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babbushka · 4 years

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Under-cover(s)

(gif by @stevenrogered)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

4.5k ; NSFW lol

You’re waiting up for him, as you always do. It’s late, but that’s nothing new, nothing special. He’s been going in late lately, having to stay extra hours at the station, people fucking up their paperwork which fucks up his paperwork which which which. He had called you though, called to let you know he was on his way home, and eagerly, you waited.

It’s just after two in the morning when there’s a knock at the door, and you frown. Panicking for a split second, you check to make sure your robe is tied all the way tight, and fearing the worst, you rush to the foyer. Flip never knocks, why would he? He’s got his key, unless something happened to it, unless something happened to him.

You practically yank the door open, and are met with a sight so confusing that you almost don’t know what to make of it all.

“Honey?” You ask, because that’s him, that’s your Flip.

Except…it’s not. Not how you left him, anyway, with a kiss and a smile and a fresh mug of coffee when you had visited the station for lunch. Instead of his neatly ironed flannel and blue jeans, he’s wearing a black tank-top and camo jacket. Instead of his star he’s got silver chains, and instead of his boots, there’s a shiny black pair of loafers on his feet.

“Baby.” He says with a nod of his head, leaning against the door frame real sensual, casual, as if this were the most easy breezy normal thing he’d ever done.

“What…is this?” You can’t stop yourself from asking, halfway torn between bursting into laughter, and yanking his lips down onto yours.

Because fuck, though it isn’t anywhere near what your husband normally looks like, how he normally dresses, or even how he normally carries himself…you can’t deny that this look is – while incredibly ridiculous – extremely attractive.

He doesn’t answer your question at first, instead holds up a pint of your favorite flavor of ice cream.

“I brought you ice cream.” He says, and obvious statement, and you do crack a smile then at the situation, even as you take it from his huge hand.

“Thank you Flip, but what – ”

“My name’s Bryan.” He corrects, and you hesitate for a minute, picking up what he’s putting down, knowing exactly what’s going on here.

“With an I?” You ask, because you have to know.

And he smiles then too, he breaks character as he scratches the back of his neck in a very Flip manner, chews the inside of his cheek and shakes his head at you.

“No, a Y.” He winces, and you wince too, the both of you giggling like teenagers there in the dark of the foyer.

“Flip, ew.” You tease, making him immediately playfully straighten his shoulders, give you a warning look that has no real heat behind it, a look that has you rolling your eyes anyway as you apologize, “Sorry, Bryan. Don’t be shy, come on in.”

You leave the door, leave the foyer entirely, as you go to the kitchen to put the ice cream in the freezer. It’s halfway melted, now something closer to ice cream soup than whatever it originally was, but that’s no problem. Ice cream re-froze just fine, even if the texture might be a little off.

You keep bracing yourself for his strong arms to wrap around your waist like they’re wont to do, but a couple seconds go by and your husband still hasn’t glued himself to your body. You frown with concern, thinking maybe something has happened, and close the freezer, sticking your head out into the hall to try and get eyes on your man.

“Honey?” You ask, calling quietly, not wanting to wake up the baby.

You see him creeping through the living room, a strange sort of slow-motion to his limbs. You have a million questions, but you mostly just stare at him, because while he’s being very silly, he’s also taking off that awful jacket of his, letting it slide down down down his arms and onto the couch as he passes by it.

You have a thing for his arms, he knew it. You knew he knew it. The way they were creamy smooth, speckled only with a few beauty marks and even fewer scars, ones that made him look like the badass he was trying to be right now.

“I’m on my way.” He winks in the low light of the living room, but he doesn’t seem particularly eager to get to you in that panicked rushed way he always is normally.

“…Are you okay?” You ask, putting your hands on your hips.

“Yeah I’m just taking my time baby.” He reassures you, and you’re really smiling now, really on the verge of getting the giggles, because he doesn’t ever call you baby, not really, not like that.

“Can I convince you to walk a little faster?” You quirk an eyebrow, fighting a grin, but he holds his hand up and shakes his head.

“Nope – ” He starts, but you cut him off by undoing the tie on your robe completely, the plush fabric parting and revealing your naked body underneath it, making him choke, making him have to stumble onto the couch so he doesn’t lose his footing as he croaks out an, “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah that’s what I thought.” You grin, the robe sliding down your arms to pool around your wrists.

