#just the skunks and the hogs

[bagginsluck]

I know this is kind of just what I get for living in the country in a house that is very easy to crawl under, but I need every skunk in my vicinity to Fuck Off. Stop trying to move in under my house every 6 months. I Don't want to wake up to my house smelling like hell and I Don't want to wake up to skunk fucking noises. Fuck Off.

[thatjellywalker]

fun fact about skunk spray! not only does water not wash it away, but for the spray of striped, hooded, and (i think?) hog-nosed skunks, it actively makes the spray smell worse. their spray has both thiols which smell really really bad and make eyes water (like what raw onions do) and thioacetates, which smell like nothing until they encounter water, which turns them into thiols. (this is why you might smell skunk spray just after rain- if something got sprayed a while back, and the smell wore off, the rain can activate the thioacetates.)

spotted skunks don't have the thioacetates iirc (and I'm not sure if stink badgers do) but I think that also means their spray smells stronger per unit volume by default since that means more regular thiols? (ofc water still won't wash it off)

This is very true! I knew this because I kinda hyperfixated on how skunk spray works for a while but it's pretty sick to see this in my ask box anyhow—

I wouldn't know about stink badgers either because for some reason nowhere really documents them that much afaik, but yes the thing about spotted skunks sounds about right too

[skrooy]

Sonic Crack Ships

So lately I've been going through a Sonic phase though its mostly a Tails phase if im being honest with myself. I've been trying to watch all the Sonic media and read all the Sonic comics that I can while playing a few Sonic games here and there. So my messed up brain came up with this stupid idea. What if I put every version of every canon Sonic characters from all Sonic media into multiple rounds of the hunger games simulator until only ones left. So I did that and even though I literally did it yesterday I already forgot who won I just remember it was something stupid. I also did it with all the diffrent canon and AU versions of Tails I could find and the winner was actually Tails from Sonic Boom. But anyways im getting off track where im going with this is that today while I was doing nothing lying in bed my brain came up with an even more messed up idea. What if I put all the Sonic characters not including the humans into a random wheel picker on Google to form a bunch of crack ships. So I did it for every character on the wheel. I now have a list. And I have decided to post this list because I find it funny. And I dare people to draw a couple from this list together or make a short cute crack story about one of these ships. And if you do please send a link to me. Ill die laughing if anyone does this. Sorry if I misspelled some names. P.S. I tried to put pictures on here for each character but I couldn't figure out how. I already have a part 2 for this in the works with even more characters.

Rosy the Rascal x Dark Doom

Scourge the Hedgehog x Trip the Sungazer

Mephiles the Dark x Silver Sonic

Ray the flying Squirrel x Rouge the Bat

Espio the Chameleon x Whisper the Wolf

Sage x Metal Amy

Storm Beard x Tumble the Skunk

Tiara Boobowski x Duck Bill Platypus

Cat (from Sonic Freedom Fighters) x Sonar the Fennec Fox

Hangry x Johnny Lightfoot

Gaia (Light, Dark, or both) x Megan Acorn

Tangle the Lemur x Silver the Hedgehog

Thrash the Tasmanian Devil x Sails

Thorn Rose x Vector the Crocodile

Monkey Khan x Fang the Jerboa

Jack x Tikal the Echidna

Prim x Chip

Werehog Sonic x Blaze the Cat

Nicole the Holo Lynx x Catfish

Knuckles the Dread x Sonic the Hedgehog

Zector the Zone Cop x Metal Tails

Wave the Swallow x Morian Blackthorn

Infinite the Jackal x Mighty the Armadillo

Vermin the Cybernik x Super Mecha Sonic

Porker Lewis x Zails the Zone Cop

Geoffrey St. John x Nazo the Hedgehog

Metal Sonic 3.0 x Manic the Hedgehog

Rocket the Sloth x Eclipse the Darkling

Marine the raccoon x Metal Scourge

Sonia the Hedgehog x Red

Black Rose x Dingo

Metal Knuckles x Nine

Charmy Bee x Neo Metal Sonic

Zknuckles the Zone Cop x Knuckles

Vanilla the Rabbit x Ebony the Cat

Rusty Rose x Perci

Mecha Sonic x Jet the Hawk

Bark the Polar Bear x Emperor Metallix

Mangy x Amy Rose

Sally Acorn x Griff

Fleetway Sonic x Tails the Fox

Bean the Dynamite x Zonic the Zone cop

Nasty Hyenas (the whole group) x Sticks the Badger

Metal Sonic x Stripes the Tiger

Batten x Storm the Albatross

Fiona the Fox x Cream the Rabbit

Anti Tails x Shade the Echidna

Bunnie Rabat x Shadow the Hedgehog

Antoine x Zooey the Fox

Sonic.exe x Jules (yes I know this is Sonics dad in the comics)

Ifrit x MinaMongoose

Rocket Metal Sonic x Tekno the Canary

Avatar x Big the Cat

Zantoine the Zone Cop x Gnarly

Chaos x Rotor the Walrus

Bunny Bones x Anti Sally

Zouge the Zone Cop x Zespio the Zone Cop

Denizen 1998 x Tails Doll

Mecha Knuckles x Honey the Cat

Rebel x Sleet

Knucks x Pseudo Sonic

Solaris x Zally

Nack the Weasel x Athair

Ball Hog x Carrotia

Grand Battle Kuku 15th x Lupe the wolf

Roxy the waiter x Lien-Da

Number 16 Speedy x Alicia Acorn

King Max Acorn x Bearenger

Lawrence x Burning Blaze

Elias Acorn x Fiest the Panda

Ari x Roller

Sallybot x Queen Aleena

Da Bearz (both of them) x Fockewulf

Julie-Su x Dr. Finitevus

Ms. Possum x Catty Carlisle

[hannibalzero]

Charthur dabble

Late night visit

🦌🦬🦌🦬

Charles was a master hunter if Arthur had any say in it. The man could move without a sound, just appear out of a thicket of trees holding game that Arthur didn’t even know was there. But when Charles was tired? Arthur could hear him coming a mile away.

Charles moved quietly through the camp, opening up Arthur’s tent. Since winter was starting, Arthur put up the full canvas of his tent. Mostly because of Charles now. Arthur didn’t want anyone to see him and Charles alone, not because of their relationship but because this was a time to be weak, tired and lonely.

Arthur cracked a eye when he heard Charles slip into his tent, it was the dead of night. “Heya Sugar.” Arthur whispered sitting up a bit now. Arthur got a new cot that could fit them both. “Can’t sleep again?” He whispered sitting up a little.

“Hey.” Charles practically grunted hair covering his face, Charles shuffled over to the cot, holding a thick bison skin blanket with him. Sitting on the edge of the bed taking off his buck skin moccasins, with it becoming colder Charles had made them both warm and incredibly comfortable moccasins.

Arthur’s moccasins where made from skunks.

Arthur sat up and carefully moved Charles hair back out of his face and carefully braided it, yeah it was nothing special but Arthur tried to do right by Charles, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Glad ya came tonight, missed ya.” He whispered.

“Can’t sleep, head is to full.” Charles admitted giving a tired smile. “Figured you wouldn’t mind me joining you?”

