#this is the only way to learn

[balkanradfem]

Alright so, and I promise this is funny, I have been dealing with severe deficiency in 'making plants grow successfully'. It's going worse than any year but I'm also having a lot of fun with it, because I'm no longer discouraged by baby plants dying, I'm already germinating the next batch and I know I'll be just fine.

This year's weather has been so nice, gardening wise! We didn't have a crazy hot February like the last few years, it's been very frosty in fact, so that the trees didn't flower too soon and I love that for us, that is the promise of fruit, and also making me feel a bit more at ease that the weather, for now, isn't hectic.

The middle of March was nice and sunny, and I felt encouraged to put my baby plants outside, just for an hour or so every day, so they would get used to direct sunlight. I also noticed some of my baby plants turning purple, and I thought, AHA! Nitrogen deficiency, I can fix this by fertilizing them, so I did, a bit too much maybe, because 3 days later half of my tomatoes, and a bunch of other plants sadly died. Some of the plants actually showed signs of getting burned by the sun, but only after the 3rd day they were outside! You're telling me sun was fine for 2 days but then the 3rd day it was just too bright and you had to expire??

Some of the plants that did well initially, also ended up outside when it was, a bit more windy than they could handle. And I wasn't even home, by the time I got home, the plants were already lying horizontally, unable to fight the violent weather.

And this is funny because I take all of these risks every single year and I never had this many of them pan out badly, and never had this amount of seedlings die, but truth be told I do plant too many tomatoes every single year and I should maybe tone it down, 70% of my meals are tomato based at this point (it's so easy to conserve), and I should focus more on some beans and pumpkins.

So anyway, since seedlings are not vibing, I finally gather my senses to go to the actual garden one day, because I'm thinking, there will be cabbage savoy there, and spinach probably grew a bit by now, maybe I can have some fresh spinach! Maybe swiss chard grew and I could eat that, maybe there's a carrot that germinated and would make me happy.

So I bike to the garden and as soon as I get there I realize that everything I was hoping to harvest just went to seed. Two weeks I've been too sick and dealing with medical issues, and I couldn't check on the garden, and 2 days of warm temperatures and everything said bYE and went to make seeds?? The rapid change took me completely by surprise, I didn't think things would go to seed while we still had frosts. I stubbornly picked the cabbage deciding to just eat the little flowerbuds and leaves anyway, the flowers didn't open yet so with a bit more prep time, it's all edible. My spinach went to seed as well, the traitor. It's March!!!

As discouraging as all of this sounds, this is incredible for learning, because now I know that every single thing on this list has a good chance of happening this time of year, and I'll be able to make better choices next time. In fact, if all of this didn't happen now, it would probably happen any year from now on and I wouldn't be ready or expecting it. Next time I'll get all those cabbages before the sun touches them. I'll try growing spinach in the fall when it won't go to seed as easy, and I'll think twice before taking 3-4 risks at once with baby seedlings.

The baby seedlings who survived all this are the victors who are strong and resilient and probably can't be killed by any of my bad choices. Even if I have slightly less plants, I'll have the most powerful plants. The last batch I've planted seems to be growing rapidly, because the weather is light and warm now, and I've planted some flowers I've never had before! I'll have tansy on my garden, for the first time ever.

[cowboybrunch]

i love when characters get angry when they're frightened. shelter dog characters. i love when they bite, not able to tell the difference between a hand that feeds and a hand that strikes. there is no difference. a hand is a hand is a fist. i love characters that are deemed unadoptable. unlovable.

and i love when someone loves them. i love when someone sits with them, patient. they don't flinch at the snarling and snapping. they're not trying to fix it—there's nothing to be fixed. this is you, all of you, and ill wait. because one day, one day you'll take the treat. go on, draw my blood. spit and curse and rage. you're safe with me. one day, you'll feel safe with me.

[rameiixo]

another animation exercise, with okarun !

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

HOT, SINGLE, UNSTUDIED SPONGES. 3000 NAUTICAL MILES AWAY. Come sail the distance and read Tiger Tiger!

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Michael refuses to be gaslit on “THE BITE OF 83”

[niccolites]

friends with benefits!price except that is not how he views the situation

calling you both friends is a bit of a stretch, really you're his cute neighbour who always seems to need a pipe tightened under your sink, or your washing machine is always making a strange noise, if he could have a look?

