#I like frogs and also bees

[secondbeatsongs]

I need you to know that today my boss told me I should add a hobbies and interests section to my resume, and I was incapable of responding because I was staring into the void thinking about how I've spent many hours over the past few days making a powerpoint presentation about my favorite porn director, and I really don't know how to reword that as a marketable skill

someone at work: hey what are your hobbies? :)

me (internally): I have no way of explaining to you the sheer depth and breadth of the rabbit holes I dig and then envelop myself in on a regular basis, following obscure trails down pathways nobody else would seek to tread, satisfying the deep curiosity of my mind by becoming obsessed with odd media and strange projects that would confuse or even upset anyone outside of my small inner circle of like-minded internet weirdos

me: uhh. uhhh. knitting, I guess. and embroidery. stuff like that

person at work: oh, cool!

person at work: what music do you like? :)

me: ...

me: anything weird

[crossbackpoke-check]

blessed be (lorscher bienensegen) | telling the bees (wiþ ymbe)

"Bees" [remixed, abridged], Claudia Emerson // "Letter to Someone Living Fifty Years from Now" [remixed. abridged], Matthew Olzmann // "Letter to my Great, Great Grandchild" [remixed, abridged], J.P. Grasser | Len Redkole, Nina Weiss, Brian Babineau, Christian Peterson, Mitchell Leff, Dave Isaac, Megan DeRuchie

[shortqueershakespeare]

when you have two time blind chronically late bitches organising phone calls there is not a chance both of you will ever be ready at the assigned time

[ellraiser]

Hey! I am absolutely IN LOVE with Mudborne. I played the first demo but I think I'm gonna reinstall it to see the new demo. I LOVED Apico, and I think I'm really gonna enjoy Mudborne. I can't wait till it comes out!

Thank you so much! Lots have changed since that first gamejam version, the new demo is much closer to what the game will be like - albeit a little bit information overload in some parts just so I can show off all the main mechanics in one go The starting region of the full game is what the demo is loosely based off but it'll be a bit more slower paced and handholdy before it then kicks you on your slimy butt and tells you to go work out the rest!

[snekdood]

i both love and hate that i keep finding different moths in my house. why are they here? i dont want them to get caught on the sticky traps i put out for the flies. but also, very fun to see so many different varieties and knowing my garden probably plays a role somehow.

[kingcrimsonvs]

me, daily: Hmm! how can i make this about my precious doppio ?

[x-crowmancer-x]

Had some suddenly wanting to redesign my sona hours. I'm not quite sure about some parts of this design, but it's a start.

Crowmancerx (Crow) is a space jelly clown exploring the universe and collecting things along the way. They love meeting all different kinds of people and is fascinated by their interests and hobbies. He may not fully understand what he learns, but they enjoy when people are happy, using that energy as a source of nourishment. They store their many treasures in their Nebulus Nesting Bag, an item which holds a portal to a little planet somewhere in the universe where Crow keeps his many treasures. Crow isnt really sure where he's from, but he isnt too bothered by it. They have an entire universe to figure that out.

[witchmatronmuu]

frog lord

[tj-crochets]

Crochet a spider lol

lol believe it or not a spider was the first crochet pattern I ever wrote!

I do also have an Even Gianter Spider on my list of things to make because I saw a picture of a giant spider plushie and now I want to make one

[gingerdusk]

Trying to figure out TP Link's diet based on his environment.

Livestock-wise, we've got cuccos and goats. That means

Eggs

Milk

Butter

Cheese

Potentially meat, but I don't think they get eaten unless they're old. Too valuable otherwise | EDIT: Oh yeah you need to breed goats every couple years to get milk. Add in cabrito veal!

And we know for a fact that Ordon Goat Cheese specifically is a thing. Stamped wheel and everything.

There's also fish

And bees/hornets(? It's called bee larva, but the enemy is a Hylian Hornet)

Useful for bait, but Link can eat them.

Did some more research, and apparently in Japan they eat wasp larvae? Specifically in Kushihara. So I'm counting it.

Then plants-wise we have pumpkins

And...corn. Somehow. I've never seen corn growing, but Link has some hanging in his house, so it exists.

I'm choosing to believe it comes from these plants that grow in patches around Ordon.

