#8 steps to unfuck your life

[surroundedbytheworld]

8 Steps to Unfuck Your Life

(Better Ideas, 2023)

Clense Thy Earthly Bessel

Order The Kingdom

Venture Forth

Sweat

Monitor Thy Treasury

Remove The Hooks

Strategize

Submit

#vlog #8 steps to unfuck your life #unfuck #selfhelp #self help #better ideas #Youtube #english

[commajade]

I hope it isn’t weird to say this apropos of nothing but the way white fans “”talk”” about bts reeks a lot of the Christian missionaries talk? Like the idea that they’ll save you and change your life.. I feel like it goes a step beyond the usual fetishisation when it comes to Kpop .. it’s uncomfortably white Christian evangelical zealotry. Like spreading the ~gospel~ of bts. And it wasn’t like that until the demographic of the fandom shifted to majority white.. it’s just really horrifying to see

i have literally had several epiphanies about that's it's nauseating. and the way they say bts transcends kpop and are the saviors of kpop like that one tweet that was like "bighit better than me they're cleaning up kpop when they could destroy it" that was genuinely freaky. and they change kpop history to make bts the main character it's really small scale cultural colonialism except how small is it when it's the biggest group of people (like at least 8 million people in the US alone) speaking in english about korean music history talking about it and codifying it among themselves as truth? and publishing articles as if this is the truth? there's academic papers on the phenomenon of "btspop" and what makes them different btw it's really alarming.

EDIT: found the tweet

doing 0 harm?? saving companies by buying them out??? tried to save yg and sm??? unfuck everything?? treat them with fire?? run them into the ground??? 100% colonizer christian missionary talk as if south korea doesn't already have enough missionaries in their history

#asks #bts

[dameronology]

the one where he doesn’t listen (poe x reader)

summary: poe dameron + ‘i think we should take a break’ ‘you’re right - we’ll get some food, cool down and then we can talk about this’ no, i mean a break from us’

warnings: language 

i PROMISE i am working on some fluff, i know literally everything i’m writing at the moment is angst but like 80% of my requests are for angst...and i just hope u guys are okay lol love u 

enjoy,

- jazz

‘Would you just listen to me?!’

You ignored the calls of your boyfriend, violently kicking open the door to the air hangar. You stormed inside, a scowl on your face - you didn’t notice Jessika and Snap jump back at the sight of you. You breezed through the base, boots thumping into the concrete floors, steps like thunder. You couldn’t even look at Poe - you might throttle him otherwise.

You usually embraced his rebelliousness. His courage was one of the many things you loved about him - but this was your mission. You were the commander. It was a different story when he was ignoring your orders. The whole operation had been blown up because he couldn’t listen for once in his life. 

‘Baby, please-’

You stopped in your tracks, and Poe crashed into your back with a grunt. You turned to face him, and for a split second, he held out his arms. The action, however, was quickly retracted when you jabbed your finger into his chest. He silently thanked whichever god was up there that looks couldn’t kill - if they could, yours would have been a weapon of mass destruction.

‘The one time I need you to listen!’ You snapped. ‘The one fucking time, Poe!’

‘I said I was sorry-’

‘- sorry doesn’t get me my mission back!’ You continued, cutting him off. ‘Sorry doesn’t change the fact you ignored me. Sorry doesn’t change the fact you went against my direct orders!’

There was a little bit more to it than his disobedience. You weren’t a superior behind a comms link, barking orders at him. You were his partner - the one person you’d hoped would be the exception to his insubordination. That was what was causing most of the fuel behind your rage. 

Poe bit his lip, nodding. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

‘How?’ You snorted. ‘You find a time machine and go back and unfuck this up for me?’

He grimaced, hopelessly scrambling to find something - anything - to say that could possibly calm you down. ‘I’ll explain it to Leia. I’ll take the fall.’

‘That was gonna be the case anyways.’ You murmured. 

Poe reached out to grab your hand, but you swatted it away. 

‘Don’t.’ You shook your head. ‘Look, I’m gonna go to my quarters and get the mission report done. I need time to think - and maybe a wall to punch.’

‘Wait,’ His mouth dropped open, and that was when the magnitude of his actions finally seemed to click. ‘This isn’t gonna change anything is it, for us?’

You knew the us that Poe was referring to - and he didn’t mean your professional relationship. He meant the us, us. The us that had sneaky kisses and escapades in broom closets. The us that laid together at night in each other’s arms, discussing everything from from work that day to theories about the deepest, darkest galaxies. The us that might have been the only stable thing in Poe Dameron’s unpredictable life. 

‘I don’t know.’ You sighed. ‘I just need time to think.’

You paused, the volume of the situation beginning to cause the descend down a slippery slope of misery and rage. 

How could he do this to you? You knew that the flyboy was capable of some exceptionally dumb things, but this one took the crown. This was the grand finale that completed The Chronicles of Poe Dameron’s Dumbassery (patent pending). 

Poe grabbed your arm, glancing around at your co-workers. Most of them had left the room when you entered - news of the mission had quickly spread about the base and people did not want to get in your way. Even Threepio had made a point to not go near you. Still, the pilot dragged you from the walkway and towards an empty space behind his X-Wing. The ship was splattered with dents and chips from the TIE fighters that had chased you out of the planet you’d been on. Perhaps that would be the epilogue in the aforementioned book.

‘Baby,’ his voice almost broke, desperate as he grabbed your face in his hands. ‘I would give anything to go back and undo what I did, literally anything, but I can’t-’

‘- I know you can’t.’ You moved his hands, momentarily intertwining your fingers. ‘It can just be so exhausting, Poe. I love you so much but you don’t think about the people around you.

You moved away from him, propping yourself up against the ladder of his jet. Your feet swayed back and forth for a moment as you thought. You were hurting- teetering on the edge of pure insanity, ping-ponging between your intense love for the man in front of you and your frustration at the situation.

‘I think we should take a break.’

You knew that you didn’t mean it. The second the words left your mouth, you wanted to swat them out the air, throw them to the ground like dead flies. Some childish part of you just wanted to scare him, to make him feel what you’d felt. 

‘You’re right,’ Poe nodded. ‘We’ll get some food, cool down and then we can talk about this-’

‘- no, Poe.’ Your voice cracked slightly. ‘I mean a break from us.’

‘You’re breaking up with me?’

‘No, not a break up. Just a break.’ You stood up.

You saw the hurt on his face; the anguish, the torment. More than ever, you wanted to wrap your arms around him; to hug him, to run your hands through his stupidly soft hair and hold him and promise to hurt whoever it was that was causing his distress. But it was you. Was love always this much agony?

‘I gotta clear my head.’ You whispered, slipping by him as you walked away.

--

A few hours later, you were even more angry that you had been when this whole thing started. You were no longer just enraged at Poe - you were now pissed off with yourself. Why had you said that? Why had you let the heat of the situation push you over the edge and say such stupid things?

Three hours without Poe by your side felt like a lifetime - a long, sad, empty lifetime. You’d been sat on your bed, handing resting on the empty space where he should have been. You were still furious at him but that didn’t mean you wanted to be without him.

You let out a sigh, watching as BB-8 circled the floor in front of you. He’d followed you back from the hangar, beeping something about relaxation methods. But aside from that, he’d been pretty silent. You felt like he was a kid who’d seen his parents have a fight. 

‘Where is Poe?’ You asked quietly, moving down to kneel in front of the droid, fixing his antenna. ‘In Finn’s room? I know right, where else?’

Grabbing the nearest jacket from your desk, you tugged it over your shoulders. As the heavy leather fell over your torso, you realised it with Poe’s - he’d lent it to you on your third date. It occasionally lead to a few awkward situations where you, Finn and Poe all turned up wearing matching jackets, given that the pilot had also gifted one to his friend. 

You made your way to Finn’s quarters, BB-8 rolling behind you. He’d perked up a bit at the prospect of his parents you and Poe working it out. Nobody liked to see you guys fight. You knocked on the door twice - usually, you were close enough with Finn to walk in unannounced, but with the given circumstances, you didn’t want to just swan inside.

A few seconds later, the door opened, and he greeted you with a smile. ‘Y/N!’

‘Hey, Finn.’ You greeted him. BB-8 nudged past his leg, rolling inside without waiting for an invitation. 

‘Poe’s inside.’ He said, stepping aside. ‘I’ll give you guys some space, but please don’t do anything in my bed.’

You rolled your eyes. ‘Finn.’

‘Just saying!’ He ruffled your hair as you walked by.

Poe was sat on Finn’s bed, a holopad in one hand and a cup of caff in the other. He’d clearly heard the exchange at the door and was trying to play it cool - something at which he was failing miserably. 

‘Hey,’ you greeted him quietly. You gently took a seat on the bed next to him, pulling the holopad from his hands. ‘Wanna talk?’

‘Is there much to say?’ His voice was cold, and you almost did a double take.

‘Poe,’ you sighed. ‘I don’t want to break up, or go on a break, or whatever it was that I said.’

His brown eyes lit up slightly, and he finally turned to look at you. The last three hours had been equally painful for him - he thought he’d lost you. There was a lot of things that terrified him but there was nothing that scared him more than the idea of life without you by his side. He would have rather gone up against Kylo Ren with a pencil for a weapon than let go of you.

