Joining The Bat Fandom Is So Fun, You Pick A Robin And Hold Onto That Thing For Dear Life

I hate that there's no way to be disabled that people will accept.

If you show joy, or acceptance in your disability, you're not really disabled and no one will take you seriously when you do complain and well it can't be that bad and oh I'm sure you're used to it.

But if you're miserable then you're whiny and annoying and people hate that it's "all you talk about" and its always ugh you're always tired and can we please stop talking about this it's making me depressed and oh I'd kill myself if that happen to me.

If you're happy you have everything figured out and don't need help anyway but if you're miserable you're a whiny bitch that can't just suck it up. There's no winning

PSA: Don't use Open Office

I keep seeing people recommending Open Office as an alternative to Word, and uh... look, it is, technically, an open source alternative to Word. And it can do a lot of what Word can, genuinely! But it is also an abandoned project that hasn't been updated in nine years, and there's an active fork of it which is still receiving updates, and that fork is called LibreOffice, and it's fantastic.

Seriously, if you think that your choices are either "grit your teeth and pay Microsoft for a subscription" or "support free software but have a kind of subpar office suite experience", I guarantee that it's because you're working with outdated information, or outdated software. Most people I know who have used the latest version of LibreOffice prefer it to Word. I even know a handful of people who prefer it to Scrivener.

Open Office was the original project, and so it has the most name recognition, and as far as I can tell, that's really the only reason people are still recommending it. It's kind of like if people were saying "hey, the iPhone 14 isn't your only smart phone option!" but then were only ever recommending the Samsung Galaxy S5 as an alternative. LibreOffice is literally a version of the same exact program as Open Office that's just newer and better – please don't get locked into using a worse tool just because the updated version of the program has a different name!

*me, checking my own AO3 account to see if I have posted any new fic I’ve been waiting for yet*

I actually need some fanfic, where Bruce and Jason are in the middle of some argument, and a casual (and a well-practiced with Dick before) sentence leaves his mouth, something along the lines "How old do you think you are?!", meaning that he is acting childishly. And because Jason is irritated, and his tongue runs loose in his anger, he screams back that he is nineteen, and Bruce just freezes, because... Oh. Jason is nineteen. He is a fucking kid - his kid - that lost years of his teenhood, and was forced back without anyone giving him a space to catch up, with everyone else already treating him like an adult... When he isn't.

Zine Topic/Subject/Focus Ideas (brainstorming):

Favorite family recipes (one recipe per zine? hand drawn illustrations of steps/ingredients; include personal stories/memories about the recipe)

"Wanted" posters (hand drawn "Wanted" posters of things I want in the moment I create the zine; ex. cup of coffee, peace of mind, time machine, my missing "marbles", etc...)

"Unwanted" posters (similar to "Wanted" posters idea, but things i don't want; ex. mosquitoes, 90 degree F days in September, car problems, Donald Trump on my news feed)

"Static in my Head" (smaller collections of black and white abstract art similar to my "Static in my Head" sketchbook, but released as a series)

bring back tumblr ask culture let me. bother you with questions and statements

“Do you have to touch everyone?” Arthur asks, eyes narrowing on where Gwaine’s hand now rests upon Merlin’s bowed head.

“He’s been gone,” Gwaine says. “It’s nice to see him.”

Arthur scoffs. “He was collecting firewood!”

Merlin, unperturbed by Gwaine’s ruffling of his already messy hair, has already begun looking through the pile of wood at his feet for small twigs to add to the kindling.

“You’re just emotionally stunted,” Merlin quips, striking the flint and deftly starting the dry leaves alight.

“I am not!” Arthur protests.

But he flushes when Merlin’s fingers brush against his palm as he hands him his dinner. And he can’t quite understand the strange fluttering in his chest when Merlin smiles at him.

“I think I’m sick,” he tells Gaius when he returns to Camelot, and goes on to describe the strange clenching in his belly, stuttering of his heart, and heating of his face.

Merlin has the gall to laugh. Gaius raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll handle this,” Merlin tells Gaius.

Gaius shrugs and walks out of the chambers muttering under his breath.

Arthur sputters. “I am king. He can’t just walk out when I am unwell. What is the meaning of this?”

Merlin’s face is inches from Arthur’s, and all of his symptoms are flaring up, and he’s short of air. Merlin’s lips press against his in a soft chaste kiss. Oh. Oh that’s… Arthur grabs at the back of Merlin’s head, and kisses back.

When they part, Merlin whispers, “Better?”

“Cured.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Emotionally stunted, prat.”

“Merlin!”