He leans back against the couch, legs spread and arms resting on the tops of the cushions, and dammit all, he looks good. He looks so good.

Especially when he raises one of his strong hands and crooks it, beckons you forward with an, “Bring that ass here.”

You want to be difficult, feel that it is your duty as his most beloved wife, to be difficult.

“Who are you talkin’ to like that?” You ask, sauntering across the living room and settling on his lap, your legs on either side of his wide hips, your hands tucking his hair back behind those big ears of his that you so adore, before slowly removing the ugly sunglasses away from his face. “Because I know it ain’t me.”

“Ketsl.” Flip warns, and you bite a laugh away from your mouth, trying to school your expression.

“Sorry, Bryan.” You say, make sure to be breathless, like those girls in the adult flicks that keep premiering.

You think this whole scenario is a lot like those flicks; you in your undone robe, sitting on his lap while he looks like he does coke off of a girl’s tits.

Speaking of tits, Flip is drawn to yours the second they’re close enough to his face. He pushes them together and nuzzles his face into your cleavage, kisses the tops of your breasts and bites the flesh of your sternum, teeth scraping lightly against you.

“It’s okay baby,” He says, voice muffled by the way he’s suffocating himself if your chest, “But you know what I was thinking?”

He peers up at you, and you smile, comb your fingers through his hair.

“What’s that?” You ask, indulging him, always indulging him.

“I was thinking we could play that game you like.” He offers, a glint in his eye that slowly deepens and melts into the very familiar look of lust.

“Hmmm, which one?” You ask, arching your back into his hands, pressing your body against his, giving the both of you what you want.

“The one where we fuck each other until we black out.” He says so low that you feel the baritone of his voice practically pass through you, the vibrations of how deep his register can go, shaking quaking through you.

“Oh, I do like that game.” You’re really breathless now, the wind knocked out of you at the thought that you’ll get to come and come and come again, as many times as he can make happen, as many times as he can drag out of you.

He loves dragging them out of you, the moans, the orgasms; it’s his own personal championship game, his own high score he’s trying to beat. The lucky number so far is eight, eight times in three hours, and you have a feeling something about this new look, this new costume, this new disguise…something about it means tonight you’ll have no trouble breaking the record.

Flip tightens his grip on you and hoists you up as he stands, making you nearly yelp out as you cling to him. He’s good about shit like this, you think, the Marines did one thing right for him – bulked him up huge, big and strong, able to carry you no problem.

And carry you he does, all the way to your bedroom, all the way to the bed where he dumps you, makes you bounce on the mattress with a laugh and a, “Hey!”

“Put some music on.” Flip instructs, bossy bossy bossy.

You think it’s funny, when he thinks he’s in charge. You humor him anyway, indulge him, and you roll your eyes as you leave the robe on the floor, walk over to the record player.

“Which one?” You ask, leafing through the vinyls, wondering what he’s in the mood for.

“One that’ll make you wet.” He says, smooth, too smooth, so smooth that you simply have to twist around and give him a look, one that conveys how impressed you are.

“Can’t get wet if I’m already wet.” You wink over your shoulder.

That seems to be the thing that breaks him, breaks his character. He’s suddenly demanding, suddenly insistent, abandoning the slow and composed attitude of this disguise. That quiet desperation of his comes back, the one you know and love, as he walks you backwards to the bed, crowds your space even as you fall back onto the mattress, back of your knees hitting the soft sheets.

“Let me see.” He asks, dropping to his knees eagerly at the edge of the bed, right where you’re sitting.

You smile, because there he is, that’s your husband through and through, and he bites his lips as you spread your legs for him. Almost immediately he shoves his face into you, that nose of his prodding against your folds, making you chuckle at his eagerness.

“Yes!” You encourage him, heart beating fast, thinking to yourself that he looks criminally hot.

He winds his arms under your thighs and yanks you down so you’re laying flat, making you sigh, as his tongue already gets to work, already begins licking up the slick that’s making a mess between your thighs. You sigh happily, because fuck you’ve been waiting all day for this, wanted this ever since he ate you out before you served him breakfast. You’ve been thinking about this tongue for damn near a whole day, and your knees squeeze against the sides of his head now that you’ve finally got it back in your pussy where it belongs.