“Ya kidding me? A handsome man like ya wants to crawl into my bed. Hog my blankets and keep me warm.” Arthur laid back into his cot, scooting over so he was close to the wagon wall. “Well…only you…maybe little jack too but that’s about it.” He lightly joked as Charles laid down resting his head on Arthur’s large chest covering them both in the big bison blanket.

“Soft hearted.” Charles snorted quietly. “Thanks Arthur.”

“Anytime sugar.”

“Why do you call me that?” Charles asked looking up at him.

“Welllll, you are a luxury few can afford.” Arthur lightly joked earning a pointed look from Charles. “Hold on, Imma going somewhere with this. Promise.” He kissed his head. “Ya kisses as sweet as sugar, ya sweeten me up into a better man.” Arthur admitted.

“Kiss ass.”

“What? I wanna keep ya around.”

[muddlemore]

the visual guide "confirmed" which of the 7 deadly sins each toon is. and bugs is innocent because favoritism

greed: daffy duck anger: yosemite sam envy: marvin the martian gluttony: taz pride: wile e coyote lust: pepe le pew sloth: foghorn leghorn

transcript under reader

Greed: When money, fame, or glory are up tor grabs, you can count on Daffy Duck to do most of the grabbing! Driven by a despicable urge to get more than his fair share, Daffy makes no attempt to hide his greed. "Survival of the fittest,” he says in Rabbit Seasoning, "and besides, its fun!"

Anger: Yosemite Sam's downfall is his hair-trigger temper— the runty hombre will shoot you just for standing nearby.

Envy: "Mars needs women" and "women come from Venus." Perhaps that's why Marvin the Martian envies Earthlings, who can see Venus directly. Marvin's view of this beautiful planet is blocked by our world, giving his failings Earth-shaking consequences for Bugs and Daffy.

Gluttony: The Tasmanian Devil has a devil of an appetite! Cats, bats, dogs, hogs, elephants, antelopes, pheasants, ferrets, goats, and, especially, rabbits feature on his mega-menu. But the Devil's failure to look before he lunches has been his undoing— in the form of chef Bugs TNT-laced Wild Turkey Surprise.

Pride: "I'm Wile E. Coyote, supergenius!" Mix that ego with an Acme catalog and you've got a recipe for destruction (his own). The wily coyote's inflated self-wroth leads his plans— and his gunpowder— to forever blow up in his face.

Lust: They say love is blind, and when Pepe Le Pew is in the grip of l'amour, he certainly loses sight of reality. One glimpse of a fetching female has the great skunk lover kissing his judgment goodbye and unknowingly pursuing… un cat!

Sloth: "I keep pitching ‘em, and you keep missing ‘em!” says Foghorn Leghorn to Henery Hawk. The laid-back rooster is too fast for the chicken hawk, but is otherwise a master of doing absolutely nothing.

Bonus Bugs Bunny paragraph: Leader of the gang: He may be supercool and always in control but Bugs is no angel! At various times, the —wabbit been greedy, angry, gluttonous, lustful, proud, slothful… even envious (albeit of a turtle. his traditional fairy-tale enemy). It fakes one debonair hare to look so good While being so bad.

[lunariarts]

You can be like that skunk, there are so many options. You like carrots? Boom, get a full sized bitch from the produce aisle. Peel it if you want and go whole hog on that shit. Put some ranch on that bad boy. You like ranch? Take a bite out of that and you're on some Bugs Bunny shit

Bell peppers! Big apple! Shit, have you ever just bit into a BIG RAW TOMATO 🍅 ?

Cut a huge slice of watermelon, I'm talking cheese wedge size, and just go IN on that bad boy. No shame, get juice in your hair, hell get it on your ears, devour it like a carrion bird on a fallen beast.

🍓🍒🍎🍉🍑🫒🥭🍍🍌🍋🍈🍏🍐🥝🫒🫐🍇NEVER GIVE UP🥥🍅🌶️🫚🥕🍠🧅🌽🥦🥒🥬🫛🫑🥑🍆🧄🥔

anon you are RIGHt I will NEVER give up I will do a BIG MUNCH

[iateyourcatnom]

Doin this 4 Noah coz I ain't got nothing else to do innit?

Buggy because she probably snuck in and is sleeping somewhere like the little shite she is.

Getting a mullet when he was like 10 lol 💀

He'd probable become a malewife and a motherfigure for everyone.

He really wants kids, even if he isn't married he still wants em- probably with a goddamn kid.

He can get a nosebleed in about 5 minutes- seriously like on command.

He's very.....clingy

He's driven Buggy after she's stolen like a pair of nike's from this gang leaders kid, but that's it, he's poisened his neighbours cats (yes, plural) a couple times.

A capybara or a swan, he thinks he would be a snow leopard.

He is rather subjective to cheating, he probably would but wouldn't get caught because he would accuse other people of cheating lol but it's all fun and games....

He's always wanted to hug a panda, that's like his most wholesome one.

Buggy.

Anywhere he can just chill and play games or listen to music or do yoga (feat. Buggy coz that girl follows him EVERYWHERE)

Culinary Arts probably

He's a fluffy romance guy, with manga and steven king on the side.

He wouldn't.

"Tall, good at cooking, pretty like REALLY pretty, love him lots" - Buggy (her acc name is Rylie)

There was an auction for the bluey game on playstation and he spent like 3000 pound on them (really bad scam and at the end Buggy was too drunk to even play it but in the morning she was psyched so he was really happy in the end).

Working in a cat cafe

He's pretty comfortable, he has a lot of savings actually Rylie lyches off of him but he doesn't really mind.

He doesn't need advice on most things, but he does ask Buggy before he makes the weirdest decisions or according to him "the one's that actually count."

He stole Buggy's favourite pair of socks and hides one of her panties in a box under his bed (in a totally platonic way ofc *wink* *wink*)

Cat and dog person.

The mullet.

He really doesn't like skunks.

Going about his day without hearing or seeing Rylie even once- not to worry she doesn't have to be there physically, he'll just listen to one of her voicenotes.

Silly cat videos.

R&b

Reece (he just keeps hogging Rylie like wtf)

Nothing really.

None.

He believes in God, he belives there is God but he just doesn't go to church.

He was pretty chill, except when he was with Buggy.

He broke his neck when he was 11 hurt like hell.

Live to work

DEFINATELY like 3 of em

The fact that Rylie hangs out at his house.

While he wouldn't call Buggy his significant other (to her face), but he loves her energy and the way she smells.

It's probably Buggy raiding the goddamn fridge again.

Offhead, can't name one, come back later.

He doesn't really give any other girl the time of day.

He's such a fluff, and very huggable

Hot.

Maybe his peircings idk.

He'll lie if he needs to, to protect feelings, but Buggy would say it upfront, she's very frank.

Marvel, DC, horror.

He'll probably be fishing Buggy out from passing out and throwing up on someone trying to flirt with her.

early bird.

Yes.

He thinks about what he wears, especially if it makes him smell night.

Not really.

His fashion sense maybe.

His diet is pretty healthy but not too much, mostly proteins.

He'd rather Starve.

Non really, ask Buggy that.

No one but he thinks Trevor Noah is a pretty chill.

Really nice, like Aud but in the sexiest way possible.

Wouldn't take em', wouldn't advise em.

Dunno.

Waking up to start a new day maybe.

White chocolate cookies, Time with Buggy, socking in the bath, avocado face masks.

sixty more OC asks 📝✨

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

What’s the one thing they would save in a fire?