‘I got caught up in the heat of the moment,’ you continued. ‘You hurt me, and I think I was reaching for something that might make you feel the same.’

‘Well, you made me feeling something that was deep, dark and pretty terrible.’ Poe tried to joke, but he couldn’t hide the wavering in his voice. He reached to take your hands in his, and your heart broke when you realised they were shaking. ‘But that’s not a lot compared to what it feels like to lose a mission - especially because of me.’

‘I don’t care that we lost the mission. That happens all the time - it just hurts that you didn’t listen to me.’ You explained. ‘I guess I felt like you didn’t respect me.’

‘I do!’ Poe’s eyes widened. ‘I would...I would do anything for you. You know that, right? You tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it-’

‘- I just want you to listen to me.’ You cut him off. ‘That’s it.’

‘I can do that.’ A smile finally fell onto his lips. He pressed a kiss to your lips, and you felt yourself finally relax. You were going to be okay.

‘I’m still fucking furious at you, though.’ Your words didn’t quite match your actions; with one hand tangled in his hair and one resting on his face, you seemed to be more sweet than intimidating. ‘But I love you, and whatever this is, we’re gonna work through it.’

‘I love you too.’ He pulled you in for another kiss. ‘And I will never, ever do anything stupid again.’

‘I give it five minutes tops.’

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron x you #poe dameron fanfic #star wars imagine #star wars x reader #star wars fanfic #star wars preferences

[pogueit]

Snip Snip Bitch

Sarah Cameron x reader!

A/N: Hello! I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

Summary: The one were you get a botched cut from JJ and Sarah is more than eager to help a dumb bitch out.

Songs: I wanna be adored by The Raveonettes, Eau D'bedroom Dancing by Bikini Kill, and basically Orville Pecks entire discography.

Warnings: None???

Word Count: 2,273

This week had to be the hottest week the OBX has ever suffered through. You were miserable as always, but especially so because while JJ and John B. were sent off to catch and relocate a gang of raccoons terrorizing a neighborhood in Figure 8 you had to go to the Cameron's residence, yet again. In the last couple of days, you had been sent by your dad to the Cameron's AT LEAST eight times to fix menial things around their property and half of those times were spent in Sarah Cameron's bedroom. 

Normally, it wouldn't be such a big problem since you've seen everyone’s room at this point, but certain feelings towards Sarah had shifted in recent months. You started sneaking little glances at her whenever she passed by, your heart would nearly implode when she would stop and say hello or bring drinks for the working crew (which JJ says she never did when you weren’t there), you began to do stupid things to get her to look over in your direction even if it was just for a second (like tackling JJ into the water, jumping off the top of the Druthers onto the dock, or spraying Rafe in the face with the power hose), and your stomach would drop to the earth’s core whenever you saw her with golden boy Topper. So, it wasn't hard to tell you had a thing for the blonde. When the pogues found out they relentlessly teased you about it and more terrifying they always opted out of jobs at the Cameron's and dumped them on you. You hated being sent over by yourself without your shitty wingmen because with your newly discovered feelings you couldn't help but be severely awkward around her. 

If you only knew she thought it was the cutest thing in the world. Sarah Cameron has spent the entire week destroying her house just so she could see you, again. She loved the not-so-sneaky-glances you shot her way when you thought she wasn't looking, the little faces you would pull when you were talking to Rafe, the absolute dumbest things you would do to get her to look at you, and how much you would reassure her she isn't a stupid fucking klutz for breaking everything in her room.

Sarah was praying that you would make a move already, but that has proved difficult with your newly developed shyness. So, she decided to break one more thing, her bathroom sink. She honestly doesn’t know how she did it but she did and now her insides are bubbling at the thought of you coming over.

You took JJ's cap on and off trying to settle your hair in a presentable way as you made your way up the pathway to the house. Now, you've suffered through a multitude of BAD haircuts, but this one has to take the cake. In your inebriated state, you decided you were long overdue for a haircut and a haircut you received. JJ seemed well versed in the haircutting trade as he's cut his own hair millions of times before without killing himself, this should’ve been no different. Your intoxicated decisions have failed you yet again and now you were stuck looking like a mutilated poodle. 

You couldn’t brace yourself just yet to face Sarah looking like a chopped onion so you decided to stop by and see what Rafe has fucked up this time. He was hunched over the red bike confusion engulfed his hard features as he meddled with the engine. 

"What's up with your bike?" You drop the toolbox which made him jump slightly.

"Jesus, you're back again?" Rafe playfully rolled his eyes at you.

"Well, someones gotta unfuck up things around here" you squatted down next to Rafe "What's the problem?".

"It won’t turn over" you peered down at the dismantled vehicle in front of you. The simple solution to all his problems made a smile tug at the corners of your lips.

"Did you just take it out for a ride?"

"Yeah, I just got back, why?"

"You just need gas, dumbass" you finally let the shit-eating grin take over your face. 

"You're lying!" Rafe stated in disbelief as he stumbled over to check the empty fuel tank. 

"Fuck!" He groaned into his hands and took a seat on the ground next to you.

"And that's why your dad keeps me around"

"Shut up" Rafe smacked the brim of the cap down your face which exposed your last night mistake.

"What the fuck happened to you" it was his turn to laugh as you scrambled to hide your hair with the cap.

"Fuck you" 

"It doesn't look that bad... with the hat on" he tried his best to stifle the laughter that brewed in his chest "Sarah won't care". You could feel your body freeze over when he mentioned his sister and hoped your voice won’t fail you. 

"A-and why do you think I c-care?" You mentally face palmed yourself upon hearing how the words left your dry mouth.

"You know why" He stood up from the paved road and extended his arm towards you "now go do what we paid you to do".

You trudged up the steps to Sarah's room. The warmth in your cheeks increased with each step and your heart was bouncing around in your chest. There wasn't anything you could do at this point, so you braced yourself and knocked. When the door flung open your heart broke through your rib cage and exploded into imaginary fireworks that lit up behind your eyes.

"Hey!" She beamed a gentle smile taking over her lips as she looked down at you. You had to restrain yourself from tucking a stray delicate strand of blonde behind her ear.

"Hey" you meekly responded and lifted up your shitty toolbox "heard you need your sink fix".

"Oh, yeah!" She beckoned you to follow her. Once you stepped into her room you could feel your heart rate pick up yet again and your stomach brewing with nerves. 

"It floods my bathroom every time I turn it on" she sighed as she sat down next to the sink, her legs softly swaying over the edge. You nodded as you squatted down to take a look under the sink leaving your toolbox next to Sarah. 

When the light from the flashlight hit the pipe you were surprised how fucked up they actually were.

"Fuck, this is broken broken" you mumbled as you peered at the battered metal pipes. From the corner of your eye, you could see Sarah try to suppress a guilty grin. There was only one pipe you could replace at that time and luckily it was the one with a huge crack down the middle. 

“Uh, I can only replace one part today, I’ll have to come back tomorrow to fix the rest” you could have sworn you saw her eyes light up when you mentioned the prospect of coming back, but you just brushed it off. Sarah was eager to lend a helping hand, always handing you different tools, never the right ones, but you appreciated it, especially so, when your hands would briefly meet ever so often. 

It was quiet for a moment before Sarah had an impending question she just had to get an answer to. 

"Are you and JJ like a thing?" when the question left her lips your head jolted back slamming against the underbelly of the sink.

"Fuck, w-why would you think that?" You leaned back against the wall opposite of Sarah and held the back of your now dented head.

"Well... I ALWAYS see you guys together and half the clothes you’re wearing right now are his" 

"Fair enough" you nodded glancing down at your outfit which did indeed mainly consist of the boy's clothes "but we're definitely not a thing, as for the hat I got a botched cut".

"You have to show me!" Sarah’s eye’s immediately lit up.

"Uh, most definitely not"

"I won't laugh I promise!" you sighed as you slowly took off the only thing making you look like you had a normal haircut. She shrieked when her eyes finally saw the disaster before her. Sarah slid herself off the counter and kneeled down next to you taking your warm face into her soft hands. The proximity of both your faces was about to send you into a cardiac arrest.

"Do you want me to fix it?" She finally spoke up after marveling at the complex haircut you had received.

"Uh, no yeah if you think you can even fix it" your cheeks were on fire from the embarrassment you never wanted to kill JJ so much in your life. 

"I can at least make it better than this" she ran her hand through your hair which in turn made your whole body flare up with goosebumps.

She instructed you to sit on top of the sink counter facing the mirror as she gathered a towel and scissors. She then gently clipped the towel around your neck making sure it wasn't strangling you. 

"Are you ready?" She peeked over your head staring at you through the mirror. You could barely nod because your mind was just thinking about her warm hands on your cold shoulders.

"If it still looks ugly we can always shave it" she giggled when your eyes almost fell out of your sockets at the mere thought of shaving your head.

"Umm, how about no?"

"What? I think you'd look so cute!"

"I'd look like I'm 10!"

"It would still be cute" she mumbled as she began to snip the mutilated strands. You two stayed silent for a while the sharp sound of the scissors taking over. You tried your best not to stare at her as she worked on your hair, but she was just so darn cute when she was concentrating. Meanwhile, Sarah’s smile continued to grow each time she caught your eye making it hard for her to focus on fixing your hair.

