggy The Clown

[daytura]

You're doing this on purpose, aren't you. "Doing what?" Ladon asks. Making me crazy.

[formulaforza]

miss americana & the heartbreak prince masterlist

charles leclerc x female oc —what's the point of it all if you're not going to fall madly in into love?

—00. prologue

playlist social media au teaser orange show speedway

—01. all american girl

"“Because.” He doesn’t really know why he can’t land on a message, why everything he types sounds entirely too casual or formal or nothing at all like what he would say to another human being. This isn’t a problem that he’s used to having. It’s the in-person flirting that fucks him up, not the texts and DMs and comments. She was just… he doesn’t know what she was. She was just. End of sentence."

—01.5 hey google, who is christyn elliott?

—02. over the ocean call

"Chris has one student, Quinn, whose family can’t afford reduced lunch prices but also won’t request for Quinn to qualify for the free lunch. She thinks it’s an ego thing, that Quinn’s mom just isn’t able to accept that the family needs help. It’s a single parent household and the mom works two full-time jobs to try and make ends meet. After a newsletter was sent home in need of parent signatures at the beginning of the year and returned with Mama written in sloppy green crayon, Chris learned that Quinn was living a relatively self-sufficient life. As self-sufficient as a five-year-old can be." 

—02.5 like real people do

—03. i think i fell in love today

"If there wasn’t something weird in the air before, there certainly is now. A new weird. A good weird. An implication of something in the air, weird. It’s out there now, just hanging above them. I want to kiss you. You can kiss me. Now all that’s left is for one of them to make the move."

—03.5 do the girls back home touch you like i do?

—04. every finger, every sigh

"She can feel eyes on her. Charles, she hopes. Charles, she can’t find in the chaos. When she does spot him, half-dead sparkler still in his hand, head drunkenly bobbing along to the beat, he’s looking right at her, grins a stupid grin and winks."

—05. monte carlo ave

"He shakes his head. “You don’t understand.” She can’t possibly understand it because he doesn’t even properly understand it, the way he feels about her. The fear he feels about losing all the indecipherable feelings. It’s just good, everything about her, about being near her. It’s all so sweet and nice and good and he really, really doesn’t want to screw it up."

—05.5 still so much I have yet to know

—06. quarter of the way

"As soon as they reach the cover of the trees, Chris is telling Hannah everything. Everything. She tells her about Austin, about how she met a guy who was just too charming to not get her number. About every nervous text and hours long FaceTime call and every picture and every conversation. She tells her about how crazy she feels, how insane she felt agreeing to fly across the world— “Wait,” Hannah questions. “You flew across the world?”"

—06.5 you're invited! welcome to dawsonville!

—07. homegrown

"It’s a twenty-three minute drive to Pig’n’Chik Barbeque in Northern Atlanta. Charles is visibly apprehensive of the little red building and the parking lot filled with the aroma of southern barbeque, but he keeps his commentary to himself. Chris knows it’s probably a little overkill, the hole-in-the wall joint being even a little too gimmicky for her taste, but that’s the whole point."

—08. it's so sweet

“I’ll be right back,” she says hurriedly, over her shoulder, letting the little girl pull her away. Charles nods and flashes her a quick wink before she’s properly whisked away, leaving him with nothing better to do than shove his hands deep in his pockets and analyze the artwork of primary school students. 

—09. sweet nothing

coming soon

—10. i saw the end

coming soon

—11. the bees envy me

coming soon

—12. if i tremble

coming soon

—13. see the world

coming soon

—14. yours to keep

coming soon

—15. yours to lose

coming soon

—16. the view between villages

coming soon

—17. heaven in your eyes

coming soon

—epilogue. for the worms to eat

coming soon

[glazedsnail]

EPILOGUE

I might love ShanexFern a little too much. I like broken people.

So here it is, epilogue to Misery Loved Company

It's very fluffy, which I'm not used to, I had to wait until I was 25 to write something where no one dies at the end. Oops spoiler.

For years I've been saying I want my corpse to be thrown somewhere in the woods for the worms to feast and then this guy shows up.

We were meant to be.

The setting summer sun casts a multitude of powerful rays in Fern’s kitchen. All the windows are open, hoping to let through a thin cooling breeze amongst the uninvited bugs. Over her blasting oven, the now well established farmer of Pelican town waits for her peppers to be done. The recipe for pepper poppers she got from her boyfriend was as simple as putting on socks, however she never managed to get them to taste like his. He had teased her about a so-called secret ingredient but she knew it was a lie. His homegrown peppers were maybe of better quality. That would explain why he would refuse to give back the plant of hot pepper he had so brazenly stolen from her property. After several arguments it had been settled that a loving label with his name on it was proof enough of ownership. It would have died without him anyway.