What’s their biggest regret?

How would they fare in a zombie apocalypse?

Where do they see themselves in five years? Ten?

What’s their most useless, weirdest, or least marketable skill?

What are they like in the bedroom — well-rounded lover or wooden plank?

Have they committed a crime before? Which one(s)?

If they were an animal, which one would they be? Which one would they think they’d be?

Do they cheat to win or play by the rules?

What do they fantasize about?

Who’s the most important person in their life?

What’s their ideal vacation like?

What is/was/will be their college major?

What’s their favorite book genre, if they enjoy reading at all?

How would they describe themselves?

How would others describe them?

What’s the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever spent money on?

What’s their dream job?

How’s their financial situation?

Who’s their go-to person for advice?

What’s one secret of theirs that could potentially ruin a relationship they have?

Are they a dog person or a cat person — or something else?

What’s one childhood memory they’ve never forgotten?

Do they have any phobias?

What’s one thing they’re utterly incapable of doing without the help of someone else?

What’s one topic they could never get tired of researching or learning about?

What’s their favorite genre of music?

Who, if anyone, do they dislike most?

If they could change one thing about themselves, physical or otherwise, what would it be?

What’s their political stance?

Are they religious?

What were they like in high school?

What’s the worst injury they’ve ever had?

Do they work to live or live to work?

Do/did they want children?

What’s their favorite thing about themselves?

What’s their favorite thing about their significant other, if they have one?

If they hear something go bump in the night, do they get out of bed to check it out or do they stay put?

What’s one skill they wish they had?

What do other people find annoying about them, if anything?

What do other people love most about them?

What’s the typical first impression after meeting this person?

What do people notice first about them, as far as their appearance goes?

Does this person try their best to be honest or are they not above lying to get their way?

What kind of movies do they like?

Are they the life of the party or a wallflower?

Are they an early bird or a night owl?

Are they a good kisser?

Do they think about what they wear or do they throw on whatever they find first?

Do they have any insecurities?

What is their favorite thing about themselves?

What’s their diet like?

If they could only eat one thing for the rest of their life, what would it be?

What’s their body count, if they have one?

Who do they look up to most?

What do they smell like?

How do they feel about drugs?

If they could change one thing about their life, what would it be?

What motivates them?

What are some of their simple pleasures?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Go crazy.

[twopeasapod123handmadedesigns]

Rabbits,Deer,Ground hogs,Skunk and Snakes.

Do you ever see wild animals? See? One is licking its lips at my garden!🤨 When you are blessed to have a garden, so are those varmits I just mentioned. Because they will chow down on your crop like #speedeater on youtube. Eating your beans right down to the dirt. You will get nothing and will be hungry whole they have a full tummy Rabbits eat your leafy greens and chew at the trunk of your…

[mrmonster459]

The Skunk Ape

“And we’re here.” My coworker Tyson said, as he stopped his truck in a flat, grassy area near the marsh.

We had a three day weekend thanks to Memorial Day, and I was spending it hunting with a pair of coworkers, Mike and Tyson. Truth be told, I didn’t like these guys very much, never did. But, they invited me out with them, and I figured it would be better than a normal three day weekend at home, just streaming TV with my girlfriend.

She almost didn’t let me go. I love her, but she is crazy (or at least back then, I thought she was); she believed some local news story she saw on TV about some rednecks who said that this huge, apelike monster, one  that smelled as rancid as a dumpster, killed their dog. Personally, I thought it was just a bunch of bullshit. There’s no way a monster was really out there, less than an hour outside the city, right?

________

We planned to camp out in an area that technically wasn’t a legal hunting ground, but Tyson had been hunting hogs in this area for years, he knew this was the spot to get started. Besides, legal or not, feral hogs are a nuisance; I figured we were doing the land a favor by getting rid of one, (or a few, if we were lucky).

“Alright guys, we’re already a little behind thanks to last minute stop for drinks, so let’s hurry up,  we gotta get this tent pitched while it’s still daylight before we start hunting”

“Start hunting?” I asked. “Aren’t we going to wait until the morning?”

Mike and Tyson both laughed. “Sorry, I just forget you’re a newbie sometimes. Best time to hunt hogs is at night; the little bastards are virtually nocturnal. So come on, let’s stop wasting time and get this tent setup, otherwise we’ll be doing it in the dark.”

As we were getting our tent and our firepit setup, I heard a strange howl coming from the marsh. Sounds like a bizarre mix between a chimpanzee screech and a lion’s roar.

“What do you think that was?” I asked.

“I don’t know, probably a horny buck.” Mike said, although it was obvious he was only guessing.

____

By the time the sun went down, our tent was pitched, and our firepit was assembled. We then loaded our rifles, and went hunting for wild pork chops.

About an hour or so into our hunt, I began to smell something foul; imagine raw sewage mixed with rotting meat, that’s how overpoweringly awful the smell was. I thought for sure it must have been a rotting carcass somewhere, but the smell almost seemed to follow us, as we were walking through the marshland.

I then heard a noise; it sounded like something rustling through the nearby bushes. I turned my flashlight in its direction, only to see nothing. I then heard a similar sound, this time coming from behind us. Immediately after, Mike screamed “HELP!”

He was dragged behind a tree. I ran over to try to help, and then, I saw the monster that I was warned about. Standing right in front of me, and right on top of Mike, was a monstrous ape. It stood at least seven feet tall, and had layers of brown, matted hair. Its odor was so abhorrent that it made my eyes water just standing within like, ten feet of it.

I looked down, hoping Mike was alive. But no, his head was bleeding profusely, and he wasn’t moving. Once the monster was sure he finished him off, he then started staring me dead in the eye.

I was sure I was about to be its next victim, before Tyson took a shot at the beast. The beast then retreated into the marsh, and we lost it as it entered the brush.

“MIKE! MIKE, SPEAK TO ME!” Tyson said, but it was too late. 

“Come on.” he then said to me. “We have to get back to camp.”

_____

We walked back to our campsite in a hurry. I was hoping that the monster was dead, but had no way to know for sure. We kept our heads on a swivel, aiming our guns in the direction of every sound we heard, hoping it wouldn’t be the beast again.

I remember getting closer to the campsite, thinking Tyson’s bullet had either killed or scared off the ape. But then, I smelled something; a smell so awful, I instantly knew what it had to be.

“Tyson, it’s…” I began to say, before the beast rushed out from the the brush, and before either of us could aim and shoot, he plowed into Tyson like a football player. He knocked him down, and then pounded on his face with his ungodly large fists before finishing off by biting him in the neck. I  turned and started running. I had to get away, but the beast wasn’t letting me go so easily.

  I could hear it running after me, and quickly. After a long sprint, I decided to take my last stand. If I was about to die, I was at least going to try to take the monster with me. So I stood still, took a deep breath, aimed in the direction of the monster’s noise, and fired one shot. 

I didn’t think it would work. I expected to miss, and for the skunk ape to then jump out and kill me. I went over to look for its body; I didn’t find it, but I found a trail of blood leading away. After a minute or so, I couldn’t smell its awful stench anymore.

_________

To this day, I’ve never been back hunting in that marsh.