"Almost done just need to fix the front '' she motioned you to turn around and face her. You did as you were told uncrossing your legs in the process. Sarah then made herself comfortable between your legs and brushed some loose hair off your cheeks with her fingertips.

"Are you breathing there y/n?" Sarah giggled looking down at you. A strangled "Yep" managed to escape your lips. All you wanted to do was reach out and kiss her already, but you couldn't risk the embarrassment of rejection. What would the “kook princess” herself want anything to do with a dirty pogue only bred to mow lawns anyway? The only thing you could do now is just cherish this only type of intimacy you will ever get out of the girl. 

When the snipping stopped your stomach dropped. 

"All done! You're officially the coolest bitch in the OBX!" She smiled down at you running her hands through her latest masterpiece. Sarah didn't make any effort in moving from her current position which is still standing snuggly in between your thighs. Silence once again took over the room as you both focused on the proximity of one another. So close, yet so far away. Each of you fighting within yourselves to be brave enough and confess. Sarah's hands danced around your sitting thighs not sure whether to finally give in and touch your bare thighs. 

"So, are you going to kiss me or what?" Sarah finally broke toying with the frayed hem on your shorts. You could clearly see the impatience riddled across her soft features and you were more than happy to oblige. You gently cupped her face with your trembling hands before smashing your lips against hers. You will forever be grateful to JJ for showing you the wonders of exfoliating your lips, as your lips glided with ease against Sarah’s. The kiss was rough and frenzied as both of your suppressed emotions were finally being attended to. Your hands quickly entangled themselves into her golden locks pulling her even closer. Sarah's hands wandered up your exposed thighs making you erupt into goosebumps before securely wrapping her arms around your waist. You could feel little fires erupting all over your body where her hands were and you could feel the struggle in your breathing, but you didn’t want this moment to end not just yet. 

You were the first one to pull away from oxygen deprivation and giggled seeing the girl chase after your lips and let out a whine. You marveled at how flushed her cheeks and swollen lips were. Sarah could spend the next century kissing you and still not get over the sensation of your delicate lips against hers, but she could tell there was something on your mind other than needing to breathe. 

“What?” she whispered, bringing her forehead to rest against yours. 

“What about Topper?” Even if he is one of the biggest assholes in the Outer Banks you didn’t think it was fair to the boy.

“That dickhead? He’s just helping me out being my beard” she giggled as she ran her hands through your hair once again.

“Your beard” You couldn’t help but laugh. This entire time golden boy Topper was just helping Sarah out and all your maliciousness towards the poor boy was all for nothing.

“Does that make my girl happy?” Sarah giggled as your eyes snapped back up at her. Just those two words made your insides vibrate with a whirlwind of happiness. You didn’t say anything you just roped her another kiss, which you will definitely be doing more often. 

#sarah cameron #sarah cameron x reader #sarah cameron x you #sarah cameron obx #sarah obx #cameron obx #pogueit #sarah x reader #my fic

[makeela]

Top 12 Most Unfuckable Men In FFXIV (according to a lesbian)

(WARNING: This list contains spoilers up to 5.0)

12. Urianger Augurelt

Urianger is the least unfuckable man in Final Fantasy XIV. Mostly because, well - look at him. That’s the look of a man who has either fucked a lot or never once in his life, and we all saw Moenbryda. If Urianger told me he wanted to “smasheth mine pussy” I would have no choice but to accept, if only because it’d be an experience. There is nothing wrong with wanting to fuck Urianger.

11. Aymeric de Borel

Aymeric was originally in Urianger’s spot when I was thinking about this list, and the only reason he’s not is because he has definitely never fucked before in his life. So aggressively has he never fucked that when he was born, he had to come out via cesarean section, so that he might not have touched pussy even once. You would have to have a several year long committed relationship with him and it still wouldn’t happen until after his dumbass best friend gets possessed by a giant dragon and he’s trying real hard to stave off those Unholy Urges. It doesn’t work. This does not change the fact that, if I had to choose a man, I would be honored for Ser Aymeric de Borel to have a seat on my face.

10. Crystal Exarch

Haurchefant wants what the Crystal Exarch has: he’s smart, he’s cute, and his body is partially composed of rocks. All he wants is to go on an adventure with you, and maybe hold your hand. I feel like fucking the Crystal Exarch isn’t even sexual at this point, your emotional connection is just so deep that it’s only right to make him cry over and over. You’re being a good friend. You should fuck the Crystal Exarch.

9. Cid nan Garlond

I feel like Cid is the true neutral of this list. He’s funny, not objectively bad looking, loves to make shit for you and showers regularly. Unfortunately, he is not exceptionally memorable on a list of Male Characters I’d Be Interested In Maybe Fucking, If I Had To. I was almost done with this list before I even remembered that Cid is a major character, and not your best friend who you would never even consider fucking, just because that’s the kind of relationship you guys have. I would not fuck Cid, but not because there’s anything wrong with him; I just don’t want to fuck him. Sorry, Cid.

8. Gaius van Baelsar

Gaius van Baelsar definitely smells bad. He’s tried to kill you more than once, and two of those times was with a big robot that had god powers. However, like, just look at him. Imagine if he washed his hair. We all know how tall Alphinaud is, right? Look at how small he is by comparison. This is, in truth, the only reason he is in this spot and not one lower - he’s basically just a Metal Gear Solid character, which I am not mad about at all. I kind of wish Gaius was my father figure, and if, at some point, I ended up fucking him, I don’t think it would be the end of the world. I don’t think you should go out of your way to fuck Gaius van Baelsar, but if it happens, it happens, right?

7. Estinien Wyrmblood

I really wish I could justify ranking Estinien somewhere above Gaius. I really do. If I wasn’t trying to be at least semi-objective, he’d be right below Aymeric. He’s just so spiky. And Mean. And Sad. Unfortunately, I regret to inform you all and remind myself that there is no way that Estinien Wyrmblood does not, on a constant basis, smell like the inside of a Taco Bell, and I’m, like, at least 75% sure that he doesn’t know how to read. There also wouldn’t be much of a chase if you wanted to fuck Estinien, but unless he’s like, in love with you he’s also a very wham-bam-thank you ma’am kind of guy, and I’d be more into it if I got to braid his hair afterwards and gently reassure him that things were going to be okay. I wish I could recommend that you fuck Estinien, but I don’t think that’s the kind of physical comfort he needs right now.

6. Zenos yae Galvus

After Estinien I wasn’t sure who to put next, just because starting around here you get to Men I Am Neither Disgusted By Nor Benevolent Toward the concept of fucking, and I didn’t even think I had any of those until my friend, no hesitation, said “Zenos.” She is right. Zenos is pretty, he’s huge, he kills a lot of people and enjoys the job. This is a charm point for me. He also has absolutely no character traits otherwise so all he has is that he’s Pretty and Likes Murder. Talk to me again when he has depression and maybe we can re-evaluate.

5. Thancred Waters

Thancred and I have had a very tumultuous relationship. In ARR, he was alright. My opinion of him improved significantly in Heavensward, where he was just a long-haired eyepatched hobo who refused to revisit human civilization because he didn’t want to wear pants. In Shadowbringers, he just turned into a shitty dad, and I did not like that shit at all. They took his eyepatch and his ponytail and gave him Shitty Parenting Skills. If Thancred were my father figure, I would simply not speak to him. I could not be persuaded to fuck Thancred.

4. Magnai Oronir

I don’t need to explain this one.

3. Nabriales

I don’t think Nabriales is too much worse than, like, Lahabrea, in terms of fuckability - meaning that, if pressed, I would not choose to fuck either of them - but every time I get the Chrysalis in Trial Roulette half the party immediately drops. The Chrysalis isn’t even that hard, guys, just make sure someone limit breaks the tear. I love to MT the Chrysalis. As someone who consistently gets Thornmarch and Steps of Faith in Trials Roulette, I will kick the shit out of Nabriales any day. Just, not sexually. At all. Maybe a little bit if the off tank would turn off tank stance.

2. Hien Rijin

Hien is pretty cute. Unfortunately, he is also an imperialist, even though the MSQ doesn’t want to talk about that at all because he’s your buddy. Every single time I got a quest like “talk to Hien!” I would get so mad. I don’t want to talk to Hien. Every time I talk to Hien he just wants me to help him infringe on another race’s cultural events for his benefit. It wouldn’t even be a problem for me if it wasn’t encouraged and entirely uncriticized by the narrative. I don’t want to see or be seen by Hien.

1. Haurchefant Greystone

I didn’t play FFXIV for three years because I thought Haurchefant was a main character. Literally, for like, three years, many of my friends were like “Play FFXIV!” and I was like “no!” because I didn’t want to hear about Haurchefant more than I already had to. By the time I met him in MSQ, I was willing to give him a chance. I got it, at the beginning - he’s helpful, he’s complimentary. The problem is, that’s it. I think he sounds like Kif Kroker, and I think I would rather die than fuck him, which is saying a lot coming from me since I think most aliens are super sexy. After I knew Haurchefant for, like, two weeks, he invited me to come to his house and he was like “you have no idea how long I waited for this!” You waited two weeks, man. I understand that you live in an icy tundra and you’ve not felt the touch of another in years, because that’s the only way you could possibly be this horny by the time I stumble into your office, but Jesus Christ, dude. I wish I could be friends with Haurchefant, but I know this is simply not possible since he is so deeply horny that once the point was made the friendship could no longer recover. I am truly, deeply glad that I’ll never have to worry about having a Tinder date with Haurchefant go awry and he will never send me fifty texts asking for photos of my feet. Haurchefant is the most unfuckable man in Final Fantasy XIV. Sorry, Haurchefant. I wish things could be different.