With a content smile, she takes the peppers out of the oven. It all seems so long ago now, when it’s not even been two years. But it can easily feel like an eternity when a relationship starts like theirs.

Now ready, Fern dishes out the peppers in a box she places in her basket, along with a cool pack of sparkling water cans, a bottle of strawberry juice, and a plate of homemade muffin. She laughs, grabbing a muffin and weighing it. None of her baked goods had been eaten but they proved to be amazing projectiles.

Shane invited her for a picnic much like that questionable date. She loves him, dearly. After all their personal hardships, what they’ve been through together, being able to call Shane her partner was a wonderful treat she’d never get tired of.

Fern had given herself some much needed pamper time after her day on the farm. Her small, humble sheepfold was now housing ten healthy sheep whose wool, handspun skein, were sent straight to the city. She was grateful for Shane’s help coming shearing time, and he was always particularly helpful with the chickens, but always refused payment.

In gold that is.

She looks at herself in the mirror one last time. No mud, no holes, no stains, her lavender scented short hair drying in the sun. She’s good to go. A last look at the pressed gerbera Shane had tucked behind her ear at the Flower Dance, preserved and framed next to the door. A sentimental token often mocked by the giver for being “corny as hell”.

Beyond the other side of the farm, at the edge of the forest, the atmosphere at Marnie’s ranch is a lot less peaceful. 

‘Stop fidgeting so much or I’ll cut your ear!’

‘I didn’t need a haircut, why did I let you talk me into this.’

‘Because deep down you know you want to look your best for tonight.’

‘Aunt Fern told me she likes your hair, uncle Shane.’

Shane’s heart jumps. He always tries to look cool and untouched by Jas’ use of “Aunt Fern” but it always brings him some weird fuzzy feelings.

All grouped in the warm kitchen, Marnie over Shane’s wild locks, Shane bouncing and groaning, and Jas entertained by the scene at the other side of the table, wondering why her uncle is as nervous as she’s ever seen him. 

‘Ok I’m done.’ Marnie puts the scissors on the table with a satisfied sigh. ‘Why are you so nervous?’ she asks, removing the fallen hair from his shoulders. ‘You see Fern every day. Sometimes I wonder how she can tolerate you that much.’ She laughs.

‘I saw them kissing behind the barn once, and then they saw me, and uncle Shane was as red as a tomato, aunt Fern too, and’

‘Jas.’

‘Red just like that!’ The little girl giggles, too amused by her uncle’s nervousness. 

‘Jas, give him a break, he’s already so nervous’ Marnie winks.

‘I’m not nervous.’ he grumbles

‘You’re a wreck! Look at my kitchen, you spent the whole day cooking and making us eat. Jas and I won’t eat mushrooms for months after that.’ She pulls out the dirty pots and pans to illustrate. ‘You keep asking me about your appearance, which is a first in Yoba knows how long. You’re bouncing off the walls like nobody’s business, and I don’t know what you’ve got in your pocket but you keep ch…’ Marnie’s eyes widen in surprise and delight, quickly squinted by the giant smile drawing on her face. She squeals, bringing her hands to her lips, her eyes slowly watering. ‘Shane! Oh dear Yoba, this is fantastic!’

Shane groans, looking away.

‘Marnie…’

‘’What’s fantastic?’ Asks Jas who tries to connect the dots clearly spelling something for her very excited aunt.

‘I’ll stop talking, I don’t want to jinx it. Not that there are any risks of that mind you. Oh, Shane!’ She lunges herself onto her blushing nephew.

‘Fuck’s sake…’ He grumbles under his breath.

‘Language! She’ll never say yes if you keep talking like that.’

‘Say yes to what?’ Plead Jas, painfully ignored.

A knock on the door forces them to fall silent. Fern’s here.

‘Jas, shush, let’s go.’ Marnie grabs the child and swiftly scutters away to her bedroom, leaving Shane alone in the now surprisingly vast kitchen. He inhales deeply and stands up to open the door.

The sun is exploding behind Fern as a smile appears on her face the second she sees him at the door.

‘You’re ready to go?’ She asks.

Shane swallows painfully. The smile Fern gives him warms his heart with so much strength he can barely understand what he did to deserve it, or if he deserves it at all.

He nods, smiling back, and gets himself ready to cross the doorway.

‘Ahem.’

‘Hi Marnie, Hi Jas!’ shouts Fern from the door to the barely hidden family.

Marnie has an impossibly wide grin on her face, Jas is still unsure of what is happening but she enjoys the spy game.

‘Are you sure you’ve got everything?’ The mother hen asks from her hiding spot.

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure?’

Shane signs to her to leave him alone, and gently pushes Fern out to close the door.