“You’ve got such sexy arms.” You groan, because it’s the only thing you can really see in the moonlight. His head is between your thighs and his tank top of black, so all that’s visible are those muscular biceps that flex and tremble around you.

“Yeah?” He asks into your pussy, making you groan and moan loud, making you have to slap a hand over your mouth so you don’t accidentally get too loud and wake the baby who sleeps only a few rooms away down the hall.

“Yeah, and big hands. Big feet.” You grin, other hand tangling in his hair, holding him in place as you press your hips up to meet each thrust of his tongue as he wriggles it inside you. “You know what they say about men with big feet.”

That has Flip smiling, you can feel it, feel the way his mouth comes up to a quirked smile against you before he’s doing something, something like magic with his lips and his teeth and he’s sucking and suddenly you’re coming, back arching and legs tensing up where they’ve been thrown over his shoulders.

His goatee scratches your skin and your body is shocked through with bliss, white hot pleasure spreading up your spine. It’s the first of many, you know. That thought alone makes you breathe out low and slow through your nose, your legs shaking shaking shaking as he manhandles you, pushes your pleasure-soft body farther up the bed.

He rolls you over onto your stomach, presses your face into the mountain of plush pillows you keep on your side of the bed, steals one or two of those pillows and uses it to prop your hips up, uses it to support your pelvis while you can’t, your muscles made of marshmallow.

You hope he’s about to fuck you properly, but no, not yet, not if his tongue returning to your cunt is anything to go by. You’re about to lift your hands, about to prop yourself up so you can have leverage to push back against his face, but he’s too quick.

He grabs your wrists and crosses them behind your back, and you huff.

“Flip!” You whine as he cuffs you, shiny silver metal bracelets that he must have stashed in his back pocket, and you just hadn’t noticed. “Hey – no fair – ”

“Legs spread kestl,” He shushes you, kisses down your spine, smacks your ass hard enough to make your cunt drool all over the pillows. “I’m gonna get three out of this tight pussy before I shove my cock in you, and that’s a promise.”

Damn, you think, you had really hoped to come on his cock the whole night. And you would, you knew he’d make good on his promise, but you wanted to get railed sooner rather than later, wanted to feel the hot heavy slide of his dick in and out of your pussy now, not in an hour or however long he was going to make you wait.

“Don’t be mean.” You whine, not wanting to wait at all, wanting it now.

“I don’t know the meaning of the word, baby.” Flip’s made his way back down to your pussy, his calloused thumbs spreading your folds once again.

There’s come there for him to suck up, and he does, smears his face in it, rubs his face back and forth to bury himself in your cunt. It’s different from behind, different but still really fucking good, and your back pinches up because you desperately want to rock back onto his tongue, and you can’t.

“Oh – Flip – ” You moan, an error that makes him smack your ass, not even bothering to stop eating you out. You gasp, correcting your mistake, calling him by this fake name to go along with the persona, “Bryan, sorry, Bryan!”

You come again, easier now that the first one has already opened you up, has already given you a taste for the waves of pleasure that are yet to come. You call out his name again and again, can feel the sweat on your back where your arms, wrists, hands, are touching from the bindings. Your nipples rub against the sheets and you moan into the pillows, coming as he drinks you down.

He’s pleased with that, and one of his hands leaves your hip. You can hear the clink of his belt, the zipper being tugged down as he fishes his cock out, jerks himself off while he eats your pussy. He’s the pussy eating king, you’ve decided, you want to shout to the whole world.

Instead you just moan, face pressed into the pillows to try and mitigate some of the noise.

“Yeah that’s right baby.” Flip grumbles, getting too lost in his own head as he pulls away, jerking himself off faster. You can hear it, can hear the stickiness of it, can hear him spitting into his palm to slick up his cock. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet. I love taking you apart, love making you come on my tongue.”

Instead of his tongue though, it’s his fingers that find their way between your legs. They’re wet from your own arousal, your own orgasm, and the noise that it makes when he pumps them slowly in and out of you is almost sick. You’re grateful for the pillows because there’s no way you’d be able to hold yourself up for him, not at all, not if your next orgasm depended on it – which it does.

If he’s the pussy eating king, then he’s the fingering master, you think as he finds no trouble at all bringing those quick breaths out of you. You’re panting and he’s panting just from the sheer proximity of your body to his, his heart beating straight through to his fingers. You can feel it, feel the way the blood is pulsing through him as he curls his hand against your walls, his middle three fingers thrusting into you right against the spot inside your cunt that makes the stars dance behind your eyelids.