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

1. Nero tol Scaeva

Nero fucking sucks. I would probably fuck Nero. You should not fuck Nero.

2. Emet-Selch

I’m pretty sure that Emet-Selch wouldn’t even be DTF, at least not with the Warrior of Light. On the off chance that he was, though, I would definitely fuck Emet-Selch. I cannot see any good reasons why I shouldn’t fuck Emet-Selch. He is greasy, and old, and talks in riddles. This is extremely sexy to me. If these things are not extremely sexy to you, I don’t think you should fuck Emet-Selch.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #final fantasy #nobody be weird on this please :( #good shit op #(i'm op)

[goosegoblin]

Ten things to do while you’re on an ADHD service waiting list

Finally realising you have a disorder and then realising it could take over a year before anyone helps you really, really sucks. I thought I’d write a guide of things you can do in the wait period to keep yourself sane and try and make some progress.

1) Join ADHD online support groups. I know it’s Reddit, but reddit.com/r/ADHD is a really great board. It has a great blend of ‘DAE...’ type posts and actual advice, and the mods are really good at not letting it turn into one-upping or learned helplessness. There are groups on basically every social media site you can think of and then some, so look around until you find somewhere that feels good.

2) Join offline ADHD support groups. I can’t overstate how much this has helped me. Search ‘ADHD support [your area]’ and see what’s around. I only went to a couple of IRL meet-ups, but it felt like meeting family. We were all late and got lost and talked too much and spilled things and nobody minded because we were all home. 

3) If possible, be physically active. Yeah, I know, you’re rolling your eyes right now. Still, this is one of those things that’s scientifically proven to help. Try stuff out and see what works for you. If nothing else, download Pokemon Go (it’s kind of good now!) and go for a walk. I find that, whilst I’m often reluctant to go to the gym, my brain is a lot more ordered and willing to co-operate after I’ve been.

4) Learn to recognise RSD. RSD stands for ‘rejection sensitive dysphoria’, and refers to a phenomenon seen in people with ADHD where we take criticism very, very seriously. Someone gently pointing out an area you aren’t doing great in might feel like being shot in the stomach. This is hard, and it doesn’t go away overnight, but identifying it is step one in learning to de-fuse from the thoughts it offers. I like using ACT techniques here- look up ‘thought defusion’ to learn more.

5) Give up old ways that do not work for you. Listen. I know you’ve tried to keep a bullet journal six times now. I know that every time, you spent eight hours designing it perfectly, then lost interest within four days. I get it. I’ve been there. Your brain is not neurotypical (NT), and you can’t force it to be behave like it is. That means you might have to come up with your own systems, and they might look broken and bizarre to NT people, but if they work for you, they aren’t. 

6) Buy/ read ‘Unfuck Your Habitat’. I think this book should be required reading for everyone with executive dysfunction, to be honest. If you can’t afford the book and your library doesn’t have it, then there’s lots of great content on the UFYH website and blog.

7) Identify time traps. You set your alarm for an hour before you had to leave, didn’t do anything differently to normal, but were somehow half an hour late. Why? How? Try and think of what you might do that makes you ‘lose time’. For many of us (myself firmly included), it’s ‘the internet’. Once you’ve identified these, be cautious about using them when you know you’re tight on time. If nothing else, set an alarm for ten minutes or so to prevent you from accidentally spending forty-five minutes reading Wikipedia pages about nuclear disasters.

8) Keep a distraction notepad nearby. Are you trying to do work but you just keep thinking of other exciting/important things you need to do/look up right now? Keep a notepad or word document nearby and write down these ideas/ thoughts as they arise. That way, you know you won’t forget about them, and you can keep focusing on what you’re meant to be doing. (Spoiler alert: you will end up not looking up half of these things because you realise they don’t actually matter)

9) Experiment with caffeine. People with ADHD have a different reaction to caffeine than NT people do, to the extent that coffee is even used as a treatment for children with ADHD. The flipside of this is that many people with ADHD struggle with anxiety, and too much caffeine makes this worse. If you struggle more with anxiety, reduce your caffeine intake; if you struggle more with executive dysfunction or an inability to focus, try adding in more. The line between ‘extra productivity’ and ‘oh good, a panic attack’ can be a thin one, but caffeine can be an excellent tool when used well.

10) Allow yourself time to grieve. This happens even more after you actually get diagnosed in my experience, but it’s relevant here too. I’ve often said that being diagnosed with a condition later in life does somewhat push you through the stages of grief. If you feel angry that nobody picked this up earlier, or depressed that your brain will be like this forever, or you flip-flop between believing you have ADHD and being in complete and utter denial: that is normal. You’ll hit acceptance eventually, I promise. For now, be patient with yourself, and understand that how you’re feeling is okay and alright.

I could list a bunch more of these, but hopefully there’s some stuff there to get you started and keep you sane. I tried not to put in anything too overwhelming or too specific- though, of course, you’ll likely find some of these apply more than others. I know this wait period will feel horribly, impossibly long, but you are strong and you can do impossible things. I’m proud of you.

#adhd #add #rsd #rejection sensitive dysphoria #goblin brain

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations ABBY! You’ve been accepted as MARS with a FC change to HUNTER SCHAFER.

Abby, we’re excited to have you back, and we’re excited to have you gracing the dashboard with Yvette! Her life’s story flowed so well, I felt as if I could envision it like a movie - of course, it’d probably be one that I cry during, but that’s besides the point. I’m a sucker for the little things, and those headcanons, from her favorite things to her laughter, just made me envision her that much more clearer and really makes you see her as a person, not just a character. Welcome back!

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION

NAME / ALIAS: abby

PRONOUNS: she/her

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: EST, 6-7/10 – What is time these days? I’m still a full time grad student, but with everything the way it is i’m pretty much on my computer all the time, which means I can be better involved in the gc ( hopefully ! ). In terms of replies, I’ll either be cranking things out on the dash in the mornings or at night after dinner (8-9pm onwards)

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION

DESIRED ROLE: Yvette Diandra

GENDER/PRONOUNS: trans woman & she/her

DETAILS & ANALYSIS: 

Calm like a bomb. The only tick tick you’ll get out of Yvette is her heart thrumming when her hands lift off the handlebars; when her smile splits for a second – all teeth. There’s nothing overtly dangerous about her: a young woman grown upright into adulthood, all legs and elbows and big eyes, searching for soft spots between your ribs. Mischievous, maybe – up to no good, certainly. She smiles like she’s got a secret tucked under her lip, more than just the tattoo she got drunk on her 21st birthday reading PUSSY in blurred out ink ( you are what you eat, right? ). 

There’s an uptick to her brow to tell you she’s unimpressed; a shrug in her shoulders that says she couldn’t give a shit what you say, really, but a nod and another nod until she can roll away from one palm-flanked street to the next. She’ll keep it that way – a slow blink like a cat’s to say, i trust you, a hand extended with a joint between her fingers. You know she’s whispering about you when she turns to giggle in her friend’s dark hair, but – come on. She looks like she’ll bowl over with a strong wave; how much damage can she really do?

She doesn’t use her powers often, a clean and tidy life that comes at the expense of control. She’ll say it’s because her powers are messy. The truth is she’s never been terrified of anything like she is of herself. She knows what her blast radius is, knows how easy it is to crush things, like a petal in her fist. She knows the shrapnel never really comes out; you can’t get unfucked, you can’t put all that toothpaste back in the tube. You sure as shit can’t walk across the bridge, on fire while you hold the blown-out match. It’s fine. It’s all fucking fine. Yvette clamps a bear trap on her own foot – not because she likes it, not because it’s convenient. Because the alternative, is, frankly, a lot of fucking work. Yvette is good at breaking herself apart, less so at putting herself together. The drop is always easier than getting back up.

The fearlessness – as congenital as the atoms in her body, shivering to split and reshape like waves on the surf – comes out in other ways. No helmet on the on the hill that drives straight down to the beach. Sketchy deals with friends of a friend of a cousin of a diagonal neighbor. Nights lost to glitter and the burn of liquor on her tongue, unsure of the time between the club and the beach and her bed. Mornings split like a snowcone in the sky, and the rest of the day lost to sleep. Petty theft. Cruel giggles poorly stifled in the back of her hand. Fun that’s really only fun when you aren’t at the receiving end of it. Testing the edges of control like dipping your toes into a riptide.

BIO: 

Trigger warnings for: still birth, abuse, drug use

Yvette is born screaming. Peals of it, unfurling from her tiny, toothless mouth. Despondent – no nurse’s finger or nipple in her mouth would quiet her. Eight years or so later, over three fingers of bottom-shelf whiskey and a chain of cigarettes that should’ve put her in a grave, her mother mentions offhand it was just Yvette overcompensating, as usual. It’s the first time she hears about her brother, pushed out between her desperate wails; born sleeping. Yvette swallows this like she does all her mother’s bitter commentary – wide-eyed, slim fingers wrapped around her blue plastic cup, knees drawn up and chin nestled between them. 