That gives us a lot. We've got

Cornstarch

Cornmeal

Corn oil

Corn shoots

Pumpkin seeds

Pumpkin seed oil

Pumpkin flour

Pumpkin blossoms

No source of sugar, but depending on how the pumpkins in Ordon taste, they could be naturally sweet. Like pie pumpkins. Also corn syrup is a thing if it's a sweet corn. So corn syrup needs cream of tartar which comes from grapes and apples and such. It's a byproduct of wine. No corn syrup.

Edit: Malt sugar, though!

Now for hypothetical foods.

Ordon is surrounded by pine trees, so that adds pine needle tea and pine nuts to the mix. I was a little worried about species, but apparently there are a lot of pine trees that make edible seeds, so on the list it goes.

Then there are frogs near Rusl and Uli's house, wild songbirds on cliffs, and a squirrel that talks to Link directly, so those are huntable sources of meat.

Is horse grass a cattail? Maybe? Initially, I thought it was—the ends look like cattail seedpuffs, but the leaves are completely different.

I want to treat them like cattails. Cattails that also are probably the main food source for Epona and the goats.

If we do that, that means, on top of all the other uses cattails have like stuffing and tinder and antiseptic, we get

Roots

Shoots

Ground seeds

Can't find a good match for hawk grass though. Concluding that that's not edible. Equivalent exchange and all.

Side note, how do you think horse grass spreads? It's almost always in groups of two or more plants, so that suggests rhizomes, but the image of Link picking one up to blow and stuffing flying out the end of the horseshoe is hilarious to me.

Up next, there are ferns, primarily near trees. After very careful and way-too-deep analysis of a pixelated fern's leaves, I think it's bracken fern.

Which is mildly poisonous.

And also edible.

On the list it goes!

Then finally, Sera has some kind of herb hanging in her shop.

I don't know what it is. I'm calling it Ordon Spice. Congratulations, Ordon Pumpkin Spice is now a thing.

[clairewritesfanfics]

His favorite pet names for you (Invincible Variants)

Characters: Flaxan, Full Mask, Head Cap, Maskless, Mohawk, Omni-Mark, Prisoner, Shiesty, Sinister, Target, Viltrumite

Flaxan Mark

beloved, darling, LOVE, sugar

“It's okay, I got you. Go back to sleep, love.”

Full Mask Mark

SWEETHEART, SWEETIE, angel, baby, honey, cutie, princess

“Hey, sweetie, I'm gonna be late...again."

Head Cap Mark

baby, babe, princess, hot stuff, gorgeous, the missus (he will use this even when you're not married)

“Sorry, can’t come, the missus is waiting for me.”

Maskless Mark

He occasionally calls you with baby or sweetie, but prefers using your name or variants of it.

“Good morning, did you sleep well, sweetie?”

Mohawk Mark

angel, baby, babe, PRINCESS, hot stuff, pretty, gorgeous, beautiful, sexy, cutie, doll

This one seems to love using pet names instead of your actual name.

“Easy, easy, I know you’re excited but you gotta breathe, gorgeous.”

No Goggles Mark

angel, babe, baby, honey, sweetheart, sweetie, mine, the missus (he'll also call you this even when you're not married)

“Guess who got off work early and cooked dinner, baby!”

Omni-Mark

darling, love, honey, DOVE

HELP why does it suit him so much? You’re his precious dove. (I dunno why but him using it is music to my delusional ears.)

“Hm? What’s wrong? Bad dream? Okay, come over here, dove…”

Prisoner Mark

ANGEL, baby, pretty, sweetheart

Get it? Because through everything, you’re the one who gives him faith. 🥺

“You were all that I thought about, angel.”

Shiesty Mark

BABE, BABY, pretty, doll, sweetheart (sometimes mockingly), princess (often mockingly)

“A'ight, princess, I’m sorry–I’m sorry that you think you deserve an apology.”

Sinister Mark

HONEY, angel, babe, baby, pretty, beautiful, gorgeous

You like to joke how he's your "busy bee" because he is always zooming around in that black and yellow suit.

Target Mark

babe, baby, princess

“This one and that one–wrap them up, and use the design that my princess likes.” 