and listen. you're a little lonely. inherited your parents house and the only neighbour that talks to you is the handsome older man next door who is barely there because of his work

you think you're being a bit forward when you bake him some muffins as a thank you the next time he's home. embarrassed at how earnest it is. his pupils blow wide at the sight of you standing in his doorway, bashful smile that quivers a little in the shadow of him

a tentative friendship, the barrier of neighbour just a hurdle as price views it

things come to a head when you cook him dinner and nervously gulp down glass after glass of wine. he nurses one and watches you. eyes like headlights and you have the quivering legs of a deer

bashful, shy, neighbour, acquaintance. these are weak-willed boundaries that you try to put in place, but price is always intent. driven. places a hand on your knee and accounts for the way you jump, the flex of flesh that absorbs your reactions. all catalogued, used against you

john just need you a little more loose, to understand things from his perspective. still so skittish, even with his head between your thighs, but his arm is a band around your middle, holding you firm until you finally get it

he lifts his head, your slick in his moustache and you're still so bashful even as your legs tremble

he bends you over the table with your home-cooked meal at your eye-line. feeds you his cock, smooths a hand down your spine until you melt into his praises

the next morning, beard burn on your inner thighs and cum leaking out of you from where he had turned you over and pushing your knees to your ears, 'until it took' he had said. you had been pretty out of it at that time. you sneak out. he lets you, eyes on you even as you think he is still asleep. you don't get it yet. that's fine, he'll get it through that surprisingly stubborn head of yours

every time he's back, he's at yours, lapping at your clit like its soothing him after a stressful time away. or you're at his, hands braced on the wall as he grunts behind you with each thrust.

its the most bizarre fwb situation you think anyone has been in, no time to talk about what is going on before he is dragging your mouth to his, thumb hard on your chin like he can stop the words before the curl on your tongue. fills your mouth with his spit then his cock to drown it out

you finally manage to slur out a joke about him being your fwb. your fucked out, draped out over his barrel chest, smoothing your hand through the hair there. he makes a disagreeing noise and you lift your head

he has your left hand in his, thumb on your ring finger. intent. driven. you're not getting it yet. living in that house, all on your own. lonely. he hears what you're trying to say sweetheart, that you're just too shy to articulate yet. i think we're well past friends, don't you think?

headlights. dear. the blank space before the crack of the crash. you let him tighten his hand around your ring finger.

[giantkillerjack]

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

[plain-text version of this post can be found under the cut]

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

Plain-text version:

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

P.S. Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

[nadiasna7]

What if WWX lived to see his forties in his original body (without the core, of course)

[ryssbelle]

Drew a bunch of Marinettes in a bunch of different artists styles it was a lot of fun!!

Artists who's styles I mimicked: @buggachat @hamsternamedmarinette @ladybeug @sabertoothwalrus and @anna-scribbles all epic artists 🤟😎

[lurking-loaf]

It's essential to teach them color theory when they're young so they understand how to mix colors. How else will you get art that's good enough for the fridge?

Day 6 of DCA Promptober - hues plus bonus animation of Sun imitating the Mac's wait cursor aka the Spinning Beach Ball of Doom

[littlefankingdom]

Seeing all those posts and fanfics where the batkids, especially Dick, calls Clark "uncle Clark", made me think.

If Dick calls Clark "uncle Clark", he probably started doing it BEFORE he ever referred to Bruce as his father. After all, another uncle doesn't erase any existing one, but accepting Bruce as his father was erasing John Grayson in Dick's mind, for multiple years. It makes sense for Dick's confused feelings about his situation to call Clark "uncle" before calling Bruce "dad".

So, I present you: Bruce being envious of Clark because Dick refers to him with a family's title but Bruce is just "B".

And in the same continuity: Dick being envious of Jason calling Bruce "dad" so easily.

For Dick, it feels as if the word is stuck in his throat. He can say it to joke around with others ("let's steal dad's car" he tells Jason), but to Bruce's face? He's afraid the world would end.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Eldritch/not-entirely-human Grunkle Stan stories have been eating away at my brain, so I have a silly little concept of Mimic!Stan.

He and his Mystery Shack are both mimics that lure tourists in as a literal "tourist trap" to gather and devour them! Since the house is alive, it raises a few (read: several) child safety concerns that lead to a LOT of rules to be created for Dipper and Mabel to follow when they eventually arrive, such as:

Be careful not to get lost in the winding hallways! The Mystery Shack is bigger on the inside, and you don't want to end up in the wrong areas.

Don't go through randomly appearing doors, they may eat you.

If you think you feel the walls around you breathing and the floor beneath you shifting, no, you don't.

If you think the walls feel a bit damp, you're imagining it.

Watch your fingers around windowsills! You wouldn't want to lose any of them.

Don't linger too long under the doorframes; it may start feeling like they are slowly constricting around you.

[metamatronic]

(ignore that i fully missed the ask button on the first attempt in my eagerness and accidentally unfollowed and refollowed)

Love your WilliamWasFramed!AU! It's such a fun and unique take on all the characters!

I'm curious about a few things 👀 How did "Eggs" and Springtrap bumping into each other at Fazbear's Frights that first time go? What's Phone Dude's thoughts on Springtrap and also the nightguard he chats on the phone with who's toootally not the same person? And if someone were to, say, write a fanfic of your AU, what'd be your ao3 username so the work can be properly gifted over there-

First Impressions Are Tough

Will eventually managed to convince the night-guard to let him into the office, but it took some time to get through to him—something about ‘Eggs’ having a nasty run-in with a “friendly-sounding” animatronic in the past.