‘Are they ok?’ Fern asks in a laugh. ‘Do they want to come with us?’

‘No! Hum, no, I mean, yes they’re fine.’

She laughs again, tucking a strand of his wild hair back.

‘You look great.’ she says, softly caressing his cheek. ‘Are you ok?’

His nervousness will give him away, but he can hardly control what he feels when she touches him, reminding him that for some crazy unexplained reasons she chose to be with him, that they are together.

‘Yeah… It’s nice to see you.’

She smiles, and starts walking in the direction of the forest. In one breath Shane quickly checks his pocket. It’s there. Everything’s fine. Everything will be fine.

‘Did you do all that?’

Between the parting trees giving to the cliff a blanket laid out on the ground welcomes them, scattered with well covered dishes and glasses, softly illuminated by well placed candles and tea lights against the darkening summer’s sky.

Shane blushes, visibly wanting to disappear in his collar. He grabs Fern’s hand and helps her down before sitting next to her.

‘I thought you’d like that.’ he says, slightly embarrassed.

‘This is lovely, Shane.’ She nuzzles into him, truly grateful. ‘I don’t know what I did to deserve you.’ She adds, planting a kiss on his red cheek, forbidding him to say or think anything deprecative about himself. ‘I love you, Shane.’ She whispers, all giddy after all this time to finally be able to say those words.

‘I love you.’ He replies, looking down. ‘So much.’ His hand slowly fingering the mermaid pendant in his pocket. Is now the right time?  When would it be? Should they eat first? And more importantly, what if she says no?

‘Hey’ Fern softly grabs his hand ‘Where are you, miles away from here?’

Shane shakes his head off of all the infuriating scenarios that popped in his mind.

‘I’m a bit nervous.’ He laughs.

‘Tell me about it!’ She joins him in a laugh. ‘Why?’ Her smiling eyes now shadowed by concern.

‘I made your favourite and I’m scared it didn’t turn out well.’

‘I’m certain it’ll be perfect. It already smells amazing!’ She brings the plate of fried mushrooms to her and grabs a fork to have a taste, before bringing the fork to Shane’s mouth. He would rather drop dead than admit it, but he loves when she shares food like this.

Who’s the corny one now.

He shakes his head, actually surprised by the taste.

‘It’s delicious Shane, thank you.’

The sun is but orange light under the valley, and the crickets have started singing. Fern sighs, happy, nestled in her partner’s arms, watching the sun set over the cliff.

‘Do you remember the last time we were here?’ She asks in a grin. To her delight, Shane starts blushing. He does remember. ‘After the Flower Dance, you took my hand and we walked from the clearing to here without realising. She looks in the distance. ‘We talked for hours.’

‘I mainly remember your white dress.’ Shane says, clearing his throat.

‘I did try to clear the sap off it’ She giggles ‘and repair the tears. Kinda wanted to wear it tonight.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be, my love’ she whispers in his ear. ‘I remember that dress fondly, but the memory of how you treated it is far more precious.’

Shane shivers. It’s not her first time calling him “my love” but it always sounds so sweet.

‘You know’ Fern continues after a while. ‘I can’t remember if it was against that tree, or that one.’ She turns to Shane with a malicious smile, thoroughly enjoying her ability to make her rough looking man blush like a high school girl. She slowly nuzzles against his warm, now almost burgundy, neck. Despite all, she feels him tense up.

‘Shane?’

‘Do you remember the…other time we were at the cliff?’

Fern quickly grabs his hand.

‘Yes?’

‘Do you, hem, do you think you deserve this? That I’m worthy of you?’

Her eyebrows furrow on her hazel eyes. She sits down in front of him, on her knees.

‘I love all of you, Shane.’ she starts. ‘I always have. You’re not that one incident. You are much, much, more than what happened to you. Sure it shapes us but, in the end, despite all, you’re you. And I fell in love with you.’

‘Terrible decision making as always.’

‘Shane!’ She pushes him down, pinning him on the blanket. ‘I’m gonna stay there until you love yourself.’

‘We’ll be here a while!’ he laughs, wrapping his arms around her.

‘I have all the time, my whole life even, for you.’

Her soft but certain tone falls on Shane like an anvil. Her whole life for him. He tries to keep a steady breathing while she covers his neck in small kisses, astride his warming body. He tightens his embrace, burying his face in her neck and takes a deep breath. With a kiss on her cheek, he rolls her over, now on top of her.

‘Do you love yourself yet?’ Fern asks in a laugh, trying to sit up. She lets him get on his knees, while he reaches into his pocket.

‘I guess, enough to ask you this.’

[leclerced]

soft sweet domesticity with max. idk. i feel like if his wife wanted some cute farm animals he couldn’t say no? and I do feel like he’d like the whole homegrown aspect of it once he got used to it?? basically lumberjack max but his wife convinced him farm animals were a good idea. have fun hiking!!