[oletwostep]

Chapter One: The Disappearance of Clyde Needles

“Don't care where it goes, it ain't gone stay here that's for damn sure! Money is already tight enough without some peckerhead from up north busting my legs. Take it down the road and dump it somewhere ain't nobody gone find it.”

Following the orders came a rarity, a two dollar bill. Faded green, crumbled, but solid cash all the same in this dying town.

Big money these days, bigger message.

The teenager it was thrust towards was poor like everyone else, admittedly poor and dumb, but drawn to money like a fly to shit. Laws didn't make a damn to him, to Clyde Needle, and the cow that paid him didn't seem to care much about laws either. Curiosity couldn't outpace simplicity though, and Clyde had only one question.

The fat man winced at the backwoods drawl, he had to clench his teeth not to cuss at the ensuing bastardization of English language, nearly bit his cigar in half.

“Wut innahell is it enem crates?”

Annoyed, the fat man took a deep breath before he addressed the hick, it wasn't that he himself didn't possess an accent, but it wasn't white trash like this cretin.

“It's none of your concern, don't matter if it was rubbing alcohol or shrunken heads, I paid for disposal not for inquiry.”

“En-kwai-er-ee?” Clyde spoke the word like a toothless man chewing on rocks.

“Get in that goddamn thing and be off before I change my mind and take my two dollars back!”

Cigar smoke followed behind the fat man as he turned and angrily waddled away from the loaded truck, it did little to hide the smell of sweat and cheap whiskey. For a minute Clyde hawked the crates in the truck with high suspicion, shrunken heads? He began to test a lid when he remembered the money in his right hand, that hog paid big to get it gone, not be nosy. Clyde didn't care about what was in them crates anymore, the fat man could stink like skunk spray and rot for all he cared, Clyde Needles just made two dollars! It almost seemed like he floated to the front of the truck, nearly tore the crank handle off the chassis getting his jalopy cranked up, and if not for the slow take off he'd probably have slammed into the wall. But it didn't matter, Clyde Needles just made two dollars! He thought of all the things he could buy, what he could get, and then a thought entered his feeble mind that lit a fire where his overalls creased.

Dottie Harlow.

Hair dark as coal, eyes like pools of water, and a sleek body like what he saw in one of them stag films at the carnival. A time or two he'd snuck out where she lived towards dark and watched her take down clothes off the wash line, she didn't wear anything but a nightgown to do it, it's a wonder she didn't catch him as bad as he shook and sweat over the sight.

So what she wouldn't court him, and so what she was too proud to be seen with the son of a pig farmer, but two dollars could buy a lot right now.

Might could buy her out of that nightgown…

Clyde felt his ears get red hot as his attention dissolved into his fantasies, the truck whined on down the dirt road like a worn out mule. He'd driven this route many a time to run liquor for Mr. Donahue, there was a lot of places where the road was cut off to the side to stage the wagons back when labor was done with mules and hand tools. His pop spoke about them days like he was trying to paint the scene for Clyde, but imagining things like that took hard focus, it was easier to think of all them curves on Dottie, to hell with the field work. The road went straight for fifteen miles then split in two directions around a huge charred stump, he was far away from anything even remotely considered civilization now. The right lane took you northeast towards Birmingham, the left was into a failed logging project. Clyde figured this was about where that fat man would want these boxes, it was about twenty miles shy of Dottie’s place though….

She came back to his focus easily, and lord how she danced across his mind. He felt a tightness in his groin, soon growing into a relentless throb. Shifting any amount caused waves of sensitivity to grab him, it was almost like it was screaming at him. She was in that field where the clothes line stood, her nightgown open enough to show where the curves of her breasts began, sweat made the cloth cling to her waist and thighs. She was feeling herself, her cheeks blushed red and her eyes narrowed as her hand explored her slender figure. Tugging at her sticky gown, she teased a glistening thigh towards him. He didn't know when his hand had found its way to his crotch, but now it was feverishly clenching and tugging as best it could through the stained denim overalls. Dottie had a hold on him, some black haired witch swaying in the fescue grass, and he was gone have her under him if it was the last god forsaken thing he did.

Heat surged in his neck, his ears, and across his brow, Clyde liked to hold his breath during these moments. He liked how it felt to get light headed and then let it rush back in, made the finish all the more delicious.

He was nearly where he wanted to be, thoughts raced somewhere between what she'd smell like up close and what her tongue would taste like when a set of eyes flashed in the yellow truck lights.

Clyde didn't see what it was, nor would it matter anyhow. The weight in the back of the truck was too great for the jerk-turn Clyde attempted, the front right tire burst underneath the weight in a deafening roar and the wheel itself folded under the truck. Clyde had never heard of such a god awful noise in all his life, the sound of rending steel was new to him. He thought he'd heard the worst when his pa missed a shot on a hog, the screech it made as he fired round after round into her sounded like a woman getting killed in that pen. This was different, things that were never meant to tear and shatter now were, screams of a thousand metallic agonies filled his ears and hummed within his yellowed teeth. Clyde didn't get to think about much after that, the road seemed to come out from under him then, somehow got up and changed places with the sky.

The air was warm, the moon was bright and full, and the trees stood silent when Clyde Needles was thrown through the front windshield of a 1926 Model T Ford into the side ditch. The shape his body was twisted into no longer resembled the lanky teenager that sat behind the wheel, too many jagged bones broke through his pale skin, dark blood poured out of countless orifices. His last thought, if to say anything of his attention span, was of Dottie standing over him, teasing her body beneath the pale moonlight…

Except…

Clyde Needles didn't exactly just die. Clyde Needles wasn't aware that the truck, now a smoldering wreckage fifty yards down the dirt road, was loaded with a substance all but alien to the sleepy backwoods town it'd been driven away from. It wouldn't have been something he understood even if it had gotten explained in nauseating detail, let alone would it have even mattered.

What used to be securely nailed beneath the lid of lead-lined oak storage boxes was cast out and upwards around the truck and Clyde, and the air seemed to shimmer as it began to breathe and spread its silent poison.

Radium.

Clyde wasn't really in a state to feel the deadly touches of radiation, what with his brains oozing out of his shattered head, but he was aware of his situation enough to let out a haggard moan before pissing himself for the second time. Some of the Radium had settled in his hair, some across his face, and a large amount settled and collected inside the gaping hole in his head. If anyone could stand to look upon the macabre scene, they'd see Clyde's skull just barely illuminated in eerie green light behind his eyeballs. Irradiated tears flowed down into trails of blood, and those mixed with drool and leaking spinal fluid at the corner of his destroyed mouth. What may have been most peculiar, if anything ever was, is what this unholy mess fell into. What used to sit in the spot that Clyde now laid was the corpse of a dead boar, long reduced to distingrated bone matter. The boar in question had fallen too sick to move after drinking from water tainted with kerosene and weed killer, a byproduct of the failed logging project. A simple mushroom colony took root there to do what nature had designed it to do, decompose and consume. If Clyde could still think, the teenager might have found the series of events funny in some sick sense, or more likely have thought more of Dottie.

—

Things take time. The mighty oak doesn't become a behemoth without growing many years under the sun, nor does the proud buck become a hunted trophy without first owning a tiny set of horns. The natural state of life and all things within it do not see beginning or end without time first allowing it.

