Just In Case

hi any life advice for 21yo

Don't date thirty-year-olds until you are at least 25.

Having a glass of water for every glass of alcohol will give you a 50% reduction in hangover viciousness.

Bad people will use your willingness to be quiet as a weapon against you. If someone's being awful to you and trusting you'll be quiet to keep from making waves, surprise them.

There is no physical object in the world that is worth as much as your honor.

Honor is not the same as dignity. Retaining one sometimes means leaving the other aside.

Don't have any sex you don't want to have; have as much as you want of the sex that you do, whether that's a lot, a little, or none at all. Nothing you can do to your own body is immoral, unless you're doing it as an act of self-punishment.

Food is morally neutral. You do not have to earn the right to eat calories. Fat and sugar keep your brain from eating itself.

Learning to sit still and breathe--in, in, in, hold, hold, hold, out, out, out, out, out, out--can give you five feet of clear space around yourself in a maelstrom.

Find out how to make three good meals: A comfort meal you can make for just yourself relatively easily, a fancy meal you can use to wow a date, and a meal you can feed a bunch of people. All the other cooking can come later, but you can build a community on those three meals.

If you ever get to the point that things are so bleak you can see no other way forward but to die, make any other choice. If that means leaving everything you own and being a beach bum, or quitting your career, or taking up or leaving a religion, or deciding to bicycle across the country, so be it; living means more chances, dying means everything stops and you don't get to see any more interesting things. As you have not yet seen all the things that can interest you, it is better to live.

trying to prove a point.

reblog if you’ve ever been romantically/sexually attracted to a fat or chubby person.

Trans and intersex people in the UK need you to be loud and angry about the new "deception as to sex" guidance released which makes trans and intersex people legally guilty of rape if we don't disclose our gender identity and/or the sex we were assigned at birth to sexual partners.

This is particularly going to harm trans and intersex sex workers, who often have a higher number of sexual partners who we might keep our trans or intersex identity from for our safety.

Jack Talks About Sex Work

Sex Deception Guidance: The Impact on Trans and Intersex Sex Workers

To summarize this guidance in the simplest terms, it treats a trans or intersex person not disclosing their gender identity and/or the sex t

"To summarize this guidance in the simplest terms, it treats a trans or intersex person not disclosing their gender identity and/or the sex they were assigned at birth as a form of deception which negates consent."

"This interpretation of part of the existing Sexual Offences Act (2003) places an unreasonable burden on trans and intersex people to inform our sexual partners of our medical history, while no such burden is placed on cis perisex people who are allowed to rely on assumption."

I'M DOING AN EXPERIMENT

To prove something to a friend, please

REBLOG IF YOU THINK ASEXUALS BELONG IN LGBTQ+ SPACES

LIKE IF YOU THINK ASEXUALS DON’T BELONG IN LGBTQ+ SPACES

That’s not  justice

Signal boost: Are you or do you know someone who knows about mechanical parts engineering or 3D printing? A hospital in Italy had ventilator valves breaking. A local business brought in a 3D printer to make new valves and replace the broken ones. They worked. The valve manufacturers were not happy. (Story link: https://www.3dprintingmedia.network/covid-19-3d-printed-valve-for-reanimation-device/)

Now a group has formed to work on medical devices such as open source ventilators to help the fight against Covid-19. The goal is to develop solutions that can quickly and easily be produced and assembled locally worldwide. If you have skills you think may help, please go to https://www.projectopenair.org/

I am relatively young but in final stage renal failure. I have a higher chance of survival IF I can recieve proper medical care AND LIVING ASSISTANCE in a different state. Get me OUT of Mississippi. 8/29/18

The long post w the good explanation is being shared but not inspiring much help. So, I simplified it.

My illness is straight up fatal. Not gonna beat around thatBush, anymore. I seem desperate for help because I AM desperate for help.

My nephrologist has seen enough improvement in my kidney function, lately, to believe someone my age (early 30s) might have a longer life WITH PROPER AND FREQUENT MEDICAL ATTENTION. Sadly, that just isn’t an option where I live.