Viltrumite Mark

BELOVED, WIFE, sweetheart, darling, honey, cabbage, flower, my little frog, my heart, my soul, my star

He is quite fond of this Earthly custom of using pet names, he even uses the most unique and random ones because they sound nice. (Also, I headcanon that he has a fascination for frogs for… reasons hehe)

“Look at what I found hopping around the garden. Can we keep him, flower?”

author’s note: Sorry for the lack of personality for Maskless and Flaxan. Unlike the others, both Marks are...amorphous to me right now. Though I do headcanon that Flaxan has beef with the GDA (of course, it has something to do with his love, ahem, us) and that he's significantly older than the rest of his counterparts.

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

Disclaimer: The images above are not mine but are screenshots from the Invincible TV series.

[squiggle-duck]

For sprout fight 2025 \owo/

Brain saw clover as a prompt and thought :o oo a giant clover, like an umbrella, like in animal crossing! Except not like animal crossing because the only leaf shaped umbrella it has is not a clover at all but it's been two weeks and I still can't figure out where the image in my head has actually come from BUT, if there's an umbrella then it's probably raining! If it's raining there could be puddles, maybe they could be wearing wellies which maybe fits the rain boots prompt and there could be a frog!because I think frogs and rain are a thing and I had an idea for animating it.

Also opted to use the lotus flower palette for the characters cause I'm a sucker for anything pink and green, and then I thought I could use one of the more monochrome palettes to do a background. I originally thought I'd use the honey bee palette for that but given the shade the puddles turned out in that, I opted for morning glories instead, which I think looks a little more whimsical fairy forest-ish too :P

Extra:

I was so confident the frog would be so easy to add. And then I tried to draw it. I promise I have seen a frog before xD please enjoy my many frog attempts. I started calling the one I went with meatball, got too attached , he is now my idiot son and I had to go with him.

[snekdood]

the cringe nihilistic "personal impact means nothing so why even try" vs the chad "or i could be one of the only people in my apartment complex that grows native plants and lets native animals live in them in what is otherwise a desolate hellscape of grass"

[innisgreens]

hello, little doves!! 🕊️ to celebrate the announcement / release of THE SIMS 4: ENCHANTED BY NATURE and the long-awaited fairy occult type (i’m very much hoping and assuming), i’ve created my very first challenge — a whimsical, fairy-themed CAS challenge!

i’ve kept it short and sweet with seven prompts, and i’ve also included some vague visualizers for each for anyone who’d like a little extra inspo — but of course, feel free to go in whatever direction the prompt takes you!

𖡼.𖤣𖥧 woodland whimsy — a fairy cas challenge 𖡼.𖤣𖥧

one — dewdrop whisperer

a visualizer, if needed: soft petals, early light, mist-kissed lashes, bleary eyes, fresh fawn tracks, the hush before birdsong, forgotten earl grey tea left to cool, wild peony, young clover, sweet birch sap.

two — mushroom guardian

a visualizer, if needed: damp moss underfoot, warm soil, toadstools, a log fallen across a bog, iridescent beetle shells, the low thrum of the forest, crackling underbrush, frogs croaking in a shaded hollow, spiced cedar, moss-covered bark, black pepper, dried sage.

three — storm sprite

a visualizer, if needed: wild wind, static on the skin, the sharp bite of ozone, blades of grass, petrichor, a sky split in two, crushed violets, wild mint, windchimes, laughter on the wind, the flutter of startled birds.

four — moonlight trickster

a visualizer, if needed: a silver grin, a firefly trail, a giggle at a campfire, full moonbeams, cricket symphonies, night-blooming jasmine, smoked vanilla, star anise, plum juice.

five — keeper of the wild garden

a visualizer, if needed: smoked rosemary, a whispered secret, wildflower honey, the shimmer of a bee’s wing, berry-stained fingers, sun-warmed thyme, rosehip tea, bubbling brews on a stove, beeswax candles being lit.

six — crystal-winged regality

a visualizer, if needed: a sunbeam reflecting off a still pond, a monarch butterfly wing, the forest canopy, polished river stones, white amber, silver fir, the first frost, echoes through high trees.

seven — heir of lost things

a visualizer, if needed: forgotten buttons in the soil, a threadbare blanket, the damp earth beneath laundry hung to dry, a call from afar, chipped tea sets, the memories of last time, dried lavender, dusty rose, faded cardamom.

please tag me at @innisgreens or @cutietrait and use the #innisgreenscas tag so i can see your lovely creations!