-

🩰

kjnkjefhkfh i read this otw to my hike and its all i was thinking ab for awhile!! there's not like... land in monaco right? it's so small i just know there's not acres of land up for grabs. they'd have to move outside the city i think.

max lives in a fancy little penthouse when they meet, and they continue living there for awhile after marriage or whatever, but she's always made it clear that she wants land. so it's not a surprise when she's talking about wanting a yard, a garden, etc. max pretty easily is like, "yeah, that's actually a good idea! kids like running around in yards and stuff.. yeah lets get a house!"

takes awhile, but within a few months they find somewhere perfect for them. not too much land, but it's already got a huge garden that just needs some tender loving care. she spends all her time outside pulling weeds and planting new native plants that'll flourish. at first, max doesn't really care for gardening. he doesn't like the dirt under his nails or the bugs flying at his face. so, the first few weeks, she's doing it herself. he half expects her to give up on it, but it's her new passion.

max catches her struggling to carry heavy bags of soil and he's like, "let me do the heavy lifting! you're probably so tired right now, you've been doing this all day? every day?" and insists on helping with everything after that. it's both of their homes, he should be helping with makin it pretty too. he's moving paving stones, carrying bags of soil, pushing the wheelbarrow around the yard for her. they have a veggie garden and start everything from seed, starting them indoors and moving them outside once they've sprouted. as soon as they're planted outside, though, she's complaining about the bugs eating all her plants. posts in a subreddit for gardening and someone recommends chicken to keep pests away, and she immediately starts dropping hints to max.

soon enough, there's a new chicken coop and half a dozen hens running around the yard, protecting their garden. the plants are fairly protected after that, and she babies the chickens just like max does the cats. he thinks it's silly, "schat, those are working animals. you don't have to name them." but within a few weeks, he's buying worms online to give to the chickens as treats.

after like a decade of marriage they have a full farm and eat all their own fruits and veggies and max has no fucking clue when they got cows?? but there are two cows in their own section of the yard, for some fucking reason.

[sugarsnappeases]

microfic - marytunia :( | 1.6k words | reminiscing on a summer fling - no warnings except potential sadness <33

Petunia looks at herself in the mirror in front of her. She thinks maybe she’s put more blush on the right side of her face than her left, wonders if she should add more to the left or try to wipe some off of the right. She doesn’t make any move to do either. 

Instead, she continues to stare at herself, continues to sit at her dressing table in a full-face of makeup and her freshly-ironed blouse, continues to wait. 

There are just under two hours until Vernon said he would come to pick her up. It’s their third date. They’re going for dinner at a restaurant that Vernon likes. He’s already told her, in immense detail, all about exactly what he’s going to order. Apparently, they do a delicious steak and chips and have his favourite beer on tap. Petunia isn’t huge on beer, or steak for that matter, but he assures her they do other things too. 

There’s still time for her to cancel. There’s still time for the phone that she has out on the table in front of her to start ringing, for the screen to light up with her name. There’s still time for Petunia to pick up. 

She likes Vernon. Really, she does. He’s got a good job, and a strong set of teeth, and an inoffensive wardrobe. He’s straightforward, and respectable, and completely ordinary. 

Petunia had always wanted ordinary. Normal. Something with both feet steadily fixed to the ground and a decent, stable future stretching out in front of it. That’s what Vernon provides for her and that’s what she’d always wanted. What she still wants.

But, there’s still time to cancel the date. There’s still time to call off the whole thing, to cut the nice, Vernon-shaped rope with which she’s been diligently tying herself to the ground and fly away back to the place that she had been that summer. 

It had passed in a sort of magical, swirling haze of stolen time and dazzling colours and a smile that tasted of homegrown strawberries and sunshine. 

She had come to stay for the holidays. 

Mary MacDonald.

Lily’s friend from school.

Petunia had been ready to ignore her for the entire month that she was there. Ready to turn up her nose at Lily and whichever freak friend she’d brought home from her fancy school. Ready to spend the summer in her room or hanging about town with the few people from her college with whom she’s somewhat more than passingly acquainted. She had planned a pleasant, boring summer for herself, the last one she would hopefully ever have in that sorry excuse for a town, before she headed down to London for her typing course. 

The summer she had experienced instead was far more than pleasant and anything but boring. She hadn’t planned for the fact that Lily’s freak friend might worm her way under Petunia’s skin, might learn more about her in a month than her ‘friends’ had in seven whole years of school, might pull laughs out of her like silks from a magician’s sleeve, one after the other until they blurred into a bright string of delight. 