Things were easy, then – on the bicycle of their lives; two wheels holding up the frame in equal measure. At least – that’s how Yvette remembers them, and refuses to remember further. Texas was honey-sweet and bourbon-rich; Yvette was raised between their dry front lawn and the neighbors, the block a kingdom for her bare feet to conquer. She was a wild thing, then, wiggling in her mother’s hands and in a furious race with the sun. The problem with the sun is that it goes down. The clock stops ticking at midnight, and the candles blow out. The screen door swings shut. 

Yvette makes no secret of her dislike for Mom’s boyfriend. He’s tall and broad, with mean eyes like Mom taught her to look for. His hands are cracked and he smells more of cigarettes than her, too; reeks of them, and maybe that’s why Mom likes him so much – she thinks she can smoke him down, too. Yvette’s never had a taste for tobacco, not since she went to school on the first day of fourth grade and all the kids next to her held her nose. The only time Mom’s ever slapped her was when Yvette crushed all the unused packs under her boot. 

So the first boyfriend is a bust, but it doesn’t stop Mom from bringing home the second or the third. By the fourth Yvette’s on the cusp of something she can’t quite reach, and she knows enough from her skimmed physics book to understand insanity. This time, she shuts the bedroom door and says nothing. Doesn’t stop Mom from falling back into the pendulum swing, though, and this time the speed picks up. Boyfriend Five nearly kicks her door down when all their friends go home and Six takes a fist full of her hair before Mom can stop him. She doesn’t wait to see what special brand of asshole Seven is – peel back the label and it’s all the same dented can. 

Miami was an inside joke – another liquor-based confession Mom made on the couch with a smoke in her hand. It was a place to pin all their secret wants and wishes. You could be something, in Miami, something warm and pink and sun-dusted, a place where the sun doesn’t set and the sand is warm between their toes. A pipe-dream, Yvette echoed back and Mom nodded. Now, with Boyfriend Seven’s cash in her pocket, a bag on her back, and the rest of her life literally up in flames – why the fuck not? Everyone was always telling her to stop letting the world happen to her.

There wasn’t a lot Mom was right about – not Yvette’s dad, or her name, or any of those shitbags she ever brought home. She was maybe a little bit right about Miami, though. It was flamingo-pink and glittering. And no one gave a single shit. Not when Yvette grew her hair long, or rolled up her skirts, or walked into Planned Parenthood with her heart in her throat. 

Mom finds her, eventually. It’s hard not to when Yvette made no secret of it and tended to implode her life every six months or so. It was all very dramatic – lots of wet mascara, tears, hands clasped in front of her like she was about to mutter six Hail Mary’s. The last boyfriend – was it Ten, now? Eleven? – finally put his hands on Mom and apparently that was something of a wakeup call. Not Yvette, gone in the night, with their cash and the garage like ground zero. Not all the times the kitchen vibrated like the base of a volcano, seconds from exploding. Still, Yvette opens her door. Mom sleeps on the couch now, goes to work with few words while Yvette sleeps in. They don’t say the M word. They don’t say the F or the H word either. This isn’t home and they aren’t really family. Yvette’s control is thin like fishing line. These days, to be honest, they don’t say much at all.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

Hana Mercado: There is nothing about Yvette and Hana that will ever be calm and peaceful. From their first collision, like flintrock to tinder, Yvette knew she was going to love this stupid bitch forever. They’re like a tanner, taller Team Rocket – or Thelma & Louise, though Yvette doesn’t give herself too much time to contemplate which side of the hero/sidekick coin she falls on between the two of them. The honest to god truth is that there wasn’t much Yvette had before Hana – her mom, maybe, and 20 hours of week at the gas station where she could do fuck all and still get paid for it.  It wasn’t even the power she wanted. She could feel it – maybe, buzzing at the base of her spine, but it wasn’t why, when Hana held their hand out, Yvette took it.

It was balance, restored. Yvette spent her life since eight reaching for it, open hands unmet. She thought she needed quiet, like a vacuum to suck out all the noise and rage vibrating inside her. She was so fucking fixated on it. But a counterbalance can never be empty space. Hana stepped on the other side of the scale – lightning to Yvette’s thunder; there, bright and flashing, for Yvette’s low rumble to follow. And that’s what they are – aren’t they? Storms for girls; blowing through the bay, darkening the sky and roughing up the surf; spitting out dunes like chewed gum.

But Yvette sees the way Hana’s been nudging her, pressing their foot down on Yvette’s side of the scale. They want to cut the wires, watch the clock tick down to zero, and Yvette can’t for the life of her understand why. Her whole life she’s ripped things out from the inside, ruined things to show herself she could; decided it was what she deserved. She doesn’t need Hana to do it for her, too. Yvette knows fully fuckin’ well what she’s capable of – and it scares her. The fear of it chokes her up, mangles her insides until she can’t breathe. The problem is, of course, that it’s Hana. Anyone else Yvette would’ve told to fuck right off by now – and shit, she probably already has. But Hana’s hand in hers is a grounding weight, and even without that she’s at risk of detonation.

EXTRA: 

Headcanons:

-Yvette’s transportation of choice is her mom’s old roller skates that she rehabbed. She’s a frequent loiterer on the counters of her favorite skate shops, juggling wheels or messing with knuts and washes. As a result of both her hobby and general lack of care for her own wellbeing, she’s often sporting bruised knees and hands and a fair amount of road rash.

-As a natural consequence of her lack of experience and control, Yvette has set fire to a number of various buildings and infrastructure, including but not limited to: her mom’s garage, three gas stations, the neighbor’s yard, a playground swingset, herself (once, technically), two jetties, and some of Tatiana’s plants. She’s never been charged with arson.

-She has a habit of laughing in grossly inappropriate situations, and despite literally everything else about her that says otherwise – it’s almost never on purpose. It’s an anxious habit Yvette doesn’t know the origin of or how to stamp it out, but regardless: nervous, angry, scared, or frustrated, Yvette is going to laugh. Probably in your face. She might even feel sorry about it, but usually only if it gets her in trouble ( which, as one might expect, it very often does )

-The quickest way to Yvette’s heart is between her ribs and under her breastbone, but also: vaporwave edits of pop songs, alaskan thunder fuck, sour apple jolly ranchers, holo stickers, Bombay Sapphire gin, karaoke on acid, 80’s night at the roller rink, fresh blackberries, retro movies with running commentary, white samoyeds on walks down the boardwalk, really really dumb fucking puns, and the occasional baseball bat to an old tv screen. 

Character parallels: Amma Crellin ( Sharp Objects ), Effy Stonem ( Skins ), Jules Vaughn ( Euphoria ), Ilyana Rasputina ( X-men ), Amy Elliot Dunne ( Gone Girl ), Lemony Snicket

This is so dumb but I basically see Yvette’s mom as an older Dakota Johnson? But when she was younger she was very much Dakota in A Bigger Splash ( see here ). Alternatively, an older Yvette? 

Playlist / Pinterest / Moodboard

ANYTHING ELSE: 

Magneto did nothing wrong; also, 

#Accepted #accepted: mars

[bellakitse]

present tense, not past

Alex arrives at the UFO emporium a little after 9 pm, an hour past the 8 o’clock invitation to the grand re-opening gala for the tacky tourist trap. He shows his invitation to a man dressed in black and sunglasses obviously playing the part of a government spook. Shaking his head he walks into his teenage workplace, he knows that Isobel Evans has been planning this event for months and it seems that even her six-week stint in an alien pod didn’t stop her from getting things done. Inside he quickly spots her in the distance with her husband at her side as they make the rounds, stopping here and there to talk to locals and out of town alien groupies alike. He smirks to himself slightly at the almost amusing irony of an actual alien planning the opening of an alien museum.

And what an opening it is, the place is far fancier than it has ever been, not hard when all it’s ever been is a cheesy place full of make-believe. Though now that he knows extraterrestrials are actually a thing, he feels he needs to reassess his previous belief. This -underneath the glitz and glamour, Isobel has added to the place for this little party- is still a place he remembers with fondness. He’d always found the emporium amusing in the past, and the place had offered an escape more than once from his home life and his father.

Not to mention that he couldn’t think or step foot into the museum without thinking about Michael Guerin and a first kiss that 10 years later still shakes him to his core.

He takes a drink from a server passing by ready to bring it to his lips when across the room he makes eye contact with Maria. He looks back at her for a moment, feeling a pang in his chest as she sends him a tentative smile. The uncertainty on her face so foreign to him and he vows to himself that as soon as he can unfuck himself from the last few days of life-altering revelations, he’s going to fix things between them no matter how awkward that conversation turns out to be. For now, he sends her back a smile he hopes bears his love for her and tips his drink in her direction before taking a sip. The smile she flashes his way coupled with a playful roll of her eyes relaxes the tightness in his chest.

Smiling again, this time to himself he wanders from the main room where the party is being held to the smaller exhibit just off the left side, the room that holds what is possibly the best memory of his teenage years.