Please, if you can help me with moving expenses (even just a couple of bucks) I would be grateful. I’m sinking fast in Mississippi and now my doctors are giving me too much hope to ignore. I wanna get out of this situation and I’m working my fatigued, brain-foggy ass off to make it out of here.

If I can undo the damage my heart failure caused to the rest of my body, I want to. I don’t want to spend another month KNOWING what I should be eating, what medicines I should be taking, what tests and treatments I should be getting… and receiving almost none of it because Mississippi lawmakers think people like me have somehow earned slow, painful deaths.

PayPal.Me

Pay T.M. Art using PayPal.Me

Go to paypal.me/robincf and type in the amount. Since it’s PayPal, it's easy and secure. Don’t have a PayPal account? No worries.

This is.....niche. Do period-appropriate chickens even still exist? Idk anything about chickens. I like the fancy ones.

tbh i think the funniest phenomena that’s been happening in the last couple years is “youtuber, having gone too deep into the research hole, has been made an investigative journalist against their will”

Story Update: The Pizza Delivery Girl’s Survival Guide to Gotham City

Note: As always, thank you all to everyone  who commented and supported this story. I’m always so grateful for your feedback! I’ll be answering asks and comments in a few days, when I’ve got a little more energy. But I always read them and I’m always so grateful for them! I hope you’re all taking care of yourselves and staying safe during these times! Updated Chapter: Chapter 17: What He Had Not Said

Chapter 1

Story Summary:

People who lived outside of Gotham City would most often think of it in terms of its heroes and villains. About Batman and Robin, Joker and Harley Quinn

People who actually live in Gotham City would only think of one thing: surviving.

Who cares about the people in costumes when your house has been bombed for the fifth time, or your wife has been taken hostage just because she worked in a bank?

Or, in your case, when you have to make regular deliveries to places where even Batman feared to tread?

Because let’s face it. In a world full of superheroes and costumed villains, the real heroes are the ones who make sure that people get their pizzas in forty-five minutes or less.

Chapter Preview:

For the first time, the Ghost seemed to hesitate, and he took another step forward. Terror rose in the back of your throat, filling your mouth with a faint metallic taste. There was something so frightening about holding a gun to another person and realizing that they were not afraid.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” he said.

You could feel the tips of your fingers pulsing against the cold steel. You reminded yourself that if you looked, there would be no scars.

“Try me.”

“I’m not here to fight you,” the Ghost said.

But his voice was hard, unrelenting. He wasn’t here to fight you, but he wasn’t going to let you get in the way, either. You grimaced, baring teeth.

“Then, leave.”

He raised his head to look past you, towards Red Hood. He looked more human, then. Something more than smoke and shadow. Beside you, you felt Red Hood shiver, as if he was afraid.

“I can’t.”

You saw it a split second before he lunged. You leveled Red Hood’s gun and fired. It felt like a small explosion had gone off in your hands, the recoil nearly ripping it out of your grip. Your ears were ringing loudly, and you watched as the bullet tore the shadows apart. But it was only smoke, the man himself had melted away from the spot. You could see him out of the corner of your eye.

“Stop.” His voice was a low hiss, anger barely contained between gritted teeth.

You wanted to shoot him again, but your hands were shaking. How were you supposed to hit a man who could melt into the shadows? How can you aim at him?

He was moving forward now, one hand extended like a claw. A chill ran through you; he was going to take the gun away and then you and Red Hood would be defenseless.

You took aim again.

“Bruce!”

The word was like the crack of a whip and the Ghost jolted as if he’d been struck. In the shadow of the doorway, you saw him: Nightwing. You stared at him, a mixture of relief and apprehension. Nightwing had said that he was friends with Red Hood.

And yet, he seemed to know who the Ghost was. Bruce, Nightwing had called him. The name repeated in your head like a broken record. There was only one Bruce in Gotham that you knew of. The man who played the clueless, playboy billionaire, the man who fooled the citizens of Gotham for years before he was unmasked.

It didn’t seem like such a leap, really, to consider that he might have fooled them again.

But the pieces didn’t seem to fit. You kept the gun trained on him. Batman was supposed to be a hero, Gotham’s hero. The one unshakeable symbol of justice and safety. Even dead, people still whispered his name like a prayer.