[syluses]

how the end begins

() chapter one. masterlist for the series here.

a ghost x reader x soap story set in the zombie apocalypse┊ please see content warnings and possible triggers on the masterlist!! you can also read this story on ao3 here :)

The cities are hit the hardest.

They don’t bother much with targeting the countryside, but the disease manages to slip through the winding rural roads regardless, and survivors die in those dirt paths trying to escape the boroughs.

Out in this old, dilapidating barn though, perched up on the floor overseeing the one below, hidden behind a ring of bales, it’s safer.

You’ve heard rumors about how it went down. When things first started, the news flared with flashy headlines and alarms rattled throughout town- almost every electronic buzzing with a robotic voice- but it was still so new and the story never finished developing by the time everything crashed and burned. Nobody’s in front of the telly anymore, nobody’s scooping the paper off their porch step. There is just life and death out in these parts and that’s all- normality doesn’t exist anymore and probably won’t ever again.

Humanity can’t come back from this; It doesn’t.

That used to instill a sense of existential, poignant dread in you, the cold reality of it all wresting your hope away and tossing it into a deep cavernous ditch. But now you know there’s better things to worry about, better things to let occupy your mind.

Thinking wastes time. Time is precious. And you can only last so long without food or water or another weak prayer thrown up to God.

(Today, you pray He’ll answer the last.)

Before sunset- a whole handful of hours- you set out from the enclosed barnyard, now barren and crawling with maggots where the stinky remnants of a cow lay (bees swarm it, carving out a hive in its rotted ribcage. You’d risk a finger in for a slab of honey, but you’re allergic and the sight of the worms wards you off just fine), to hunt. You try your luck westward this time, untucking your gun from the waistband of your pants, keeping it tight in your fist the whole time, head on a swivel for freaks or scampering critters. Anything that moves. Anything that has meat on its bones.

The untainted kind.

By the day’s end, you’re rolling on your cot, your bag lumpy under your head as your tummy clenches on nothing. Hunger pinches and pulls your gut. Fuck. You haven’t eaten for four days now- by experience, you know you can last at least a few more, but the last thing you ate was a small mound of wild berries, and they had upset your stomach and shortly thereafter pumped it. The last thing to pass your lips was not food but vomit.

Tomorrow, you squeeze your eyes shut and nuzzle up in the hay, flaxen needles pricking your bones, I will hunt again.

This time you’ll try east again- worst comes to worst, you can whittle down a wooden spear and head for the creek; maybe, if luck is on your side, you’ll snag a smelt or a few bite-sized fish.

Minnows.

Crawfish.

Anything. At this point, anything.

For now, you force yourself to settle.

Up in the overhead loft, it’s safer, shrouded in shadows that pour from the rafters, the big window latched and allowing only slivers of moonlight to weasel through the decrepit cracks.

Crickets chafe their legs from the surrounding field. Frogs hiccup and roll their tongues. A mosquito buzzes by your ear and you slap it to oblivion, your cheek smarting red as you, with half a mind, decide it’s better off not to eat it. Not that you’re not hungry enough for it- because you most certainly are- but the bug is so insubstantial it won’t do you any favors.

Who knows if it’s carrying something, anyway. Better to leave it.

As silence comes, you pray for sleep to come and save you from it. It breeds negativity, lets the creative part of your mind start to run, really reminds you of how fucked up you’ve become. Hungry and broken and lonely.

Guilty. 

So, so guilty.

Awful memories revive themselves like a bony hand from its grave, bent on taking you down with them.

Part of you wants to let yourself be buried. Once and for all. It’s morbid, maybe, but it’s hard to not feel a little influenced by your circumstances when all you can see is the darkness they bring.

Sometimes you can almost will yourself to believe it’s all a bad dream, a rotten nightmare so vivid that you can feel it in your fingertips and trace it in the scars it left hugging your limbs. About six years into the end, not quite delusional enough to partake in complete fantasy- yet- you shake off the tempting world of make-believe, put on your big girl pants, and convince yourself that stupidity will get you killed if you indulge in it.

And the real world- the dead world- says that pretending what you see and feel to not be real is a cheap ticket to a gruesome death.