He lets out a breath as he takes in the room, unlike the rest of the emporium that has been completely revamped, very little has been changed here. In fact, other than maybe a good cleaning, he’d wager to say nothing about the room has changed. The far right wall is still covered with dark velvet fabric and shining lights. Overhead are still the two flying saucers, meteor rocks to the left. For Alex, it’s like stepping into the past.

Lost in his memories, he doesn’t hear the curtain move or the soft steps behind him.

“Nostalgia’s a bitch.”

Alex startles momentarily cursing his lack of situational awareness, he’s been trained better than this, for fuck sake.

He turns at the voice and takes Michael in.

In black from the top of his hat to his boots, his pants fit to hug his legs and Alex knows if Michael turns around to hug his ass perfectly. The large silver belt buckle low on his hips drawing Alex’s eyes, as usual, making him lick his lips absently as his mouth dries.

Angry might not be his type, but he must admit as he takes in Michael’s usual cocky swagger, embarrassing as it is, that the cowboy part of Kyle’s descriptor is entirely, 100% his type. And it seems that in days since they have seen each other, Michael has regained his equilibrium because he’s playing up the cowboy swagger to a ‘T.’

If Alex didn’t know better, if he were anyone else, he’d buy what Michael was selling right now. Still, everything has been so raw between them the last couple of days, and there is still so much more looming over them that he’s willing to play along for the time being.

“You need some need line, Guerin,” he says with a raised eyebrow.  “You’re starting to repeating yourself.”

Michael smirks back at him before bringing the beer in his hand to his lips. “That line worked out well enough the last time.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but more out of custom than any real annoyance. He looks around the place again and then looks back at the man before him, he realizes with startling clarity that they are standing pretty much the same way they were the last time they were in this room together, and he has to give Michael credit. Nostalgia indeed is a bitch and has laid on a hell of a sucker punch on him. From the way Michael is looking at him, the way he’s breathing a little heavier he isn’t the only one reliving the past.

He clears his throat and waves his hand at the room. “Isobel didn’t change this like she did rest,” he comments, his eyes widening when Michael’s reaction is instant. There is a red flush creeping up his neck to his cheeks, and it’s so reminiscent of 17-year-old Michael that Alex aches.

“Guerin?” he questions, keeping his tone soft when the other man looks away, shifting from one booted foot to the other.

Michael licks his lips, his line of sight somewhere off Alex’s left shoulder. “I asked her to keep this part of the museum alone, she didn’t want to because it’s tacky, but I insisted,” he finishes, now looking straight at Alex with those eyes of his that always pulled Alex in, that look on his face that always makes Alex feel both special and exposed to the world.

“Why?” he asks, his word above a whisper, his heart thundering under his ribcage and his hands itch to reach out when Michael takes a step towards him, looking at him from under his eyelashes.

“You know why,” Michael answer, his voice just as low, raw.

“Tell me,” Alex pushes, his voice desperate even to his own ears because he needs to know. After everything, they’ve been through. After finding out the truth about Michael, finding out about Maria, finding out that Michael wants to leave, he needs to know.

Michael stares at him for a moment, taking his hat off.

Proving yet again that he is the braver of the two, he speaks. “Because I love you, Alex,” he starts, and Alex can see how the words release the tightness that is always on Michael’s shoulders. “Present tense, not past, and this place,” he says gesturing to the room. “This is where I first realized it, I couldn’t lose that too, not if I’m going to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” Alex rushes to say, he can already see the walls building between them even after that declaration, and he’s had enough, enough of walking away, of misunderstanding, of not having the only thing he has ever truly want.

Michael gives him a skeptical look, and it hurts even though Alex knows he’s earned it with the way he’s treated Michael in the past.

“You walked away again,” Michael reminds him softly. “I mean I get it, not every day you find out your ex isn’t from this world,” he continues with a sad smile.

Alex shakes his head. “That’s not why I left, Michael,” he answers, pausing when Michael’s eyes widen. “What?”

Micheal swallows hard, licking his lips. “That might be the first time you’ve ever called me by my first name.”

Alex stops short at the comment, feeling like an idiot and horrible when he realizes that Michael is right.

“I’m an asshole,” he mutters lowly, ever since his father took a hammer to the hand of the man before him, all he’s ever wanted to do is keep him from harm, now he wonders just how many times he has hurt Michael himself. He sees Michael shake his head and Alex lets out a small smile he doesn’t actually feel. “I am,” he continues as he takes a step forward. “And I’ve been a coward, and it’s only now that I am beginning to realize how much I have hurt you. It’s no wonder that between the life this planet has given you and me, that you want to leave, I don’t blame you.”

“Alex,” Michael says helplessly, even now trying to reassure him, to fix it for Alex.

“I didn’t leave because of everything you told me,” he pushes on. “I meant it when I said I want to know you, all of you. I left because when you showed me the console,” he pauses, looking down at his feet. His eyes stinging as he feels the same profound loss he felt in Michael’s bunker, realizing that there was a real chance that one day soon he was going to have to watch Michael leave him behind, the same way Alex has done so many times.

Only this time it will be for keeps, it will be the end, something that even though there has been a 10-year history of starts and ends between them, he’s never thought that there could ever be a true end to them.

“You showed me the console, and I realized I would lose you for good,” Alex says looking back up, for once hiding noting as a tear rolls from the corner of his eye. “And I’m not ready for that Michael, because I love you too, present tense, not past,” he finishes, his voice gone a whisper with his confession.

Michael stares at him, his own eyes shining with unshed tears and then he moves. Alex meets him halfway, and the moment their lips touch, it like someone has cut his strings, he goes slack and clings to Michael to keep himself upright. He opens his mouth under Michael’s, and the kiss tastes salty from both their tears.

It isn’t a gentle kiss.

It’s days, weeks, months, years of pent up tension, of unsaid words, of love that has been tucked away in the deepest parts of them for safe, keeping finally being set free. No, the kiss is desperate, hands holding on tight as neither lets up, both afraid of this slipping through their fingers yet again. It’s only after oxygen becomes an issue that they break the kiss but not the hold they have on each other.

“I love you,” Michael repeats once again, and there is a rare honest smile on his face.

“I love you,” Alex answers back, pressing his forehead against Michael before continuing, hoping against hope that his next words don’t cost him what he only just got back. “Which is why I have to tell you that I have one of the missing pieces to your ship.”

#roswell nm #michael x alex #malex fic #malex #my writing

[piratical-princess]

Maybe it feels like it’s been said, but it could always bear repeating for folks who need it.

* The blues can just be the blues, but depression is chemical, and there’s no way to just “make yourself” snap out of it. There are multiple treatments so don’t give up if you tried one and it didn’t work -- someone who knows what they’re doing can help you and it will be worth it.

* Change your clothes. Change your underwear. It is tempting to wear the comfy-pants every day, I know, but wash them, wear fresh socks, gets bins for dirty clothes and put the clean ones somewhere off the floor if you’re not ready to fold them.

* Brush your teeth.  Wash and brush your hair. You will feel better after a shower and a little grooming.

* Routine is important for your body.  Healthy body will help you with a healthy mind.  If your bod has no idea when it’s going to sleep or when it’s getting its next meal, damn right it’s going to be anxious and sad.  Try going to bed around the same time, get 8 hours, avoid sleeping in crazy patterns.

* Eat. If you’re bummed and you don’t know why, ask yourself when you slept, when you ate last, when you had something green that was a plant.  Eat as regularly as you can and try to avoid junk.  If fresh vegetables are hard to keep in the house, buy veggie juice, that Green Machine stuff is delicious.  Your mind will react to your bod getting nutrients.

* A concept I’ll never forget is mise en place, a restaurant term, meaning everything in its place. You set your shit up in your station and no matter how fast you’re working or what other people are doing around you, you keep your station clean.  Messy station, messy brain.  It is easy when you’re blue to let your place get all junked up, piles of trash and laundry and mail -- take it piece by piece and clean.  Start by making your bed every day and branch out from there.  Mise en place, clean your life, unfuck your habitat, and your brain will thank you for it.

* Just because everyone has problems doesn’t mean your problems are not valid.  Don’t fall into the guilt trap. Be honest with yourself.

* Yes, you are tired and yes, you feel like shit.  That means you need to be patient with yourself and it means you are allowed to be proud of yourself when you accomplish things.  That does not mean you are allowed to stop moving forward.  Baby steps, not zero steps.  Maybe you can’t change the busted lightbulb today, but you can unscrew it today.  Tomorrow, write down what number it says so you can look it up at the store the next day.  Keep moving forward.  You are allowed to be patient with yourself, but pushing forward is important.

* Talk to humans.  When you’re ready.  There are a lot of us here and we like you.

#if anyone has anything to add #please do #I don't have all the answers #depression #anxiety #psa #hopefully this is somewhat helpful #i say it with love

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

Hey! I know you're not a psychologist or something like that, but do you have any advice for people with executive dysfunction? Or since this a mbti blog, any advice on how to be more productive and get things done to people with low or no Te?

So, those are two good but different questions and I’ll try to answer them both.

Executive dysfunction: yeah...not a psychologist and while I recognize that getting access to a professional can be difficult and there can be problems with psychiatrists/psychologists, I do recommend that. If there’s a neurochemical root to the dysfunction, ultimately treating that if it’s something that should be cured, or coming up with coping mechanisms if not, is going to be more successful. My advice for low Te is below but I recognize that saying “Just do it” to someone with untreated ADHD or depression isn’t effective.