The mycelium beneath Clyde was aware something had fallen onto it, it could feel the distress signals from every sprouting mushroom connected to the root system. It was like the great bolts of lightning in storm clouds, as one became thousands and spread across the air, so too did the signals spread across the fungus bed. But this was different, it could feel itself changing with each delivery of information, something was wrong.

Food.

Fire.

Blood.

Blood.

Food.

Food.

Food.

Heat.

Heat around.

No fire.

Heat without fire.

Heat.

Glowing dirt.

Dirt with heat.

Fire dirt.

Growth.

Growth.

Blood.

Special dirt?

Special blood.

Growth.

Growth.

As a seizure rocked Clyde's body, a glob of glowing viscera leaked from his head into the dirt, and if one could listen hard enough they'd hear a sound close to what a dry sponge makes when it finds water. The fungus felt itself splinter, countless tiny lacerations spread across impossibly small roots, and from them grew more roots until they pushed against the very top of the soil itself. Growth like this went against the laws of time, this was far too fast and uncontrollable, but it did not hurt.

The fungus became aware of light, but nothing close to the one that stayed within the sky once the pale one hid away.

It was warm, and it was beautiful.

This felt natural.

Small glowing tendrils began to sprout from the dirt, like the hairs off a head, millions of them waved in the night breeze around Clyde. More of his fluids found the eager tendrils, they grew taller as they soaked up the irradiated gore. This went on until a thick grey tendril managed to latch onto Clyde's head.

Lightning bolts.

The fungus spread through the singular tendril into lattice patterns across Clyde's face, curling up his nostrils and in the corners of his eyes. It flooded into his skull, weaving between the folds of his remaining brains and twisted into the lacerations on his spinal cord. The fungus drank whatever fluids it came into contact with, raging growth shot ahead like fire chasing a trail of gasoline. To this end, the green iridescence that lined the inside of Clyde's head began to ooze down his body with the rushing wave of fungal growth.

He began to thrash in the clutches of his attacker, some pitiful animalistic attempt from his broken body to defend itself, but it only served to strengthen the onslaught. It winded down his spinal cord until it found his hips, from there it grew around his bones until it found where they were broken, then it rushed into his marrow.

The fungus felt satisfaction at this find, immeasurable amounts of food to consume for weeks on end, all the nutrients and sustenance its children would need to survive and reproduce…

No.

No, this could make a whole colony.

Tendrils reached Clyde's heart, and wound into each artery until no empty place remained. All of Clyde was covered and infested with grey-white fungal growth and a horrid blanket of glowing radium dust.

It was then that Clyde died, but began the start of something new.

The fungus felt a wave rush through it, a crackling jolt of energy, it hurt. It came again. This time twice as hard, twice as painful. The fungus, doing what it always did at the sign of danger, pulled into itself.

Clyde's right hand closed shut.

Electricity spread across the fungus, frying the ends of the mycelium well below ground, from where it entered came the worst of the pain. Had it been found? Had something come to attack it during its feeding? It pulled into itself harder.

Clyde's other hand closed.

Agony splintered across the fungus, every possible cell of its being was surging with electric energy, if it could cry, it would have weeped.

Give out, the fungus stopped fighting and waited for whatever had found it to devour it.

Clyde’s hands unfurled.

The pain stopped.

These things take time.

—

Twenty five miles back inside the town Clyde had left from, Willow Ridge, the morning was off to a sour start.

Thunder growled in the darkening skies, breezes became gusts and flung themselves against whatever stood in the way. Green leaves across the pecan trees that lined the edges of Willow Ridge turned over and exposed their pale bellies. Every nose in the county could smell the metallic-earthy musk that hung in the air.

Rain was coming.

From under his white-painted porch, the sheriff looked at the coming storm with disdain. The next town hall meeting would be nothing but upset farmers and annoyed school teachers, Mrs Avery would no doubt complain about the dirt roads turning to muck, it did no amount of good trying to explain the burden on the county budget that paved roads would bring. She'd shake her head and spit tobacco juice on the floor like an automated machine. Her wrinkled face didn't soften the razor blade contempt in her old brown eyes, he could hear her hoarse voice now:

“Ahd-damn chain-gang ort to do it then, gravel is jest as good.”

Ornery old bat, the sheriff thought, but she was sweet as ripe persimmons when she wasn't so uptight. Guess when you've lived through as many years as she did you get to be like that. The sheriff took a moment to soak up a lukewarm breeze as pondered what kind of old man he'd be.

A whistle-wind voice snuck through his mind

“Old? Was a time we didn't think we was gone get old, funny how things work out huh Butch?”

Blood dripped from those words, they came from somewhere far away from here, from an entirely different man. At first the sheriff tried to let the words soak in, it only felt uncomfortable. It was like dry sand on wet skin and he could handle that if he just focused hard and breathed deep, that's how this usually went, just brace up and let it wash over him like a warm shower. Every dog has his day, and today was not the Sheriff's. His breath caught as the hairs on his neck started to rise and his shoulders stiffened up.

It didn't feel so safe to be outside suddenly, too much noise, too much movement. Cold sweat began to bead down his back, breath ran from his lungs as if an invisible hand were clenching around his throat. His eyes flickered between hiding spots, dark corners, and windows like searchlights, chasing after things he wasn't sure of. Faint shadows were starting to dance in the alleys and behind trees, but he couldn't catch them no matter how fast he tried to look. His mind was beginning to scream at him, pressure swelled behind his eyes and heat churned in his ears. The sheriff took a step backwards, one hand desperately searching for the door knob, the other searched for the pistol on his hip. He wasn’t even aware that he'd started to snap the buttons open on his holster…

“Sheriff Fowler!”

He was back on the front porch, the wind wafted over him like a reassuring pat on the back after a mean prank, it ain't that serious silly! His eyes swung wildly to find where the voice came from, and it took longer than he'd care to admit to finally see where.

Annie Taylor.

Curly blonde hair, sky blue eyes, and a missing front tooth smile, barely the height of an axe handle.

Thunder rumbled overhead again, but it did little to stifle the beam of sunshine Annie was. She was in a yellow dress, likely one her mama May Taylor made for her. It was made with love, care, and effort, it was also made from dyed flour sacks. The textile mill a county over had been a godsend for the women around Willow Ridge when money started drying up, if it had scraps left over the working men would take time to trim them into neat squares for the women folk to sew. On the same note, Pritchard’s general store had begun ordering specific sacks of flour and grain, it was a gesture of kindness from the distant factories they came from to use softer cloth, sometimes they even made colored sacks. It was a huge deal when this occurred, women would visit one at a time to look over the rarity, careful not to be caught by another woman doing the same thing. Mr and Mrs Pritchard would watch silently as this game of cat and mouse blossomed across the women of the Willow Ridge, and they could expect one of them to stop in just before closing with their hats pulled low to their brows and a few silver dollars to fetch out of their coin-purses. Children got the majority of the leftovers, women got theirs next, and men could expect a patch or two left to repair their work clothes if they needed it. Some folks called Willow Ridge “the hand-me-down town,” and at first the populace took offense, now in the hard times it was a mark of ingenuity and pride.

“Good morning Sheriff Fowler!” Annie beamed again.

“G-Goodmornin’ back to ya’ Annie,” Fowler stammered, there was a weariness to his words he wished he had the power to hide from her.

She looked at him the way a child does, any number of questions or statements behind her sky-blue eyes. He still felt a tingle of anxiety across his neck, hairs hadn't yet settled. Dear god, the sheriff thought, how long had she been there?