“Fuck,” You’re so wound up, desperate, you’re so close to coming again that it feels like you might scream if you can’t, like you might burn the entire world down if he stops now. “You really do have big fucking hands.”

“Know how to work them too, don’t I? You like that? Like the way I touch you?” He’s babbling now too, the two of you a mess for one another, the two of you so hot for one another that he’s coming onto your lower back just because he has to, just because he needs to to get it out, to make room for the rest of it that he’s going to empty inside you.

“Bryan please can I have your cock?” You know he’s still hard, you know he is, he’s never finished after coming once, “I’ll blow you, I’ll fuck – I’ll do anything, just get your cock in me.”

“No, you haven’t earned it yet.” He denies you as his fingers speed up, as his thumb finds your swollen clit and your eyes snap open.

“Bryan, honey – yes, right there, please?” You’re begging, pleading, crying because he doesn’t relent, doesn’t pull away, brings you to a third orgasm easily. You don’t even know why, don’t even know what you’re asking for, when you gasp out a, “Please!”

You want the fucking cuffs off, tell him as much by snapping your fingers and pointing to the restraints. He quickly gets them off of you, tosses them across the room, neither of you bothering to check where it lands.

With your wrists free, he rolls you over onto your back once again, spreading his come all over the sheets, your lower back sticking to them. You don’t even care, you have to do the laundry anyway. You watch Flip as he shakily crawls up the bed, sits upright against the headboard.

He’s still dressed, still has his fucking tank top and chains on. Somehow, in the throes of your orgasm, you missed him taking off his pants, which you’re grateful for, because the last thing that you really want right now is chafing from the denim.

“Now, there’s a good girl.” He purrs, beckons you forward yet again, pats his muscular thigh and in that deep voice of his says, “Come sit on my cock baby.”

You try to be sultry as you slink up the bed, catlike and sexy. You bat your lashes at him and have half a mind to suck his dick, to blow him like you said you would. But you’re too needy right now, too hungry for him, and when you finally make your way all the way up to where you’re straddling his thighs, you decide you’ll blow him in the morning.

“Oh!” You sigh happily as you sink down onto his cock, finally getting stuffed full the way you’ve been after, finally getting speared on his dick the way you’ve wanted, “Oh yeah.”

“Look at me.” He nips at your jaw, hands squeezing your tits, palms spread across them encompassing them as much as he’s able to.

“I can’t.” You shake your head with your eyes closed.

“How come?” He asks with a frown, letting out a long groan as he bottoms out completely inside you, as he can feel the head of his cock knocking your cervix, can feel the wince of pleasure, the shock of it, that ripples through you.

“Because I’ll laugh.” You say truthfully, and even just the mention of him disguise, the mention of how ridiculous it is, has you biting back a grin, has your chin wobbling from holding back a fit of giggles.

“Ketsl,” Flip whines, chuckling in his own right, shaking his head and grinning, “Come on, isn’t this sexy?”

He rolls his hips at that, rolls them in a way that makes you bite hard on the meat of his shoulder. You’re oversensitive, he knows that, you know he knows that. You’ll move your hips soon, just needing a moment to set yourself right, needing the buzzing bliss in your bones to quiet enough that your muscles aren’t jell-o.

“Where did you get these clothes?” You tease, hands smoothing over his shoulders, down his muscular chest, toying with the silver chains that had a real weight to them, enough to make you wonder who the hell these belonged to, “The back of a pimp supply truck?”

“I resent that.” Flip laughs out loud at that, a belly laugh that shakes through you, makes you shuffle back enough while still keeping his cock in you, a movement which proves difficult because as you lean back, he leans forward, the gravitational force of your tits keeping him close.

“Hold on, if we just…” You tug the offending jewelry and shirt over his head, “There, now that’s something.”

“Now I’m just naked.” Flip points out, and you grin.

“Exactly.” You say, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him properly for the first time all evening, kissing and kissing him.

“You’re terrible to me.” He says between your teeth, says with his tongue stroking the roof of your mouth, sucking on your lips and biting them, kissing you with everything he has, “Terrible. I’m going to fuck you so good.”