Batman wouldn’t use methods that nearly drove criminals to madness. Batman wouldn’t leave something like bat-thing unconscious and bleeding on your apartment floor. Batman wouldn’t terrorize Red Hood. You didn’t want to believe that this thing of smoke and shadows was the hero you looked up to for so long.

Your finger tensed on the trigger.

“I thought you were dead.” His voice cracked at the last word.

Nightwing raised a hand, almost as if reaching out, then let it drop back down. The look on his face was like agony.

“What are you doing here?” the Ghost said.

For the first time, he sounded unsure.

“Followed a distress signal.” Nightwing’s eyes tracked Red Hood, still lying prone on the floor.

He was shaking, you realized. Even with Nightwing here, Red Hood was still afraid. It made you wonder what other terrible things the Ghost did. It made you wonder if Batman was capable of such things.

“How did you get here?” Nightwing asked. “Did you follow Red Hood here? Did you hack into our comms?”

The Ghost was still. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.” Nightwing’s voice cracked. “Why here? Why now? What about when we confronted Killer Croc and I cracked a rib? Or when Tim busted his head? Why now?”

He did not answer. You felt your arm beginning to ache as the adrenaline faded away. Your fingers rattled against the handle of the gun. Cold sweat ran down your neck. Nightwing looked different now than from all the other times you’ve seen him. The cords in his neck stood out, his hands were fisted at his sides. In the dim light, the blue of his eyes shone eerily.

Nightwing always had an air of effortless strength to him, an easy confidence. But tonight, he looked downright lethal.

You and Red Hood needed to get out of here. You lowered the gun, feeling your arms trembling at its weight. Red Hood’s breathing had gone shallow and erratic. When you laid a hand on his shoulder, you could feel the tension in his muscles.

“We need to get out of here,” you whispered.

But the Ghost appeared to have heard you. His eyes shone from the swirl of shadows that surrounded him.

“He needs to come with me.”

“I’m not coming with you.” Even weak as he was, you could hear the conviction in the Red Hood’s voice. “Not again.”

Not again?

Nightwing glanced at Red Hood, and you could see his expression twist with concern.

“He doesn’t want to come with you,” Nightwing said.

“It doesn’t matter. He needs my help.”

Nightwing’s face went slack, and you saw in his expression something like grief, a quiet kind of suffering.

“You’re not going to let us go, are you?” he asked.

“No. Red Hood needs my help.”

“He’s needed your help for more than a year, now,” Nightwing said quietly. “We all did.”

The shadows seemed to lengthen, move across the walls in a way that was not natural. Tendrils crawling higher and higher as they reached the ceiling. And the Ghost seemed to grow, the shine of his eyes glowing brighter. His figure lengthened, the angles of his figure growing sharper, crueler. His hands were like claws. The protrusions from his head looked like devil’s horns. You could feelyour chest flare in pain, and you struggled to breathe.

Nightwing glanced at you, and even then, you could see him struggling to smile.

“The Clocktower,” he said. “Do you know it?”

You nodded silently.

“Someone will help you there.”

“Nightwing,” the Ghost said, his voice was deep with menace. “What are you doing? She’s a civilian.”

“Right now, I trust her more than I trust you.”

You heard the crackle of electricity as he unsheathed his escrima sticks.

“Go.”

“No.”

The Ghost lunged forward, and everywhere his shadow touched seemed to grow darker. But Nightwing met him head on, blocking his path to the of you. In the darkness, the glow of his weapons looked like lightning.

“Come on,” you said, slinging Red Hood’s arm over your shoulder. You staggered underneath his weight. “We need to go.”

You heard a low hiss behind you, like gas escaping. The crackle of electricity. You did not look back, you didn’t dare to.

The air seemed sweet somehow as the two of you burst outside, the chill of it seeping into your lungs. You took several grateful gulps. Red Hood sagged against you, and you struggled to stay upright as you guided him to your motorcycle.

“The Clocktower,” you gasped. “Do you know it? Is it safe?”

You could hear him wheezing, as he struggled to stay upright in his seat. There was a long moment of silence.

“Red Hood?” you asked. “Is it safe there?”

“Yes. It’s safe there. And…”

He struggled to speak.

“And thank you.” Read more on AO3