bunch grasses

Inspired by @crowfles’ fantastic c137cest fanfic

Though she hasn’t post it on tumblr yet, I already got fascinated by the scene which (spoiler alert*) Tiny Rick took Morty to a super damn cool planet with blue-ish fluffy grass and bunch of fireflies on it ;D

And I was like “Hell yess I’m gonna draw this despite my crappy drawing skills. ” bc this scene has been all over my head for a long time and I need to puke this out

i wanna get caught in the rain again


“Sir please exit the vehicle,” he said. His flash light is pointed directly in the face forcing me to squint a little, aside from his light it’s pitch black out here. Not a lot of street lights in this neighborhood. Especially not on these back roads mainly a bunch of grass and trees, I can’t stand living in such a country area. I can’t believe there’s even a cop out here this late it’s almost 1 in the morning. I usually don’t take this way home but, it was quickest route according to my GPS and I was about to miss curfew, well I’m definitely going to miss it now. I can’t believe this is happening to me. Here I am, full scholarship to Yale University and I’m about to be arrested for a damn DUI. Two blocks from my house at that! My mom’s going to be so pissed when she finds out. “I said get the hell out the car!” the police officer yells while forcefully throwing me on the ground. Suddenly I’m drawn away from the thoughts of my mother and father killing me and I’m faced with my current predicament and realize who I am and the situation I’m currently in. I am an 18 yr. old black male standing 6'5, 235lbs. To him I am a threat. This middle age white police officer looks to be about 5'7, weighing maybe a buck seventy-five, if that. Without that gun in his hand he’d never approach me. Looking at him now I see the fear in his eyes. Fact still remains he’s the man holding the gun and the last thing I want to be is another Freddie Gray, Sandra Bland, Terence Crutcher, Philando Castile, or whomever the Black Lives Matter movement gets to hash tag tomorrow. I start to speak, choosing my words as wisely as i possibly could. “My apologies officer, I was a little in shock at first. My license and registration are both in the glove compartment, it’s locked but, I can grab them for you,” As i start to picked myself off the ground to get my information that’s when i heard it, I’ve heard it all my life growing up where I did but never could I imagine being on the receiving end. Pop! Pop! Pop!  I fall back towards the same spot where he first tossed me to. I always thought your body would feel hot, I mean it’s a bullet after all. Wrong again, I’m freezing! Aside from that I feel nothing, numb. Although my vision is blurring I’m still clear of what I’m seeing. He not down next to me applying pressure to the three hole he just put in my body, no that would be too humane. Like I’m some criminal he still has his gun pointed directly at me.  Then I hear him screaming into his radio, frantic and stuttering “This is Officer Taylor, we got a 444 on Fisher and DuPont, requesting backup and a medic immediately”. As i slip in and out of consciousness I can pinpoint a faint sound, i try to listen as close and possible. Is he crying? What the hell is he crying for? I’m the one laying here blood pouring from the multiple holes he’s put in my body. All the life I’ve heard my mother say “Your body is your temple” it was her reasoning for not allowing me to get tattoos or crazy piercings. “You were made in the image of God and this body is not yours, you are merely using it to worship him and you don’t disrespect what’s not yours. I raised you better than that” Well I’d like to know who the hell raised him! He didn’t respect my temple at all! He didn’t see that I am a reflection of God. Yet, he stands here crying! He gets to go home to his family and the end of this but, will I? It’s 1am and I’m lying on this hard cement, drowning in a pool of my own blood and it steadily leaks from my body. My life snatched from me before I was able to fully live it. I’m the one who should be crying! I’m the one who is going to die here! I’m the one….

Story idea

I’ve never felt as comfortable on a bed as I do on a bed of flowers.

The city feels unnatural. The tall buildings try to imitate the forest but never satisfy.

I’ve nearly forgotten what it feels like to see trees bunched together, to see grass, flowers growing freely.

But I can never forget. I won’t let myself.

I want to go back.

I was there once. I was very small and only slightly frightened. When I left my parents hugged me and said “you’re YOU again”. I didn’t know what they meant until recently.

I remember it shimmered. The voices were soft, inviting, amused at my imagination.

I want to go back.

Every now and again I think I see something that reminds me of there, but I’m never sure.

I read and study about them, what I can. A taste that I remember but cannot place dances across my tongue. Did I eat anything there?

I want to go back.

I look for places that might have been effected. I leave offerings with my address.

I wonder if they know my name. I was young. I probably told them.

I want to go back.

A package arrives. I didn’t order anything. In it is a feather from a bird that I’ve never seen. A blanket I thought I lost years ago. An apple. A note.

“You’ll find your way back. You never fully left.”

It has my name on it.

The apple feels lighter that it should. I hold onto it and go to the park.

I sit beneath a tree that feels safe, cool, and loving. I stare at the apple.

I want to go back.

I take a bite. The first bite leaves me starving. I eat the whole apple, the core and seeds vanish in my hands.