I should also point out executive dysfunction itself is pretty complex and shows in many forms. The executive dysfunction due to brain damage isn’t the same as the “I can’t do this” feeling of depression or the inability to focus of ADHD, and I feel especially ignorant of how it specifically manifests with autism. So: make sure it’s executive dysfunction, and make sure that’s the cause. I’ll talk about this more below too.

I think the last think to say here is that if you’re working on that root cause, the next step is letting yourself be imperfect. If you’re doing laundry less often than recommended, or mostly making frozen food/pasta instead of nice healthy complex meals, that’s fine.

Oh, and this is mostly from the perspective of an adult talking about 'adulting’ things but: if you’re a student and have executive dysfunction get that documented now and make sure your teachers know. Some will be dicks, but you’ll be in a much better position to dispute unfair treatment if you can demonstrate that you’re not just slacking.

Productivity: 

First, start with addressing why you’re unproductive and whether it’s a valid explanation. Are you exhausted and overworked? Do you genuinely have executive dysfunction and is it a symptom of something? Do you not have time or resources? Do you not know what needs to be done in the first place? These are all valid reasons- it doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences of not getting things done, but it does mean that the next steps won’t work until you address the root cause, be it through psychological help and medication, getting some unnecessary stuff off your plate, delegating, taking a break, generally asking for help, whatever.

Second: if you don’t have a good answer to the first question then the next step is stop making excuses. This is where MBTI comes in: you can’t go into school or work and say “oh, well, I’m an INTP so I didn’t do it”. Acknowledge that your low Te isn’t an excuse for failing to fulfill basic responsibilities. This sounds really negative because I’m not really a warm fuzzy person but if you want to frame it more nicely, acknowledge that this is within your power to do.

A couple of advantages of having low Te, especially if you’re a high Ti or Fi user: I can get really annoyed if I had a mental plan to say, go grocery shopping, and then that has to be postponed because life happens. It’s not actually a big deal but I don’t like changing my plans so I make it a big deal. Use your inherent flexibility to your advantage; productivity is a balance and being too rigid has its own problems just as being too easygoing does.

Third: Assuming you’ve eliminated the serious limitations AND the bullshit excuses you’re onto the ‘valid, but not good enough to stop you’ reasons. The root of procrastination is often fear or anxiety, and for that, again, unless it’s at a level where medical intervention would be helpful, you sort of have to power through it and I wish I had advice on how to do this but it’s mostly just “tell your non-clinical level of anxiety to shut the goddamn fuck up.” Or maybe you’re trying to be productive about a side project that you’re not actually excited about anymore in which case drop it - you don’t have to do everything. Just don’t bail on other people.

Fourth: plan and do the thing. There’s honestly a zillion schools of thought on what works - doing a really hard big thing on your list first vs. doing a bunch of small tasks!  Setting aside a large block of time for a project or breaking it into little chunks! Scheduling down to the minute vs. doing it when the mood strikes within a set timeframe! Play around and see what works for you. I’ve tried a lot of to-do list apps, I tried Getting Things Done for a while, and honestly the good old free Google Inbox and Calendar and Keep or writing stuff down is the most effective for me. I also work best in long stretches rather than small chunks, but I know lots of people who have the opposite experience.

Planning is even more important and so to bring MBTI back into it: if you don’t actually enjoy planning itself figure out how to make the things appeal to whatever your higher judging function is. For Ti, figure out why things make sense to do. For Fi or Fe figure out why these are important to you or those around you. This does only go so far though and for some things you need to just admit you have to do them to not starve or live in filth.

I think the universal things here are: plan, even if it’s a loose general plan (”I will mail that letter sometime in the next week”); write down your list unless you have a flawless memory which you probably don’t (how you write it down is up to you), and take reasonable breaks. While I like working in long stretches, if I’m working on something I’m not super excited about (studying for my board exams was a good example; cleaning is another) I use the Pomodoro technique which is a fancy way of saying I set a timer for 20-30 minutes, work for that time, and take a break for 5-10 minutes, then repeat. Unfuck Your Habitat, a great resource for cleaning that includes some tips for cleaning and mental illness in particular, calls these 20-10s. Call them whatever, but I highly recommend using them.

These are also great if you’re feeling sick or depressed or just unproductive, because 20 minutes is very manageable with a clear end time.

Five: let yourself learn and don’t be too hard on yourself. Things do fall through the cracks, especially if you’re not naturally much of a go-getter, or if you’re trying to do this while being treated for, say, ADHD or depression, or sometimes you need to call in extra help. I mean, I think I’m pretty good at adulting and I’m mentally in a pretty good place, but a couple weeks ago I genuinely had a week where I was out of the house 8 am-8 pm without much of a break and like...sometimes you’re going to eat string cheese and granola for dinner and drop off your laundry at the wash and fold instead of doing it yourself and not make it to the gym 4 times that week, and that’s okay. It’s not an excuse to slack off but “good enough” is still, well, good enough.

Hope this helps!

#mbti #productivity #Anon ask #answered asks

[crazy8man-blog]

Crazy 8 (chapter 10)

So, I got back to my shelter last night and learned that 2 sweet old ladies from the Metropolitan Community Church had come to visit me. Fucking bullshit!

First off, no church is going to sand 2 women into the fucking field, especially to speak to someone as close to the bitch, Tina, as I am.

It was long ago in what seems like and actually was a different life, half a lifetime ago. It's also one of those regrets I think of often. I mean I won't lie and tell you I lose sleep over it. But it bothers me.

I was a fucking Sunday School teacher. Oh, let me watch my mouth, at least for this part of my story. Anyways, yeah, I loved that job and I didn't even get paid for it. But I did in a sense.

You see, I used to teach Sunday School to Autistic Children. And it was nothing short of amazing.

I'm not gonna delve too deep into it. But I will tell you that to reach the mind of an Autistic Child is to see the face of God.

The Metropolitan Community Church knows I'm a fucking addict, an I V drug user, the worst of the fucking worthless worst. No one was here on any good fucking will mission!

I'm in some sort of trouble! Fucking Ivan! Leave me the fuck alone, God dammit!

Dude, I've been hitting you up on Adam forever. He laughed. "Small fucking world." I knew right away we have gonna hit it off. If nothing else, he had a really nice fucking dick and was a top.

Fucking Terry, that crack head mother fucker called the fucking cops!  I never even laid a fucking finger on that mother fucker and he called the fucking cops! And that worthless cock sucker was the one that fucking told that fucking ugly fat tranny wanna be Moshe that I had either abused or neglected Sally Pickles. I fucking hate that mother fucker and hope he fucking spends the fucking rest of his fucking life alone and fucking miserable!

I'd wondered as to the origins of his screen name "Bonnobboner." But like I said, he was a top and he had a really nice fucking dick. And given the fact that he was willing to pool our shit together so that we could share an ounce, what the fuck did it matter?

When he stripped naked and laid himself out on my bed I could smell how clean he was, how fresh, how sweet. And the nervousness that seemed to overcome him, a seasoned slammer, only gave itself deeper into the moment. But still, it puzzled me that he should seem uncertain about himself. But did it really matter?

He, I And the bitch, Tina were gonna have a great night. I'd been trying to land this catch for months.

"I've actually heard about you and I'm a little nervous. You wanna slam me while I'm blindfolded? I know what I'm asking for and trust you. That's why I'm here in your bed"

It was like a fucking fantasy that this guy was gonna let me slam him blindfolded. You know it was gonna be the crazy fucking 8.

3 days later he came down and I was purring like a fucking kitten! Mike was one sweet ass fuck!

In the end which was upon us from the start, we were 2 thoughts that occurred in the storm, a tempest.

It bothered him that I cared, that I stopped by to say hello, to see if he was alright.

As I've said, nothing fucking lasts forever! We ended up going our separate ways. But I do think of him from time to time.

I guess we were just each other's passing fancy.

Oh, and the screen name? It's a monkey, a fucking monkey!

Anyways, I got a few hours sleep and hit the streets to become invisible, unseen, forgotten, just as my beloved Ivan has done. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that.

I was also made aware that Ivan is gone. He fucking left without a fucking word! Can you fucking believe this fucking shit? Can I fucking believe it? Unfucking real I tell you Unfucking real! But sadly, it is real. I couldn't fucking make this shit up if I fucking tried!

Sitting there in an empty apartment an idea came to me, New York City. Yeah, Manhattan.

I longed for a change, an escape from you know who, the bitch, Tina. I was broke., Philip wasn't talking to me and I had 24 hours to vacate the fucking apartment. Yeah, I had been fucking evicted! My life was over. My Mon had agreed to take temporary custody of Sally Pickles and she paid for my Amtrak ticket to New York.

I had no plan. I had no money. I had no fucking clue what the fuck I was going to do. I just did.

And now the fucking worst of the very worst possible news. That fucking cunt minister, she killed Sally Pickles! She grew tired of running, of hiding, of living in the fucking shadows. And rather than doing the right fucking thing she murdered my Sally Pickles? What fucking kind of fucking insanity is this mother fucker nightmare?

Fifty dollars doesn't go far when you're riding the fucking rail. The phone rang, my cell, it was my dealer.