Mary was funny, and charming, disarmingly so, and she’d caught Petunia entirely off-guard. She’d been expecting someone like that horrible Snape boy, sure that all of Lily’s friends from her fancy school were equally as nasty and disturbing, but Mary wasn’t anything like that at all. 

Or maybe she was, just a little; it’s certainly true that her honey-brown eyes could be bee-sting sharp, and that the bright vibrancy with which she carried herself could cut right to the very quick, and that her presence there that summer had marked a profound disturbance in the things that Petunia had always thought were unshakable.

Little by little, alongside the laughter, Mary had pulled things from Petunia that she had been trying to keep hidden, tucked away and protected down in the depths of her ribcage. Things like the yawning, festering desire to press her lips against Mary’s and breathe some of that sunshine in, to kiss her and be transformed into something that dazzled and sparkled and floated high above that little old mining town like Mary did. Like Lily did. 

Mary was contagious. And shimmering gold. And she somehow wiped the greyscale from their perpetually dreary, frowning twilight skies and painted them hues of pink, orange, red. She slowed the turning of the world on its axis, lifted the sun back above the horizon, just for a little while, made everything infinitely more vivid. 

That summer was as brisk and unexpected as the time Lily had pushed her out of a little rowboat into the River Tame when they were kids, and as languid and woozy as long afternoons lying on the sofa recovering from the flu - Petunia was both drowning and burning up. Mary seemed to diffuse honey into the air, making it sweeter and slower, viscous, insidious instead of the usual biting bleakness. 

Time expanded past its rigorous boundaries, like water in the heat; late-night whispers, muffled giggles and inexperienced fumbling; early morning sighs, fingers running softly through hair like the summer through their fingers; glances that spoke a thousand words, brushes of shoulders, when Lily was there, red hair like fire burning the honey into bitter jealousy. Time melted and intermingled with that strawberry-sunshine smile.

All of it was stolen. All of it was sunset.

And nothing can hold the sun above the horizon forever. The day has to end, just as the summer does. 

Mary had to fly back to her fancy school, with Lily and the other freaks. Petunia had to go to London, to endless grey skies and the grounded, absolute life she’s determinedly wanted for herself since the moment Lily had taken flight. 

To her typing course and the ensuing clerical job, and to the little flat for which she’d meticulously saved up and to her two dates and counting with Vernon Dursley. 

There's an hour and thirty-six minutes until that count goes up to three. 

There’s still time to cancel. There’s still time for Mary to call. 

Petunia’s been waiting for her to call since they exchanged numbers, lying in her bed in the early hours of the morning on Mary’s last day there - before Mary had kissed her one last dazzling time and snuck back into Lily’s room as the birds started up their singing, before a quiet breakfast of fading colours and coming back up to the surface, before Petunia’s dad had driven Lily and Mary back to where they belonged and Petunia never would. 

It’s been five months since then. 

February is as miserable as every other month has been since that vivid August, and Mary has not called. Halloween and Guy Fawkes’ and Christmas and New Year have all been and gone. Petunia hasn’t been home, or seen Lily or her parents.

She’s worried that Mary may have soured her hometown and the house she grew up in once and for all, which is ridiculous because she’d lived there under those heavy, grey clouds for eighteen years before Mary had injected them with that swirling colour which had disappeared as she did the second the month of her visit had ended. 

London is just as grey as that little town, despite its vast, bustling potential, and Petunia thinks that’s probably Mary’s fault too.

And Mary has not called. Petunia waits. She stares at herself in the mirror and thinks that if Mary called she would cancel this date. 

She thinks that she’s being completely absurd, because she’d only known Mary for one hungry, shimmering month. It had felt a little like flying, luxuriating in that special glow that always surrounded Lily, a glow that Mary had shared with her. But it was flying with wax wings and the sky was burning and she’d never really had Mary, not really. It was ephemeral, hazy and always slipping away from her. 

And Petunia had never wanted it anyway. She wanted ordinary, entirely non-freakish mundanity - the kind that people like Vernon can provide, artificiality and dullness, simplicity and ease. 

And yet. 

And yet she sits and waits for her phone to ring, sits and tries to stop those honey-brown eyes from blunting and fading in her memory. She sits and tells herself that if Mary called, she would pick up, that if Mary called, she would cancel the date, that if Mary called, she would painstakingly craft her own pair of real wings, sweat and sinew and laborious work, so she and Mary could chase after the sunset forever. 

She knows, really, in the part of her that isn’t trapped away in the fanciful depths of her ribcage, the part of her that had decided that she wanted to be normal, that she would never be able to stay off the ground for that long. 

After a moment, she decides that she should add more blush to her left cheek. It is Valentine’s Day after all. She doesn’t think it would be all that out of the ordinary if a woman was a little more rosy-cheeked than she tended to be. 