“Ms. Janice said we should head home early on account of the rain, but I came here to get you cause there's an emergency!”

Sheriff Fowler straightened himself, concern blossoming on his brow.

“What's this emergency honey, and where at?”

She looked at her shoes as her cheeks blushed red, embarrassed over something.

“Well, I don't know where to tell you to go, but I came here cause of what Mrs Avery said about the rain.”

The sheriff felt all focus dissolve like a castle wall crumbling under a blow from a catapult.

“And what, pray tell, did she say was an emergency?” He braced for the response.

“When I was walking home it started raining a little bit near the general store, but the sun was still out and I went under the porch there. Mrs Avery was sitting in her rocking chair, except it was a dis-play chair but she said she didn't give a dern about it when I said it was a dis-play. Then she told me that when it rains and the sun is still out the Devil is beating his wife, and I told her I thought that was just awful so she said I should go get you to help.”

Any notion of panic he'd felt beforehand dissipated behind her last word, and it took a great heap of effort to keep his bearing. God bless you honey, Fowler thought, I wish everyone was as innocent and pure as you are.

“You run on home Annie, I'll head over to the general store and sort out what I can. You did your part as a citizen today to stop a crime, and for that you have my thanks.”

A million dollar grin spread across her freckled face. If smiles could shine she'd blind someone. She skipped away humming some schoolyard rhyme and cut down a side street towards home, he wondered if her mama knew she was walking home today, normally May would come get her from school and walk with her. Another pressing thought entered his head, Mrs Avery. It had always been a lighthearted game of cat and mouse with her antics, and while most of the time it was funny today wasn't the day for it.

Fowler didn't feel angry towards her, truthfully he liked her, but he couldn't have her putting Annie Taylor up to mischief. Her mama would raise immortal hell over her for just the slightest thing, especially since her husband passed away some years ago. It didn't take much to put May on the warpath, it's how Donnie handled things in the house. If something bothered May, especially if it bothered Annie, Donnie turned into a wall of rage and muscle and “handled it” as May tearfully put it at his service. Fowler adjusted his stetson and looked down towards the general store.

“I needa walk anyhow,” he sighed to himself.

The sheriff's office sat at the end of the road on the left side of a storage building, formerly the dedicated jailhouse, across the road from a closed down insurance office. There were only two roads inside Willow Ridge, one that came from the south and headed north which was the only road in and out for as long as most could remember. The other one came from the west and headed east, a lot of folks said the only reason it really got made was so the governor could suck up to the hydroelectric dam people, like some sort of incentive for them to come out and build. The roads met, converging in a crossroads in the heart of the town. This was how Willow Ridge was formed, at first all that sat there was the general store itself and a few scattered farm houses, a true geological oddity. Most of the folks of Willow Ridge lived out in the woods, on old plots of land passed down through generations in some wood shack or cabin their ancestors had built, just repaired and dolled up through the years. Traffic began to pass more often through Willow Ridge with the creation of the crossroads, and with it came a church that doubled as a school on the weekdays, a post office, an insurance office, a doctor's office, and finally a sheriff's office. The last and newest addition was the Langford apartments built on the northernmost part of the town, and it got filled quickly with holler-dwellers who wanted to experience what they figured “big city living” felt like, then the depression locked them into their rent agreements after they sold their family homes for pennies on the dollar. Life went from commodity to constraint in the span of weeks, folks got hard nosed about anything that could cost them, and things slowed down to a bitter quietness that everybody felt and had no need or desire to speak on. The Langfords themselves wanted to close down, but they couldn't escape their bank loans, and the renters couldn't go anywhere else except the streets. A few of the renters would joke they were all crabs in a bucket, nobody was gonna get out without pulling the other one down.

All Fowler had to do was turn left off his porch and walk down the road, which he did, and he wound up in front of none other than Mrs Avery.

“Mrs Avery, how are you today?”

She bunched her saggy mouth up into a half-snarl and spit out black juice just a few inches short of Fowler's boots.

“Doing better than some, worse than others, Sheriff. If I could give any less of a shit I'd owe, and now you're here blocking my view.”

Fowler turned and looked over his shoulders, the street was devoid of people, so she wasn't here crowd watching, she was just waiting for someone to come by. The men were out working, the women at home tending the house, and the kids…well he guessed the kids were already home too. The voice returned, honey dripped words covered in thorns, though he managed to ignore whatever it said this go round, too much to attend to without getting riled up now. Fowler snapped his head around to look at Mrs Avery again, hurrying to get back to the conversation. She raised an eyebrow full of curled skin.

“You gone talk or just stand there till I whistle dixie Sheriff?”

“N-naw I ain't gone stand here Mrs Avery, matter of factly me and you got business to talk about.”

“Oh? What you got to talk about? You wanna court me, take me on a walk in the moonlight?”

Fowler felt heat rise under his collar, she had seen through his poker face even if she wasn't aware of what truly threw him off, and that aggravated him to no end. He took off his hat and stepped one foot onto the pine-board porch, placing the hat on the bend of his knee. He did this to level with people, it was something he'd had done to him by his father when the difference between listening to and hearing him needed to be made clear.

“Mrs Avery I'm here cause of Annie Taylor. I don't mind you on any given day being the way that you are, heck I truthfully enjoy the chance of speed whenever you pop up, but don't spread no foolish ideas to her. You know she came to me cause of what you said? Now what am I gonna do if her mama finds out?”

The old woman chewed on his words with silence, the scowl on her face didn't falter. Mrs Avery was a woman of many many things, easy to read was not one of them. The gentle yet deliberate rise of her chest and weary-sounded sigh was all she let go from her deck of cards.

“Ain't nothing I wasn't told when I was her age, and it ain't nothing that'll ever hurt her in any sort of way, but if it's bringing you trouble I'll hesh up next time I see her nearby. I don't need my fine day hustled by a man in uniform what come up here to my sitting spot and blocking my fine view.”

She whipped her head to the side like a scolded cat, almost a pout, and shut her eyes. Fowler knew that was as far as he'd get with her.

As he sauntered away from Mrs Avery and her throne on the porch once more the voice came, and this time it wouldn't be shut out.

“Where'd our old uniforms get off to Butch? Where'd you put em?”

Thunder rumbled once more, and the storm began proper. It was only a short walk back, but Fowler watched as the road stretched out miles ahead, each step felt like his boots were made of lead.

Rain found him before he found his office, and Fowler came through the door soaked from the shoulders down like a wet tomcat.

The front of the office was empty of human life, but filled with all the things that marked it once being there. Two empty office desks, wooden swivel chairs, banker’s lamps, and old mugs full of odd lengthed pencils. Two secretaries, kind hearted sisters from the church, used to come down and budget for the police department as well as the church.

They were also a lot more proficient at writing up warrants, reports, and other correspondence, so Fowler saw fit to let them sit-in. When the hard times began, as with many places, Fowler couldn't afford to keep them on. They took it in grace however, Sister Crocker and Sister Beatrice, but Fowler knew losing the ability to gossip about the latest arrest must've been a crushing blow for the other women of Willow Ridge. The “Wednesday Night Women's Only Bible Study” was more like a french salon of yore, the women wore nice perfume and donned sparing but appealing amounts of makeup, if one of them knew how to do it they'd wear a new hairstyle to spark envy, and it wouldn't be uncommon to see the titular “nice dress I kept put up” make an appearance on each woman.