I fall backwards through a hole in the tree. It wasn’t there before.

I’m back.

(Based on this picture) Person A and Person B are sitting in a park when A pulls up a handful of grass and throws it in B’s lap. B then pulls up some grass and dumps it on A’s head. The two then enter a grass war. A ends up shoving a bunch of grass down B’s shirt. B grabs the grass and shoves it in A’s underwear. Awkwardness ensues as A tries to pull out the grass without making it look suspicious to onlookers. 
Bonus points if C, of your OT3 or just a friend, walks up and A embarrassingly explains their situation as they pull out a handful of grass.

The Roanoke Cabin + little quirks/things they do


  • always pulls threads on clothing and stuff until it all unravels
  • likes the feeling of tying her shoes, so will untie and retie them over and over again
  • bites her nails (is this canon? I feel like this is canon)
  • tends to knot things 
  • like, if you see a bunch of blades of grass uprooted and tied into knots of varying complexity, jo was definitely there
  • she definitely carries around little machinery bits in those huge pockets of hers. i mean, she made a cake-frosting machine out of just what she had on her and nobody was even surprised.


  • constantly vibrating
  • jiggles her leg, flicks her arms, etc.
  • rolls her ankles while sitting 
  • idk, i feel like ripley flaps
  • especially when she’s happy or excited
  • holds her eyes open to give herself a sort of creepy look
  • puffs out her cheeks and exhales slowly. not even when she’s frustrated or anything just because she likes the feeling


  • plays with her hair
  • plays with jo’s hair
  • plays with any hair that’s still long enough
  • always takes out and redos her ponytails a bunch of times because they’re too loose, too high, etc.
  • always at the bottom of dogpiles because she likes the pressure
  • her chin is always tilted really high. it’s just her natural position.


  • air guitars to everything
  • classical music. jingles. theme songs for tv shows. e v e r y t h i n g
  • buzzes her lips a lot because she likes the vibration
  • tugs on her hair when she’s nervous
  • she has the bottom bunk, so i imagine that she always walks her feet up and presses them against the mattress above her when she can’t sleep
  • (molly likes it because it’s like a reminder that she’s there)


  • twists her arms as much as she can and then proceeds to try to rest her chin on the resulting tangle of limbs
  • always sits on her legs
  • rakes her teeth over her lower lip when she’s thinking (mal thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world)
  • covers her mouth when she laughs, but her eyes light all the way up
  • absentmindedly reaches up to stroke bubbles a lot


  • twists her hair around her tongue, her fingers, etc.
  • whispers lines of poetry when she’s stressed/frustrated
  • folds her fingers together in different ways and then makes waves with her arms
  • plays with her lips when she’s deep in thought
  • totally sleeptalks. the girls think it’s hilarious, but it’s all stuff like reciting various equations and muttering science stuff
  • likes reading aloud so much that even when she’s reading to herself she’ll mouth the words sometimes. please also consider the girls piling onto her bed sometimes to listen to her read aloud

Have you gazed on naked grandeur
where there’s nothing else to gaze on,
Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,
Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,
Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?
Have you swept the visioned valley
with the green stream streaking through it,
Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?
Have you strung your soul to silence?
Then for God’s sake go and do it;
Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.
Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sagebrush desolation,
The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze?
Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all creation,
And learned to know the desert’s little ways?
Have you camped upon the foothills,
have you galloped o'er the ranges,
Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through?
Have you chummed up with the mesa?
Do you know its moods and changes?
Then listen to the Wild – it’s calling you.
Have you known the Great White Silence,
not a snow-gemmed twig aquiver?
(Eternal truths that shame our soothing lies).
Have you broken trail on snowshoes? mushed your huskies up the river,
Dared the unknown, led the way, and clutched the prize?
Have you marked the map’s void spaces, mingled with the mongrel races,
Felt the savage strength of brute in every thew?
And though grim as hell the worst is,
can you round it off with curses?
Then hearken to the Wild – it’s wanting you.
Have you suffered, starved and triumphed,
groveled down, yet grasped at glory,
Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole?
“Done things” just for the doing, letting babblers tell the story,
Seeing through the nice veneer the naked soul?
Have you seen God in His splendors,
heard the text that nature renders?
(You’ll never hear it in the family pew).
The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do things –
Then listen to the Wild – it’s calling you.
They have cradled you in custom,
they have primed you with their preaching,
They have soaked you in convention through and through;
They have put you in a showcase; you’re a credit to their teaching –
But can’t you hear the Wild? – it’s calling you.
Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
There’s a whisper on the night-wind,
there’s a star agleam to guide us,
And the Wild is calling, calling…let us go.

Robert W. Service : The Call of the Wild 


This is my new house and almost all the art is mine except the last one which they left and I am keeping.
Ruthie baptised the place by eating a bunch of grass and then barfing all over the living room and kitchen so I feel really good about it.