lawn stories

Everyone’s waiting with baited breath for Stardew Valley to come out on a handheld/portable console and I’m sitting here rocking back and forth in my rocking chair like, “Back in my day, that was called Harvest Moon DS, sonny.”

anonymous asked:

I am so in love with your work!! It's so unique. Do you teach art or would you consider teaching it someday?

Thank you! Honestly though, I think I’d make a terrible art teacher. I’d be too proud of everyone to grade them realistically. A student could walk into class with a half-finished macaroni necklace and I’d be like “Well, Jason, the assignment was to paint a landscape in oils, but, frankly…the passion in your work is something I can’t deny. I’m giving you an A, and also fifty dollars.”

and instead of a final critique I’d just throw a barbecue and we’d all play badminton on the lawn and tell ghost stories when it got dark

and when the administration asks to see my students’ portfolios I’d just say “Isn’t the real portfolio…the friends we made along the way?” and be fired immediately

Mercury

Because Prompto can kick anyone’s ass

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tx_snakewrangler Every once in awhile I try to get my bigger snakes outside for some natural sun and fresh air. I have 1.2 (1 male, 2 female) eastern indigo snakes, a federally threatened snake that occurs in Florida, Georgia, and a tiny piece of Alabama (historically, at least). My red theoated female in particular goes into double-chin, full cobra defensive mode when she gets outside, puffing up with air. She really is full of hot air though, she doesn’t bite.

I JUST HAD AN EPIPHANY

So, you know the amazing cinematic masterpiece that is Gnomeo and Juliet (2011)? If not, go watch it right now and then come back.

Now I’m probably not the first one to realize this, but oh well, I’ve already gotten worked up.

So, my favorite character, arguably the best damn character other than maybe Nanette, is a pink plastic lawn flamingo by the name of Featherstone.

Featherstone. Do you know who else’s name is Featherstone. Well none other than the creator of plastic lawn flamingos himself: Don Featherstone.

Suddenly my whole life makes sense…

In the Arms of Justice Pt 22 (Cop!Bucky x reader)

Characters: reader x Detective Barnes, Steve, Tony, Pepper, Sharon, Clint, Natasha, OC Sarah and Maggie Rogers. (Most only mentioned)

Summary: Reader is a witness to a crime, tying her to the investigation as well as the police involved. She never would have guessed how that one night would continue to change her life years later.

Warnings: Fluff, some angst. Some anxiety, also blood, murder, weapon and death mentions (none of it graphic), violence against women, gritty police drama tv show kind of feel.

Word Count: 1263

Tags at the bottom. TAG LIST IS CLOSED, I’M SO SORRY.

A/N: Welp. We’re nearing the end! I’ve got one more part planned and then we’ll have to say goodbye to Detective Barnes. At least for a while. I’m so grateful to all of you for your passion and support for this series. As always, your comments and feedback mean the world to me. Thank you!!! 

<<<Part 21   Part 22   Epilogue>>> 

In the Arms of Justice Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

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Originally posted by yourlipbalm

Previously: 

You laughed as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you to his side. Getting lost in his gaze for a moment, you pecked a kiss to his lips and then flicked your eyes to the side to see someone approaching.

“You ready for this?” you asked Bucky, seeing the tight line of his lips.

Taking a deep breath, he grasped your hand and nodded. “Time to face the music.”

_______________

Stepping forward a few feet with you beside him, Bucky stopped in front of the goateed, dark-haired Captain. He looked vastly different than how you had seen him previously in his office and in court, which was always in a finely tailored suit. Instead, he was currently dressed in jeans and a black band t-shirt with an unzipped hooded sweatshirt over it. It was a jarring sight, like seeing your teacher outside of school or something. Bizarre.

“Captain Stark,” Bucky greeted him, extending his hand.

“Barnes,” the Captain replied, shaking the man’s hand roughly before releasing it and turning toward you. “Ms. (Y/L/N), it’s good to see you in one piece. Mostly,” he taunted, nodding slightly to the wound on your side.

Keep reading

In fifty years, I don’t know how I’ll explain to my grandchildren that the scariest game ever made had me playing a character named Eggs Benedict who enjoys casual bongo music, romantic vampire soap operas and exotic butters.

love is nothing [chapter one]

(picture credit)


summary: In the end, she’ll always be a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, and there’s only so much rebelling a Huckleberry like him can do. [AU, the gang grows up in Texas, where Maya’s an outsider growing up in a trailer park and Lucas is a golden boy living in suburbia; paths cross, sparks fly, and love is fragile]  | senior year, high school |


i.

When Maya was a little girl, she and her mama used to take little trips. They’d pile into Katy’s beat up old Sedan with its rusty door and the heater that worked one day and not the next, and they’d drive around. Katy called it house hunting, and as a little girl, Maya let herself believe it was a dream that would one day come to fruition. They would drive by the nicest houses in the whole town, with their green lawns and multiple stories. Their mailboxes with the family surname painted prettily on the side. The flowerbeds kept in pristine condition, looking like something out of a magazine for Home & Garden.

And sometimes, with their bag of drive-thru McDonalds, they’d idle by a curb and watch as a family sat down at their dining room table, held hands as they said Grace, and then dug into a home cooked meal on their best dishes. With each house they passed, Maya would declare “I want that one,” or “That one’s my new favorite,” and Katy would nod and say, “Yeah, it’s nice, isn’t it? You think it’s got a pool? We’ll need a nice pool in the summers.” Together, they would map out what each house looked like on the inside, guessing how many bedrooms and bathrooms there were, and how big the kitchen was and what kind of food they made there. Until it grew late and Maya would yawn and Katy would check the time and mutter that she had to get up early tomorrow for a shift at the diner. So they would take that beat-up old car back over to their own neighborhood, climb the steps to their trailer, and return to reality.

For years, Maya would build up the image of her perfect house in her head, with everything her and her mother could ever want or need. Later, when she found an interest in drawing, she would put memory to paper and map out what every inch of it would look like. She’d tuck that memory away in a musty drawer of a desk she rarely used, to collect dust and the cobwebs of a time in her life when she believed in miracles.

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