The Preacher didn't attend out of politeness to the female congregation, so he wasn't an issue, and the women all knew how to spin excuses and reasons to their man at home. Fowler had a suspicion the men just turned the other cheek to start with, Nut’s bar was full on Friday night and packed solid on Saturday night. If the Baptist men of Willow Ridge were able to drink and raise a ruckus on the weekend, then the womenfolk enjoying a night with each other's finest hearsay wasn't up for debate. People needed a distraction from things, it kept peace in the mind and at home.

“You'd know about distractions huh Butch?”

Fowler shook the words off his thoughts and went towards the door leading to the back office, his little fortress of solitude from all else. It was familiar here, he had a nice wooden desk he kept all his things in under lock and key. He had a radio to catch a song or baseball game, a phone connected to the party line, he had a separate room with a toilet and sink basin to shave and clean up in. Hell he even had a fold up bed in the corner to use when the rain made the roads too bad to drive on, wasn't much reason to rush home anyhow. No kids, no wife, not even a mutt to throw a bone to, all them things was past Fowler.

“Except me…”

Sweat wanted to bead down his head, annoyance started to rise up in his chest like heavy machinery spooling up for a blast of work. This was the added benefit of being here in this office, he could handle these little hiccups on his own terms and time.

Fowler scowled and cleared his throat as he plopped down in his chair, the motions of an ancient ritual at this point. To anyone else, Fowler was talking to an empty chair across from his desk, but to Fowler someone was sitting there. Someone just as real as the air in his lungs.

“You done bothering me? Huh? You been a real pain in the ass today you know that?”

The young man across from him leaned forward, his yellowish teeth accentuated his unshaven jawline, greasy short hair reflected the little light that found the back office, and sunken brown eyes looked upon Fowler with the uncanny focus an attack dog gives a threat. His clothes were worn-out but fitted to his lanky frame. A dark blue over-shirt tucked into faded khaki trousers, traveling beneath tattered canvas shin covers and ending in mud-splattered hobnail boots. Fowler knew the uniform well, and the man in front of him never changed out of it. He kept his hands on his knees and sat straight as an arrow, never once breaking eye-contact. Words flowed from his mouth like warm molasses, almost filled with something that sounded like hurt.

“Now that ain't no way to talk to me, hell I been good about the things I say, like we worked on see? I don't cuss too bad. I don't crack too many jokes, I just sit back and cast a few words your way, what you do after the fact ain't none of my doing.”

Fowler clenched down on his teeth, the muscles in the young man's jaw flexed.

“Bout pulled my revolver out in the middle of the day cause of you, would've scared Annie to death, might have cost me my job! If this all goes up, ain't nowhere for me to go, ain't got no way to make money, I'll starve to death.”

The man cocked his gaunt face to the side, a switchblade smile cracked across his face.

“We've starved before, and we've done without money and a place to sleep, remember?”

Fowler felt heat starting to rise over his button up collar, blood pressure rising like building steam.

“And them days is done with! We're home now dammit! I can't hardly even remember back that far as it is…”

A snarl of disgust rung out as the man jumped upwards, rage burning in his eyes. It used to scare Fowler once upon a time, he knew now it was all just hot air. Jabbing his thumb into his chest like a miner trying to shatter stone, he threw his words at Fowler now.

“YOU might of forgot them days, got real comfy since then, but I ain't! I got us through it, I got us back home, to this big ole lie YOU wanna play pretend in! YOU the one who put me away when it was all over, THREW ME IN THE CLOSET WITH THE GODDAMN SEABAGS DIDN'T YOU!”

Sighing to himself, Fowler shook his grayed head and shut his tired eyes, the office was empty again. A clock somewhere on the wall kept the pace with a metallic knock, and Fowler could almost feel each tick in his aching head.

The rain grew into a dull roar as lightning flashed across the sky. Fowler sported the idea of taking a nap when a hard rasp shook the front door.

“Dammit all” he sighed.

It took a bit for him to get up and stroll the length of the building, tiredness hung off his shoulders and weighed him down.

The door opened to a man in tattered overalls and a beaten down flap hat. His face pulled into his toothless mouth and the stubble on his maw looked more like gray porcupine quills than it did facial hair. He was gaunt, bent, and thin; a man used to little in the way of most comforts. A set of steely sly brown eyes met Fowler, like ones on a red fox.

Delmond Needles.

He didn't wait for formalities.

“Y’seen mah boy sher-if? Ain't heard nary a peep or spied him all mornin’ an’ it ain't like ‘im.”

Backwoods drawl like a summer night breeze, it reminded Fowler of his own dad. It wasn't talking like folks do these days, it was humming like a slow song, or a fine painting. It wasn't scribbles on paper, it was smooth brush strokes on canvas. Pleasant as it was, it was clippy, Delmond didn’t like having to talk to the law.

Fowler thought hard about where or what Clyde could have gotten into, that boy stayed in trouble; always one step behind mischief and first to throw himself into it when it began. He’d just as soon find teeth in a rooster than he would figure out where that boy could be, but Delmond stared into him and the silence was dancing on too long.

“Naw,” Fowler sighed, “ain’t seen him since you came to get him last month after he got out of line over at Nut’s place.”

Delmond’s face dropped low at the reminder, and pale red rushed to his withered cheeks. Thunder shook overhead, lightning flashed miles out, probably in Hustace’s fields.

“Haint no call fer reminders like ‘at right now, he ain’t been home in a few days and trouble or not he’s all I got left since Pearl passed on. Please Sher-if all I’m asking ya is that if’n he comes through jest send ‘im on home to me.”

Fowler gave Delmond a solemn nod and watched quietly as the stick of a man straightened himself up, nodded back, and made towards his truck as quickly as his tired body could manage, like a scarecrow taking its first few steps after it came to life and fell off the pole. There didn’t have to be much more than those nods, both men understood words could transcend speech, and it was about as good as a promise now. If he did somehow miss Clyde, it could be years before Delmond simmered down enough to ever speak to Fowler again for anything, even a greeting. It was odd though, Delmond normally drove his box truck that he hauled wood and god knows what else in, but this was someone else’s sitting in the road.

[jasonthegardeningguru]

Just came across the news that Gunnera is now going to be banned due to its a "so-called" invasive species.

My personal belief is every plant has its place - I have fond memories of a college trip to Cambridge Botanical Gardens - whilst visiting we had a sudden downpour and remember seeing all the students sheltering underneath it's leaves looking like a bunch of sprightly pixies.

Other recent memories are my visits to Fairhaven Water Gardens, which is near to where I live, where they have some fantastic specimens and other species like the Skunk Cabbage which also have been removed from the gardener's paint palette.

Banning something that is in common production after so long seems strange as unlike the dreaded Japanese Knotweed or the Giant Hog Weed - I can honestly say I have never seen a Gunnera escape into the wild.

A favourite for pond enthusiasts as a water edge plant unless you have a property on the flood plain, this plant will easily die when starved of water.

With this being - in the "you can no longer grow" category - what's next, Buddleja? Bamboo? Campsis? Mint? Leylandii? Baby Tears?