Despite it all, the depression that mars your mind when it screams survivesurvivesurvive like it’s the only word it knows- your trembling bones when your hand scrapes the bottom of your depleted food box- the singular photo of your brother that’s flimsy from holding it so much- you can’t just let yourself die.

…If you die, so do your memories of him.

And you’re too stubborn anyway. Too… lucky. At all the worst times only.

You’ve been close to it, you know. Sometimes it just gets too much and you slam that pistol to your head, teeth chattering with hunger and pain as old, long-dead faces resurface and come back to haunt you- and almost without thinking you pinch the trigger, and hard.

It jams. Clucks its tongue at you like, stupid girl. Now try it again, try your luck and its apparent love for you- have one last go at it.

You don’t. You never attempted a second shot, feeling deep in your gut that that bullet, the one you’d hoped had your name scrawled on it, getting stuck was a small act of God. Besides, too many people have pulled your bacon from the fire for you to just jump back onto the grill... It’d be a huge slap to the face of your neighbor, some of the folks from the old, now dissolved group, your—

Your big brother.

You let out a long, whistling breath through your nose. Hay brushes your cheek. Your belly howls.

You’re glad for the fence hiked up around this place and the yawning, grassy planes of ochre that border it, the remote location hidden far from the city; it’d be an embarrassing death if a zombie were to hear your growling belly and saunter on over before taking a chunk from your neck.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, God, let me win.

ꕤ

The next day is similarly unlucky.

You feel unfortunate, chewing on the gummy insides of your cheeks as you wade through the tall weeds empty-handed, bare legs chafing on the strands. The barn is just as you left it upon your return.

The glare of the sun clumps your lashes with sweat, but you think it’s tears that blur your vision when frustration rears its head in you and you shove your pistol in your waistband, opting for the spear you sculpted instead.

I’ll just go look for fish, then. You decide with a huff before setting out towards the nearby stream.

Balancing on a bank of rocks lining the river, you fold your thighs over your calves and wait.

You’re pretty good at that. Back when you were younger, you and your siblings would gather on the front porch step and bet money on how long it’d actually take your drunken father to careen into the driveway and stagger out of his beat-up truck. More often than not, your piggy bank would be the one to remain perfectly intact. You took pride in that; some people are just easy to read and you suppose your father- his addictions- made him all too predictable.

But for as good as you are at waiting, you’re not nearly as fond of it.

Sunlight glitters on the liquid surface. It gives the somewhat murky water an almost lemony veneer, and the blue sky- clear in comparison to some days prior- is mirrored on it. The water is usually translucent, the sandy floor and all its wedged, mossy rocks perfectly visible from the bank, but the recent storm has washed in all sorts of grime and the color is still brownish.

Debris floats past your perch every so often, bunches of leaves and splintered, small branches racing past like paper boats in a gutter. It’s hard to see, but with your spear topped at the end of your crooked arm, you squint your eyes- wipe sweat from your dripping brow every so often- and bide your time.

Patience. Patience. Because good things, your grandad used to tell you as he bobbed you on his fat thigh, come to those who—

Something winks beneath the surface, a collage of colors flashing all at once. Sunlight bouncing off a scaly back.

—Wait.

Your pointed stick whistles through the air (oh, it looked like a fat one too; your mouth is watering at the mere idea of a juicy, tender fish to sling over your shoulder before roasting and devouring). It curves as it breaches the surface, slowing its own descent.

You catch another glimpse of something holographic beneath the drift, this time splitting in the farthest direction from you.

There’s no sound but the continuous thrush of the running stream and the leafy boughs overhead tossing their limbs against each other. But the should-be peaceful ambience resembles a cruel, bellowing laugh.

Ever since Mark, your brother, ‘went away’, you’ve been inwardly terrified that you’ll be good for nothing. And right now? your fears seem pretty grounded.

You clench your jaw, sweep the spear up from the rippling surface, and try again.

And again.

And- Just one more time.

Around an hour passes of expending your precious, rapidly depleting energy, the early hours of morning meshing into noon- and you have your final go at spear-fishing.

Nothing.

You battle off tears on the short trek back, the stirrings of panic starting up within you as your belly growls loudly. It churns with bile and the creek water you just inhaled in mouthfuls using your bowl-shaped palms.

