#ask me things. please.

[himblebo]

20. ?

If you were to cultivate a fruit orchard, what would you grow?

PEARS I fucking love pears. I have a pear tattooed on my ribcage. Also it’s a little sexy when you bite into a ripe pear and it’s… juicy….

And because I’ve looked into it before, I know that it’s important to have multiple pear trees and varieties because of how they pollinate. But I’d also grow one or two other fruits to give my pollinators some variety. So let’s say cherries and plums because I do love a stone fruit.

Plus there doesn’t just have to be TREES in an orchard so obviously we need strawberries. And to extend our growing season we need some colder weather plants like blueberries—and fuck it, let’s bring back the cultivation of blackcurrant in the US! It was actually banned for awhile in the early 20th century because it’s a common carrier of some particular fungus that particularly effects a lot of trees native to the US (or something along those lines) and now it’s allowed again but people haven’t grown it here for so long that it’s just like. Not really a standard crop.

Luckily I’m in Connecticut and we have Currant Affair, which is a Connecticut based farm/company that grows blackcurrant and sells blackcurrant juice (Ribena but not a concentrate it’s just regular juice).

Welcome to my orchard let’s make various pies

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

Yall remember how Texas had that "report an abortion" form that they had to take down after a week?

Well, Missouri has one, only it's for reporting transgender concerns.

Comrades. Friends. Romans. Countrymen. You know what to do.

[dustykneed]

survival is an act of rebellion. jim loves you SO MUCH. i hope this finds all of us who need it today. please stay alive so we can make it out together. sending so much love and strength

[peeperscreeperz]

A compilation of all the mlp fankids pairings I've done so far!

Rarijack, Twijack!

Raritwi and Twipie!

AppleDash and Twidash!

Flutterdash and pinkieshy!

And lastly so far, Rarishy and Fluttercord!

I have 5 more between the mane 6 to do kill me.

[oobbbear]

I want to post this here too because I’ve seen it happen a few times

Please understand that there are cultural differences and language differences, if you see this happening let the person clarify what they meant, that person might just not be familiar with words the western side of the internet use

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Being someone who read Under The Red Hood and came out with the firm belief that, for Jason, it's not about killing Joker, it's about Jason wanting proof Batman would choose him over the Joker (bc shelia chose the joker). Makes seeing any other media where it's all about just wanting the Joker dead is a teeny bit frustrating. to be honest

Jason could've killed the Joker himself, really, really easily. Jason kidnaps the Joker before the confrontation. I can't open my comic for a reference right now, but it felt like he had the Joker for quite a bit before the confrontation. He had him. He beat him up with a crowbar. He had every single opportunity to kill the Joker himself, but he didn't because that wasn't his goal. Make no mistake, he did plan for the Joker to be dead by the end of it, but do you see what im trying to say here

Edit: If I knew this post was gonna get 1000+ notes I would've tried to word it better or something, this was a rant I made on the way to the grocery store 😭

It's not about making Batman kill either. When Batman says he won't kill, Jason adjusts and goes, 'Let ME kill the Joker or kill me to stop me' instead. The test is all about Batman choosing him. The whole final confrontation is Jason's first death again. The parent, The Joker, and the explosives. It even ends with Jason unable to move as a bomb goes off right next to him again because the parent didn't choose Jason. And instead tried finding an option that'd benefit them and (consequencely) letting the Joker walk, again, lol, lmao <-in agony

[akanemnon]

That's two jailbreaks in one day!

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[catgrandpa]

Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed’ may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.

Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

Plot Removed.

Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!

Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.

Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.

Just a phone call.

In 5 hours.

…

Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.

Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.

Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.

Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.

It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.

This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-

Assess the situation.

A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.

Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.

Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.

No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.

Dragging claw marks.

Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.

A trail of dirt.

Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.

Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.

He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.

As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.

In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-

No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.

Hope only brings heartbreak.

What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.

Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.

Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.

Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.

“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.

Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.

“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.

“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”

Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-

“Robin!”

Robin jerks to a stop.

Tim reached out his hand.

“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”

Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?

Hope only brings heartbreak.

His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.

His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.

“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”

A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.

“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”

Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[caruliaa]

staff still hasn't given me polls, what should i do?

🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪 their moms 69%

🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪 their dads 31%

grace image os i get to look at her

[floofanflurr]

Comic under the cut:

“And all the kids cried out, ‘Please stop, you're scaring me’”

“I can't help this awful energy”

“Goddamn right, you should be scared of me”

-Control by Halsey

(There is no player influence or Chara taking control in this comic… just a scared kid trying to protect themself the only way they know how.)

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[heartorbit]

find another role, carry on the show

[sapphorror]

The Narrator's perspective only gets more horrifying the longer you think about it. Like, imagine being an Echo of yourself—one of many, all made to serve a very particular purpose and knowingly living on borrowed time, if 'living' is even the right word for your current state of pseudo-existence.

You've inherited the mission of a dead man—it's literally the only thing left that you can do before fading, so you sure as hell better believe in it; the alternative would be unbearable. Only you keep failing. With every loop that you don't remember, your lack of agency in this situation becomes starker—you can influence small things, sure, but it becomes increasingly clear that you have no real power, no matter how personally invested you are in the events unfolding in front of you. You are, after all, only an Echo. You've forfeited the right to meaningfully engage with the world.

Worse—every loop you're made aware of is another time you've failed, with unimaginable consequences, though you had no control over these previous iterations of yourself and can't even learn from their mistakes. Everyone around you is operating on a shared perception of reality that you are not part of, will never be part of. After a few repetitions, you are, ironically, the least informed person in the room. All you have left to go on is an evidently outdated script. At the same time, everyone else is experiencing a contiguous version of you, comprised of parts that are, in some sense, also you, while at the same time existing at a complete remove from your current perception of self. Whatever you don't know you did—that's you now. You are, after all, only an Echo. You've forfeited the right to define your own identity, never mind know what it is.

Even worse—this has trapped you within a stagnant hell of your own creation. Nothing you say or do really matters in terms of your own self (the rest of the world is a separate issue entirely). Anything you've come to believe—say, for totally hypothetical example, that you were wrong actually and your envisioned paradise is really a hell beyond any you had the capacity to envision—has about as much permanence as a drawing in the sand. 'You' will continue, exactly as you were, no matter how much you might like to change your behavior. Every possible future has already been set in stone. You are, after all, only an Echo. You've forfeited the right to say anything you haven't already said.

For some reason, no part of any of this has made you feel more comfortable and at peace with the general concept of finality.

The really, truly absolute worst part, though?

There is no one for you to blame but yourself. And that's exactly what turns your story into such a tragedy.

[aphel1on]

AURGH auwarghh the autistic parental trauma... the epi was wacky hijinks then dropped this on us out of nowhere... (sobs) laios... laiiiiooooos