Many species I can mention that once left to their own devices and not kept in check can be as damaging to the environment as the Gunnera if not more so...or is this a case like Japanese Knotweed - too little too late?

#gunnera #giantrhubarb #gardening #gardens #gardeningtips #gardeninglife #plantban #gunneramanicata

[cryptidclaw]

Back with more names.

Salt

Ticking

Opal

Wasp*?*

Hummingbird

Spirit *Honestly I feel like this name would be used for cats that are born from a medicine cat. This name is used a lot if a med has a kit but not always*

Brine

Bubble

Ravine

Whale

Dolphin

Mossy

Cactus

Rattlesnake

Mountain

Doe

Fawn

Horse

Wood

Skunk

Geese

Fallow*?*

Fruit

Watermelon

Moonlight

Happy*There was a kit named happykit in starclan cause they were happy? In starclan? I have no idea I just know there was a kit named Happykit but I don’t know if anyone else remembers*

Ghost

Coyote*idk if I’ve already done this one*

Pirate *Omg if a kittypet joined Skyclan this would be sooo cute, I’d the blood order as you call it lol*

Hay

Shy

Nimble

Whistle

Penguin

Honeybee

Bee

Squid

Hog

Guppy

Goldfish

Cheese

Monkey

Lantern*There is an animal named Lanternfly soooo*

Bison

Foal

Berber

Coral

Carrot

Hornet

Jaguar

Butterfly

Bone

Bat

—

Ugh I’ve ran out of ideas… again…. I’ll be back, byeeee

Yesss, more!!!

I love mushroom 🥺 very good

[akirenhell]

DO NOT QUESTION MY POWER, MORTAL.

...Anyways, I'm so sorry for the delay. College life has been killing, BUT, after so much waiting, I'm here to speak. (Note: I'm mostly doing this with the band members I can name at the top of my head, so if I forgot anyone, I apologize ;3;).

Nine Inch Nails member, and the animals I assign with them:

Trent Reznor: Pig (PHM to TF era)/ Wild hog (WT to current era)

Richard Patrick: Hog nosed bat

Chris Vrenna: Opossum

Danny Lohner: Raccoon

Robin Finck: Skunk

James Wooley: Bear (cause...Wooley bear)

Charlie Clouser: Tibetan fox (or just regular red fox)

Jeordie White: Rooster

Jerome Dillon: Ferret

Aaron North: Bunny

Alessandro Cortini: River otter

Ilan Rubin: Hedgehog

Atticus Ross: Tapir

I have the rather specific and unique skill of being able to assign an animal for each NIN member.

[supa-suckers]

Technicalli F.C

General Headcanons:

They have about two brain cells that they pass around, it's never John's turn and everyone is sure Chuck is hogging the second one.

Passing the brain cell is their love laguage.

Their hair is always messed up due to the spandex hood, they've just learnt to live with it.

Everyone is still sure there is a second goalie called Paul.

Toni once filled up a spray bottle with vinegar and water and started spraying them with it untill it exploded all over his face.

The skunk never left the stadium it's just bidding it's time.

They all really look up to Tony who really really looks down at them the only expectation is Chuck who goes 'uhh this bitch' inwardly whenever Tony opens his godamn mouth.

Chuck tries, he really tries to keep his teammates out of trouble and harms way but it's like moths to a bonefire.

John has a thing going on with Vlad that he works really hard to keep under wraps, all the guys are very much aware and happy for him.

The club moscot is sentient and has it's own free will the costume is it's failed ancestor which was skinned for it's crime.

The guys are not aware of this since Tony hasn't told them they just think it's a really cuddly guy in a suit who occasinaly makes monster noises for the bit.

They have a little succulent capsule in the lockeroom that Tony got them after a good match they all love it and take turns watering the plants and taking care of them.

The plants are fake.

[seraphtrevs]

Awww, LOVE the idea of her having a skunk stripe just like her son! Never thought of that. Although, with her being so vain I can see her trying to dye it because "eww gray hair." I also love the idea of her having sharp features! I said she had green eyes because imo Lalo got his eye color from his dad (dominant trait), but I can see her and Lalo having the exact same eye shape and her also being brown-eyed as well! Love, love, love the fact that Hector would be intimidated by her and yet also wildly attracted to her and have sick fantasies about her (he is nasty and an old perverted man after all lol). I can totally see that! Also, do we at this moment have any hc for Lalo's dad? In your mind, how did Reina and Lalo's dad meet?

They meet at an exclusive resort in Mexico City, where Reina is vacationing with her family. She just graduated from college - she was supposed to get her MRS degree, but all the suitable boys bored her.

Her father is a self-made man and proud of it (this is where she gets her stingy streak from). He runs the most successful pig farming operation in the whole southestern US. He's called the Hog Baron of Louisiana, a name he came up with and always introduces himself as. Reina finds this beyond mortifying.

Her mother is a massive hypochondriac and a nervous wreck. Reina has to play nursemaid to her a lot, which she hates. They have a passive-aggressive relationship.

So Reina is very bored and listless. She's always been Daddy's princess, but Daddy is growing annoyed with her extravagent spending and has noticed that she's...well, a spoiled brat. He keeps making noise about putting her to work. Times are changing, after all. Women are doing it for themselves! She could be the Hog Baroness!

Needless to say, Reina has no interest in being the Hog Baroness.

Antonio (Lalo's dad) is also a self-made man. He got in on the ground floor with the cartel and it's paying off. He's young, handsome (with a fabulous moustache), charming, and flush with cash. He bought his way into the fancy resort and is teaching himself how to be classy. He's a quick learner.

Reina is instantly charmed by his aura of danger, and Antonio loves the idea of having a sophisticated girl on his arm to show off. Hector thinks it's a waste of time trying to fit in with the elite - he has a huge chip on his shoulder since they grew up poor. But Antonio has always wanted more, and she's the embodiment of it.

Of course, it eventually comes out that this charming young man is in fact, a narco, and Reina's daddy demands she cut off contact immediately. It's time for their vacation to be over anyway.

She tells Antonio the bad news. He responds by proposing- yes they've only known each other a couple weeks, but it's true love! And he promises she will never lift a finger - he will keep her in style. And if anyone mentions hog farming in her presence, Antonio will shoot them dead.

She accepts. Daddy blows a gasket and tells her he's cutting her off. She just laughs - she doesn't need his money. She's a narco's wife now. It suits her.

[nothofagus-archive]

"Lessons for life" and "Pampas cat character study" (2008 both)

Some hystorical Palqus! The fact they're both traditional art is really a coincidence, I was well into Digital by then; and IIRC, I was just going through a Traditional rush of inspiration.

I have to confess I misremembered Mr Kitty's "date of birth" so to speak, I could've sworn it was 2009. I wasn't sure about the cat's gender by then, but as soon as Awka as a story began taking shape in my head (I will tell this one in lenght some day! My very first idea was different than it ended up being), and a friend I had back then named the cat, the characters slowly began drifting into place.

My oldest picture of Retama never went online, it's probably from around 2009 (gotta check) and it's a wip I never finished... really tempted to share that inedit never-finished-wip, even if it probably looks even worse than I remember.

Just as a PS, it bothers nerdy me that the skunk is only a generic skunk and not a defined species. There are several of them that could interact with Palqu, but the most likely one (most common) would be a Patagonian Hog-nosed Skunk.