They have callouses on them, little bumps under the knuckle that don’t register feeling when you experimentally prod them with your fingers. But they do tingle, though. And they do eventually start to burn when you clutch the gun too tight, or hold your hand a little too close to the small bonfire when you try to warm yourself later that evening. Salt wetting your cheeks that you greedily lick up- if only to have something to fill the taste of hunger in your cottony mouth. If you had meat, fuck it all you’d season it with your tears if you had to.

At least, then, crying would mean something. Crying means nothing.

Cranky, alone, and on a fast track to starvation, you will yourself to count your blessings. 

The slightly tattered but otherwise intact picture of your brother in your bag. The moon that’s cleaved in two tonight, fixated behind a string of grey, clumpy clouds that have you thankful for the crisp air as they pass overhead, replacing the hot sun. Nighttime brings a mild chill that soothes the sunburn of day. For all of that, you’re grateful.

I mean, above all, you’re alive.

You’re… Alive.

And you don’t know why- you really don’t think you even want to be, which makes you feel so guilty because Mark-

He—

Sat on the barn loft’s window, the door of it flung wide as your legs dangle from the wooden edge, you tip your head back to watch the sky. Numbly, you drink the sight of it in.

Yawning, infinite, kissed with streaks of navy and a deep, intense grey. It’s beautiful. But to the yellowed moon and the cosmos— you mean nothing to either of them. 

Knee-deep in an apocalyptic shithole, with zombies lurking within every shadow and sunbeam, the better part of humanity nullified, there’s something oddly… comforting. In knowing all of this means absolutely nothing to the thing above that resembles a big truckle of cheese.

You don’t know for how long, but you watch the stars. They blink back at you.

ꕤ

Today you’re headed for town.

All the forest animals must have gone on vacation, you bitterly decide as you pack your bag (a canteen of water, some invaluable souvenirs you absolutely cannot travel without, and the little weaponry you have).

Birds have migrated early, deer have tucked their tails and scampered off to other groves; bunnies are hiding deep in the bellies of old, hollowed out trees and even fish have swam upstream. Nothing to kill and eat.

Away. Everything has went away.

As you remind yourself of your dire conditions, you end up packing a bit more, mulling over your situation with the little energy you have left. 

And then, you end up packing everything- which admittedly isn’t much- keeping your personal bag as your main inventory, the zipper shrieking as it struggles to close.

Clothes, old cans and empty bottles (because just in case, right? Who knows what they’ll be useful for, but you won’t kick yourself for it later if you find yourself needing them). An extra pocket knife to supplement the one tucked in your bra should that one chip or grow dull (or more probable: get left behind in a squishy, grey skull) and a little container of pills.

You’re not even sure what they do. But it must be worth it- medicine and drugs are a staple to the remnants of humanity that scrape by, and you’ve seen how vicious groups have gotten over just a handful of tablets- it makes rivals. Enemies. Dead men.

The frugal part of you decided that it may come in handy one day, and therefore refused to part with it.

Then you leave the barnyard.

Because if there is nothing left to stay for, then you will not stay.

And you have nothing to stay for. Not anymore. Probably (and if the pills in your bag are anywhere as unpalatable as this simple truth, then you don’t want to swallow them) never again.

So you’ll just have to look for some place new. A beaten, mousey piece of you that still persists somewhere within you whispers like an afterthought, ‘some place better’, and you want to humor the little hope it has. Because it certainly has courage.

It has stupidity, too. Enough to spare.

You shake the negativity off-

“No, stop it.”

-worn out sneakers touching down on a rural, seemingly endless swath of concrete flanked by verdant trees. But deep down you wonder as you walk if you will see the moon again tonight. Starvation could snuff you out. Today could be the day one of the rotters sneak up on you, or that your guilt catches up to you. You wouldn’t be able to stop it if it did. Size is power. And guilt is big. Bigger than you.

No, stop it, you go to chide again, but you think better of it.

You need to save the energy.

[cressidagrey]

I wonder how Mark Webber is with little Bee, would be a fun short idea

-🎶

I like to think of him as her pseudo fun grandpa/uncle 😂 she only has Oscar‘s side of the family, because Felicity‘s family sucks, so she’s down a set of grandparents.

Mark adores Bee. She likes to climb him like a jungle gym and to ride around on his shoulders, because the view is better form up high.

(Also fun fact: Button the frog was a gift from Mark, and he’s named for Jenson Button 😂)