One hour and twenty-three minutes later, Petunia puts her phone in her handbag and heads towards the door. Vernon has come to take her on their date. 

Mary has not called.

[b1uedcollar]

𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙰𝙽   𝚉𝙰𝙺，  HOMEGROWN．   〈   🤠   〉    farmer  and  agricultural  science  teacher  {  ffa  sponsor  }.  viral  tractor  safety  videos.  white  hair,  rodeo  buckles,  and  guitars.

full name.     harlan william zak nicknames.     harley, heck, dub(ya) gender.     cismale,   he/him sexuality.     bisexual(ish) date of birth.     march 14 zodiac sign.     pie-sees [pisces] voiceclaim.     randall king occupation.     farmer / teacher species.     human eyes.     hazel [ lmao. ] hair.     white   as   cotton.    typically on the shorter side but still soft and fluffy.    why   aren’t   you   playing   with   it? style.     pearl   snaps   and   wranglers    ( the bigger the buckle the closer to god’n’all ).    always a pair of boots, rarely seen without his hat    ( other than church and at the dinner table ).    you   will   never   see   him   in   shorts   or   sleeveless   shirts. hobbies   /   skills.     magic!   birdwatching,   horses,   cue sports (pool),   auctioneering,   music,   worms,   gambling quirks.     cannot balance a checkbook.   will always give you the biggest half.   leader of a george strait cover band. personality.     𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎,   𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑,   𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎   taken   to   heart.    will give you the shirt off his back.     accommodating.     a betting man full of hopes and a love for the world around him.    spirited,   traditional,   friendly.    so   polite   you’ll   never   know   if   something’s   wrong.    and can always name the song that’s playing on the radio. birth order.     oldest pets.     german shorthaired pointer named after annie oakley residence.     renovated silo on inherited farmland property weather.     light rain while rocking on the porch ice cream flavor.     vanilla time of the day / night.     3pm/am colors.     yellows, oranges song.     international harvester

[thingsthatbleedfic]

Do yall have any preference on Fan-Fanfiction of your work? Prospective 'I think this is what would happen next' oneshots, diverged timelines, etc? I have so much in my brain for this last chapters leave-off, but I know some writers prefer people don't post their own tangents of their work.

we're totally chill with people making fan-fanfiction of TTB, but don't expect us to read it or reblog those works to this blog—one of us might poke around out of curiosity, but we also want to tend to our own homegrown organic TTB brain worms :3 just make sure you credit us and we're all good!

[chappell-roans]

I just remembered all the Barbie Oscar drama bc I saw an old post about it and it’s was truly the stupidest girl boss feminist performative outrage we’ve had in recent years 😭 worms for brains no common sense type shit.

it was way too fucking much lol. and the funny thing is my mom brought it up to me, but then i explained how the categories worked (10 for best picture/5 for best director, there were other women nominated, just not greta) and she went "oh. well nobody's saying that!" and then chilled out about it. i wish i could say the same for the internet! it was ridiculous and like... she's gotten so many oscar noms in her career it's actually wild. i bet she'll win if/when she goes back to a homegrown indie vibe someday. or even something back to little women if not lady bird. (but i think an adult sacramento story is coming... after narnia and shit lol.) we shall see! anyways. predictions aside, it was absolutely ridiculous.

and i'm someone who thinks that there should be as many women directors as male directors, period. it's insane how few opportunities women get as a whole, besides the select few favorites, some indie darlings, and then... nobody else really makes it. and i am NOT blaming successful women. btw. there just should be MORE successful women.

[tuulikki]

The Lair of the White Worm is wild for its occasional moments of similarity to Dracula but also for how different it is

Our hero finds a child out in the woods with bite marks on its neck. Unlike Dracula, our hero IMMEDIATELY assumes it’s the fault of the local aristocrat.

Like, apparently Bram Stoker’s English people balk at vampires (foreign), but when it’s homegrown snake monsters (🇬🇧) they’re totally like “yeah legit that’s probably a snake-human hybrid monster in a dress”

[zoroslost]

Zosan au where they both simultaneously wake up in the body of their future selves sleeping in the same bed and instead of freaking out they decide it’s just a dream and proceed to confess to eachother and be soft for the entire day. And then eventually they roll up to the galley and Nami is like, “Where the fuck have you guys been? We all woke up in our future selves body and we need to find a way back. We’ve been waiting for you!” And Zoro and Sanji just stare at eachother out of the corner of their eyes and internally panic.

[ms-scarletwings]

(っ◔◡◔)っ 𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜~!

You have reached the main blog of a twenty-something, avid enthusiast of biology, merriment, and several things fiction- Call me Scarlet! The homegrown flowers here bloom in many shades of passion, so feel free to take a stroll.