"Where are you?"  He wined. I have to get clean. I lost the fucking apartment, so I'm headed to New York to get clean so I can come back and find Philip. "No you're not. Stop." But I was. Look at your Grindr. We would use Grindr to check up on each other and chat during the day and when he was cooking. "I'll fucking kill you! Get off that fucking train! I'm begging you please don't do this." He had begin to wig the fuck out. I have to get clean! "Come back now! I'll limit how much I sell you!', I can't fucking stop! "What? You don't think you're gonna find.meth in New York?' Yes, I know there's Meth in New York, but at least I won't know where to get it and there'll be no one there to give me credit just because we fuck.

In 12 step programs they tell you to about people places and things. I guess that could've been considered my first attempt at it if I didn't owe him 3 grand.

I'm dying without any beloved Sally Pickles. And I'm will surely perish into some hellish oblivion and be tormented for all eternity without Ivan, my husband.

Looking around me there's only one way I know to escape this fucking hell I'm stuck in, this unbearable unending nightmare. The bitch,Tina and my favorite crazy 8.

But that's only temporary and permanent is what I need, what I long for. And on top of all this mother fucking shit, I just got robbed! Some nigger mother fucker pulled a fucking 38 on me and took $538 from me. And if that wasn't bad enough that nigger crock sucker hit me over the fucking head with the butt end of the gun.

Now let me tell ya, I say allot of shit in anger that I don't mean. But you'd better fucking believe this! Payback is coming and a whole lot of mother fuckers are going to pay. Some will definitely get hurt. Some may die, well probably not die. But I've just lost too much and now it's time to fucking take. I have to stop the bleeding! I have to find a way to escape the fucking madness!

[naturecpw]

Top 10 Things You DON’T Need To Do Before You Die

Ryan Babikian in Generation Y

There are many moronic things we weakly tolerate as our metric for manhood that often end up in a person’s bucket list. But why assimilate to the general population’s will? Not everything is right for you, and you certainly do not need to accomplish certain things before you die.

Here are the Top 10 things that the Elite man does NOT have to do before he dies:

1. Have sex on a plane

I have never had sex on an airplane, and I have come to the realization that I am going to be okay if I never do. If I find out I have a rare blood disorder that will kill me in four days, I am not going to sit around wishing I had bent some woman over the sink 30,000 feet above Kansas City (Well, depending on how she looks, maybe I would).

Sex in public places is fun, but it is uncomfortable enough to even sit on an airplane, let alone play make-shift Twister in a 4 x 4 closet-sized bathroom near a vacuum-flush toilet.

Also, think about how pedestrian the Mile High Club really is. A spur of the moment encounter is always exhilarating, but being expected to have sex on a commercial jetliner takes the fun out of it – especially if you are one of those guys who is coaxing your girlfriend into the lavatory only to avoid being the loser the next time someone asks you, “Are in the Mile High Club?”

This day in age – post 9/11 – the consequences associated with having sex on a plane are not worth enduring if the probable outcome is a tazer to the chest by a federal air marshal, getting arrested after a forced landing, and a spot on the no-fly-list.

2. Come to terms with your uglier emotions & tendencies, like anger or lying

Everyone lies. We do not feel bad about this and you should not either. Lying is an inherent part of human interaction. It allows you to show interest when you do not care, to flatter just to make someone feel better, to express gratitude just to be respectful, etc. All of which are not only necessarily right, but allow for good outcomes.

For example, if you gave someone a birthday present, and that person does not like it, we would rather they smiled and kept their dissatisfaction to themselves. It is the people who will not or cannot bring themselves to lie that you really have to watch out for.

As for anger, that is another much-needed emotion in the game of business. Sometimes yelling and screaming are necessary to motivate or to get a point across to your team. Maybe you have been pushed the wrong way one time too many times and you need to make it clear that it cannot happen again.

Anger is often times justifiable. Forget the self-help books and Buddhist monk mentality that people have – for some reason – embraced that tell you to cut off these negatively-associated emotions and tendencies.

3. Tame a wild animal

Nothing good comes from domesticating a wild animal. People always say you have to ride a horse bareback, on a beach, with your long hair flowing behind you, naked, before you die. But you do not have to do that. We would say that there are a litany of things you should do naked, and riding a horse is at the top of the list. If you are a man, you should not even walk around naked.

If you are a woman, you win. Although, for women who think men are whiners, try having your mammary glands swinging between your legs and then we will talk. Walking naked for a man and the pain of a misstep is tricky enough. Jogging naked can give you a headache very quickly. Now imagine riding a horseback naked. If you do not see the potential damage for a man, we cannot help you. So, if you have ever had the desire to ride a horse – especially naked – get off of this site.

4. Grow a mustache, get a mohawk, etc.

Irony has its limits, especially when your physical appearance is negatively affected for weeks at a time and your first impression always turns people away. And when irony takes the form of bushy hair that grows on your upper lip, it fast become a nuisance to those around you.

There is also the shame you feel when you see an old girlfriend or colleague. That persistent urge to inform every new person you meet that, hey, you know, the mustache – it is really just a joke. After a few weeks, it is not the mustache that you loathe, it will be yourself. Silly, vain, unfuckable you.

As for the Mohawk, people think this stands for defiance or rebellion. Maybe once it did, but not in 2012. Now it stands for defeat. Be a winner, not a loser – erase the Mohawk and mustache from your bucket list.

5. Remember which state is Montana

When you were little, teachers spent half the time making you memorize the 50 states and capitals. Most of us still cannot fill in a blank map of the United States. Many tell themselves that one day they will master geography and be able to point out Montana, Missouri or South Dakota on a map.

Do not waste your time. Once you get older you realize that all 50 states are not equally important. In fact, you could get by in life just knowing the East and West coast states. If you are an Elite man, then you have realized that there are only a couple of cities that have either a cultural or economical significance and the ones you cannot name have no significance in any way.

6. Videotape yourself having sex

So you want to join the classy ranks of people like Tommy Lee, Paris Hilton and Colin Farrell? Hold up. Did you ever stare at a television and blurt out, “Why would the Nazis film their atrocities?” or “Why didn’t Nixon just burn those tapes?” Do you see a pattern here?

You are probably thinking that the production outcome will be at least at the level of a third-rate porn. Wrong. Your videotape will have no zooms, no pans and no movement whatsoever. Have you ever been turned on by a convenience-store surveillance video? That is what you about to embark on your video taped journey with, and you are nude.

So if it gets out, your reputation will be ruined in pixilated infamy.

7. Sleep With A Hilton Sister

8. Take a year off

After that year ends, you will literally be trying to catch up for the rest of your life. Unless you are 100% completely established with nothing more to accomplish, you should never want to take a year off. But if you do, remember that the competition is just one step behind at all times. If you take a year off, you are only conceding the lead to them and passing up on your lifelong success.

9. Drop acid

Can you say overrated? there are just as many bad trips as good ones, and most often you will experience both at once. Do not feel like this is something that you must do before you die. It will not change your life for the better, it will most likely destroy it for the rest of your existence.

10. Gaze upon the ruins of Pompeii

Traveling to different continents to see the wonders of the world in person is a concept that emerged before the invention of the Internet. Now, with one click, you can see the Ruins of Pompeii and the Great Wall of China better than any possible way you could experience these sites in person.

Have you ever spent a week in Pompeii? If you go, you will not experience one minute of fine culture. Expect waiting in line for hours to see a single historical artifact. And once you see it you will think to yourself, “I don’t get it”.  Actually, no one gets it; they only pretend to.

However, this is what you will remember about Pompeii: dogs. There are big, stray dogs everywhere. With overgrown coats and gnarly premolars, you will not want to take one of these canines home. You will also remember the transvestite hooker who humped wildly in hotel parking lots. No Elite man needs to see a transvestite hooker humping wildly in their parking lot.

Elite.

http://elitedaily.com/life/top-10-die/

[wiresandstarlings]

found art

Googling “how to unfuck brain” brings up, in order:

1. A self-published, bizarrely profane neuroscience book. “As we navigate the world, nasty shit happens. The brain stores info about the nasty shit to try to avoid it in the future.”

2. A list of proven steps to unfuck your life that features the advice “Grab that fucking Cocker Spaniel [sic] and beat the shit out of it.” and “Watching good sports will do miracles for you, because of one simple thing: you are watching champions.”

3. A really pretentious robot's blog?

4. A thousand-word forum post on a regenerative medicine website about doing drugs and quitting and not being able to sleep or cope with anxiety after.

5. A MIT Technological Review article about treating OCD and depression with electrode arrays. The process is something between shock therapy and a lobotomy – “The surgery begins with the drilling of dime-size holes in the skull, through which the electrodes will be inserted.” The doctor profiled in the article works at the hospital where Sylvia Plath stayed in The Bell Jar.

6. A 43-second video with 53 views advertising a Russian seminar on how to draw testicles, sans text or dialogue.

7. The Amazon page for the book from 1.

8. Amazon again, except the Kindle link.

9. A twitter account “here to help undo the great mindfuck of religion” whose last tweet, dated 12/26/16, reads “Is god just an emotion?”

10. A productivity blog post on the evolutionary psychology of negativity bias that begins “pretend you're a caveman”.

Maybe had I stopped condescending to these people trying to fix their problems I would have found some insight into how to fix my own. Who knows.