(Also, my AO3 is metamatronic as well! If anyone were to write me anything I would cry fr /pos)

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

tough getting by in a country when you don't know the language

[sherurose]

challengers twitter pointed out something very cool: art's coach speaking to him in german!

the subs says "just invite her to serve." (which doesn't make any sense? and art doesn't even go to her after that lmao?) but he apparently actually says "wirf den ball etwas höher." which means "throw the ball a little higher.".

so art knows what patrick's house looks like which means he went there, he understands when his coach speaks to him in german and he's the only one who can pronounce "zweig", a german surname, the right way.

art learning german for patrick and spending holidays with him and his family is canon, i don't make the rules.

[muffinlance]

Consider: Post-canon Zuko wakes up in the body of his childhood self, the morning of That War Meeting. Would he still speak against the plans, knowing his fate? What do you think he would do differently the second time around?

"Turned away at the doors, Zuzu?"

"Shut up, Azula," her brother sulked. But sulked weirdly, after staring at her too long and too wide-eyed, not like she'd surprised him but--

But like he hadn't expected her to be there. At all.

He turned away. ...He turned back. "Hey, Lala? Do you think you could help me practice that one set?"

He didn't meet her eyes.

She narrowed hers. "Which set?"

"The one I'm bad at."

She scoffed. Pushed away from the wall she'd been leaning against. "That's all of them, Dum-Dum."

He didn't shout or stomp or yell about the nickname. His lips twitched.

"It's okay," he said. "If you're afraid you won't be a better teacher that my instructor..."

It was the most obvious manipulation ever.

Perhaps if he proved an adequate firebending student, she'd work on his courtly survival skills next. Honestly, it was good that not even Uncle Gets-Cousins-Killed had been fool enough to take Zuko into that war meeting. She could only imagine how terribly that could have gone.

"Keep up," she said, and turned her steps towards the training grounds.

He did. There, and during the katas she ran him through.

Azula kept her eyes narrowed.

"Hey," he asked, "do you know how to bend lightning yet?"

As if he could have missed it, if she'd been able to get more than sparks. "I will soon," she said.

"You will," he agreed, and flowed through his next set. The one she'd only just mastered.

Father didn't notice how weird Zuzu was being. Uncle never noticed anything. Zuko ate dinner and asked a servant for seconds and didn't stutter or flinch or lose his appetite when father asked, coolly, what he'd done with his day. Azula's shoulders tensed, because one mention of how she'd squandered her own training time teaching him--

"Azula hogged the training grounds. For hours," Zuzu scowled, exactly like a petulant thirteen year old.

Exactly like he hadn't been acting all day.

By the time Father was looking her way, Azula had her usual smirk in place. "I'm sure there would be room for both of us," she said, "you're not afraid of a little friendly fire, are you, brother?"

Zuko sulked. And ate his seconds, like he was enjoying each bite. There was something in his eyes, like a joke no one else was getting.

---

Father died that night. A heart attack. There were the faintest of burns to either side of the treacherous organ; the royal physician hypothesized that he'd grabbed at his chest, fingers burning hot in his final moments; so hot they'd only exacerbated the problem.

The royal physician would never have been brought any victims of lighting strikes. Those that occurred in the capital did not generally require a doctor in the aftermath.

Zuzu ate a hearty breakfast.

He didn't order seconds. Azula gave him points, at least, for not being tacky.

---

The sages named Iroh as regent.

They named Zuko as Fire Lord.

"No," the tiny Fire Lord in his perfectly miniaturized Fire Lord robes said, sitting at the head of his war council. "We're not doing that. And I'll be reviewing all recent battle plans, as well. What's this I hear about a division of new recruits being deployed to the front?"

He did not mention how he'd heard of the 41st Division. No one asked.

"Prince Iroh, surely--" one of the generals tried to appeal.

The young Fire Lord's regent was looking as startled as the rest of them, for a moment. Then he sipped his tea, and smiled.

"Your Fire Lord is correct, of course. A change in our leadership--a change the other nations may mistakenly view as weakness--will necessitate a change in our strategy."

"Now," said their lord, "what, exactly, is our overall objective in this war?"

War, the new Fire Lord decreed, was not an end unto itself.

---

The new Fire Lord continued to have time, to pretend to be trained by her. Azula watched him. Adjusted her footwork. Did not tolerate, and was not offered, any commentary on who was teaching who.

"What did you do with my brother?" she asked, as they flowed from one set to the next. As her hands, poised to throw fire, just so happened to be pointed his way.

He missed a step. It didn't look like an act.

"I'm, uh. Right here?"

She didn't bother to dignify that.

He didn't bother to look worried about her hands, one movement off from a true attack.

He looked around, then grabbed her sleeve, and tugged her further from any walls that may hide ears. The royal family's private training grounds were wonderfully large, and wonderfully open.

"It's me," he said. "It's still me. Just. More of me? Longer of me?"

She narrowed her eyes. A familiar expression, by this point. "Explain."

"...I found the Avatar," he said. "And this is definitely his fault, but--but I guess it started at a war meeting, when I was thirteen."

Azula listened. It was a very Dum-Dum story.