So yeah, this is mostwhat of a multi-fandom menagerie and dumping ground for the things which rattle around in my brain. It is mainly Queue-fed, and while my top interests are hella diverse and ever-fluctuating, this is the main group/area of media you can expect the most return engagement with from me in the foreseeable future:

• Dredge

• The Sly Cooper Game Series

• Rainworld

• Making Fiends

• Invader Zim

• Mouthwashing

• The lesser discussed works of David Firth

• Underrated Indie game creators the likes of KHS, Edmund McMillen, Scriptwelder, etc.

I no longer be continuing CFF or MMM one as a formal series, but instead just kind of speak my media brainworms when they choose to strangle me. Always looking for a new springboard to strike from, though 👀

Cont. on for some lists ‘n links.

Tags Guide, Sorta:

+ Scarlet talks about things - I release my worms, i.e. the takes. Pretty much what it says on the tin, a catch all for personal text posts ranging from long winded essays about Blorbo from my shows, infodumping about science, to just sharing something ponging around in my head lately. Usually try to reserve this tag for mid to long form original content.

+ Scarlet rambles about things - same deal, less filter, much more stream of consciousness. Includes short takes. Think of it like a bonus reel.

+ My Memes - self explanatory, ya goof.

+ Masterlists - if you showed up here off of, say, one of my media takes and wanted to know if there’s a highlight reel of mine dedicated to that specific show or series. Right now I’ve only got a couple but would be happy to pile together something else on request if there’s enough material.

Other bits of note:

* Following my interest trends, a lot of psychological and physical horror adjacent stuff is to be in-and-out expected here. Mostly on the level of stuff that wouldn’t get a show kicked off of a prime time children’s slot, but with lenient outliers. I’m also a massive bug enthusiast and it will bleed into the overall vibe and in the occasional real life photos i want to share. I will do my best to tag any potentially triggering content, but discretion be advised for the particularly sensitive. Lovecraftian terror fuel makes me go gaga and we’ll probably get along if it does you as well.

* Suggestions and friendly pokes about my blog content in general are welcomed in anons/asks, but not in my dms, thanks!

* This is user is critically and staunchly 🌈🍖

^ Only bothering to get this litmus test out of the way because I have noticed that some of the fandoms I am interested in are magnets for spicy discourse, and media discussion in today’s climate is a hotbed for this bandaid to get ripped off sooner or later. If you are someone who’s knee-jerk response to that emoji pairing and statement without any further elaboration was one of vitriol, extreme discomfort, and/or aggression, this is not a DNI; however, it is a request for good faith and clarification in whatever engagement you may or may not voluntarily choose with my stuff. It is a stern reminder of the old saying about assumptions. Something-something, makes an ass out of u and me. The less asses in the world, the less shit there will be all around.

* Not only am I quite the fanatic for others’ kinetic aesthetic, I’m something of an animator myself, sometimes! You can check out my Flipnote Studio projects over on my YouTube channel or as well on my art side blog (under-maintained at the current moment but looking to improve on that).

[simanzi]

i go to the farmers market every saturday, i like the produce more it costs less and im supporting local businesses right. but the amount of eggs / worms i find in my vegetables increases by like 5x since everything is just completely homegrown

[writer59january13]

Gloriously luxuriating in eternal sleep...

versus being alive predicated victory videre licet lunatic if Trump trumped Kamala Harris and stole 2024 presidential election, (whereat Musk bribed significant number of voters handing out wads of cash) courtesy underhanded modus operandi and devious and sinister schemes. Forlorn; bereft of golden (slippered) opportunities I weep; Three score and five years replete with mailer daemons, hence mindset adrip with self denouncing expletive filled bleep unwritten expressed recriminations wielded upon figurative head of wimpy blip; decades elapsed at light speed clip

as the world turned days of mein kampf exhibited slow psychologically torturous analogous intravenous slow drip during emerging adulthood approximately half life of mine, when yours truly painstakingly besotted with unrequited love accursed extreme introvertedness severely hobbled coping ability

still reeling after being scammed gobs of greenbacks approximately sixteen months ago gifted at birth with congenital weakness such as being gullible to ruthless conartists mama's boy lacked ways and means integrating himself among peers: no supportive services to equip shy lonely lad devoid of fellowship even as grown man lost in space whereat

maximum head room cramped with obsessive compulsive thoughts social services slated for chopping block if Project 2025 implemented and if father or mother were alive they would flip at the course of political divisiveness sowed by MAGA onymous nasty brute, where palmar hyperhidrosis affected slippery grip

in tandem with being diminutive aiming to experience childhood's end forever son of a gun flailed with dating later in life analogous to psyche subjected to fracking compromising, forsaking, and issuing counter productively undermining potential heterosexual relationships invariably shooting from the hip. Nine different prescription medications allow umpteen combinations to yield against bombardment that fate doth wield delivered, signed and sealed courtesy the grim reaper able, eager, ready and willing to maneuver across pitted minefield accessing exiled soul whisking vis a vis grim reaper same to idyllic place named Edenfield. Oftimes methinks how cessation to breathe spirit buoyed aloft, where garlands wreath to escape hell on Earth, where neurosis and psychosis seethe within mine sixty plus five shades of crumbling sheet rock think scree ming atrophying gray matter symbiotically, dramatically, and alphabetically flourishing at expense of sanity case in point being

anxiety/ panic attacks obsessive compulsive behavior,

schizoid personality disorder,

long in the tooth fellow

his sustenance similar to pablum constituting imperial diet of worms of the Holy Roman Empire - called by Emperor Charles V fit for grown baby,

especially when removing dentures

cuz he must resort to eat soft foods

unless by some miracle I teethe for the third time. Homegrown destructive force muscles, tussles, wrestles,

et cetera within me likened to (but separate from) Intifada, (thus no insinuation this wordsmith linkedin to any militant group) grips mine soul asylum,

a recalcitrant doppelganger within windmills of my mind doth insidiously, poisonously,

and unpleasantly drum

palpably affecting writer of these words to feel glum. No respite whether I repose in deep slumber or lightly awake inescapable melancholic woes

haunts these lonely bones,

whereby system of the down houses reticent persona constituent feature characterized courtesy anhedonia

linkedin with passive suicidal ideation

accentuated when severe crisis erupt analogous to smoldering volcano. Fortunate for me the missus keenly aware plus (despite every now and again contention between us),

she makes crystal clear communicating her displeasure mixed with genuine fear bantering deadpanning facetiously gallows humor I half heartedly asseverate gibberish spouting jargoneer gravely alarms wife helpless to orienteer

conversation away from my demise, thus figuratively switch horses

in mid stream and jockey

to calm her down and lightning verbal exchange by undressing from the waist down revealing laughing stock of skinny legs (easily mistaken for spindleshanks) poking thru underwear charging on imaginary steed

feigning being loco despite NOT smoking weed,

energetic cavorting courtesy

nursing high test coffee, nevertheless ineffective battling fatigue despite flitting to and fro, hither and yon bumbling along (skeletal) joints of mine smoking hot suddenly after sipping strong brew,

I temporarily shuck off lethargy

long enough break to out dancing while simultaneously overtaken

to sing a song of sixpence while wings flutter at the speed of sound buzzfeed appetite for consumption Ecclesiastical History of the English People, one of our best-written sources for early English history authored by Venerable Bede.

[taimio]

Mastering the Art of Growing Fresh and Nutritious Broccoli in Your Own Garden

Are you interested in healthy and affordable food options? Growing your own broccoli in the garden can be a great way to do exactly that! With a few tips and tricks, you too can be an expert grower of broccoli- full of essential compounds like Vitamin A, C, K, and more. Plus, the price of homegrown broccoli can't be beaten- it can be significantly less expensive than buying it at the store. Read on to find out more about the exciting benefits of growing broccoli, along with some practical advice about planting, maintenance, and harvesting of this fantastic vegetable. So why wait? Start learning how to get the most out of your garden and all the delicious goodness that comes with it.

The Joy of Growing Broccoli in Your Garden

There's something truly satisfying about watching broccoli grow in your own backyard. From tiny seedlings to hearty plants, the journey is a rewarding one. I've found that with a little effort and patience, anyone can cultivate their own broccoli patch.

Broccoli isn't just a nutritious vegetable; it's also a fun and relatively easy crop to grow. Plus, who doesn't love the taste of fresh, homegrown broccoli?

When planting broccoli, make sure to choose a sunny spot with well-draining soil. Broccoli loves sunlight and thrives in rich, fertile soil. I always make sure to amend my soil with compost before planting to give my broccoli the best possible start.

Water your broccoli consistently, making sure the soil stays evenly moist but not waterlogged.

Keep an eye out for pests like cabbage worms and aphids, which can wreak havoc on your broccoli plants.

Harvest your broccoli when the heads are full and tight, before the flowers start to open.

One of the most important things to remember when growing broccoli is to be patient. It takes time for the plants to mature and produce those delicious heads. But trust me, the wait is worth it. And once you taste that first bite of fresh, homegrown broccoli, you'll never want to go back to store-bought.

So if you're looking to add a little green to your garden and your plate, consider growing broccoli. It's a fulfilling and tasty way to connect with nature and enjoy the fruits of your labor.

For more tips on growing broccoli in your garden, check out this helpful article I found. Happy gardening!

Learn more about gardening with Taim.io!