“All yours, baby.” You say, a playful mockery of his sexy smooth voice that sounds like it belongs in a porno and not on your husband.

He pushes you backwards at that, has your stomach swooping from being handled so roughly, so quickly.

“Flip -- !” You yelp out, yelp because now he’s got you right where he wants you, has got you in the perfect position to plow his cock into you.

He was good about giving you a few minutes to let your cunt calm down, was good about making sure you weren’t crying yet, weren’t sobbing the big fat tears that often graced your cheeks. Those would come later, would show up when he pushes you over the edge for the fifth, sixth, seventh time. For now, you’re just sweaty, so sweaty, and loud.

“Ketsl, oh shit, (Y/N) god this pussy’s so good.” Flip’s cock feels heavenly inside you, and you push up to meet his thrusts, hungry, chasing the way it absolutely bangs you up from the inside. He’s not holding back, not like this, not now, and you’re glad, so fucking glad for it. “You’re so fucking tight, let me loosen you up, let me – ”

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting this all fucking night – ” You’re over the moon, you’re elated, you’re on fire, you’re ablaze with white hot pleasure as he works his dick inside you right, as he spits in your mouth and you swallow it down, as his hand closes around your throat and he grinds his hips against yours, as sucks on your neck and bites at your jaw and makes you moan moan moan for him.

“I’m gonna give it to you nice and slow baby, make it last all night.” He says, and that ruins it, ruins the whole mood, because you’re laughing again, laughing in between moans that make your chest hiccup.

“Phil oh my god.” You want to cover your face, want to cover his face.

You settle on the latter, a palm playfully smacking at his face to push his head away, because he’s too much, he’s just too much. You love him so much, love him as he bursts into laughter with you, love him as he bites at your fingers, nibbles at your palm. You love him even as he still pushes his dick into you, still fucks you real hard with it.

“Princess, you keep teasing me like this and I’m only going to make you come six times.” He attacks your neck, your face, your chest with kisses, big sloppy wet ones; ones that have you shimmying and wriggling away from him, ones that tickle from his goatee.

“You wouldn’t dare.” You gasp, as if such an offense were criminal, and his eyes are sparkling with mirth when he kisses you on the lips, kisses you and rolls his hips against yours, fucks you nice and slow just like he promised.

“I wouldn’t,” Flip says, and there’s a blush high on his cheeks that you can see even in the moonlight, “But Bryan would.”

“Phil I cannot with you – ” You groan, a groan that melts into a moan that melts into a gasp as you’re coming, somehow inexplicably coming, coming despite the awful cheesy lines that you smug as shit husband keeps dropping.

“You married me.” He reminds you with a playful teasing smile of his own, fucking you through your orgasm, making you clutch at your chest, at the meat of his back, the hard muscles there that are working so hard to get you off, working so hard to keep you satisfied. “You chose this, all of this.”

And he’s right, you did. You married him happily, and you loved him happily, and you laughed with him happily, even as you get fucked. The sex you can laugh through is the best kind, you think, puckering your lips for another smooch, demanding his affection even as he’s giving it to you.

“You’re so fucking sexy, I hate you.” You pretend to be angry, a playful grin hurting your cheeks as the stars begin to fade behind your eyelids, as that white hot heat starts to cool down to just a red blooded simmer, “Come on, you gotta get four more out of me.”

“Oh no baby,” Flip shakes the sweaty hair out of his face as he grabs your jaw and kisses you hard, as he drags you bodily to a cleaner part of the bed, hell bent on soiling all the sheets, as he picks up your legs and yanks you into a position he’s happy with.

Your chest is warm with love and laughter, but your pussy and hot and wet and you’re still in the throws of sex, in the heat of fucking, and you find that you don’t mind one bit this stupid outfit or the cheesy lines, not when he bends you in half and his hips begin to piston into you once again, and he says with a smirk,

“I’m aiming for ten tonight.”

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I have no idea what this was sorrey but im taggin some pals anyway lmao @dreamboatdriver @kyloxfem @formerly-anonhamster @thepilotanon @solotriplets @fullofbees @bourbonboredom @driverficarchive @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd @glitzescape @adamsnacc-kler @ladygrey03 @venusianmaiden marvelous-blog-221 @edwardseyelashes @softcrybabykid @tinyplanet-explorers @riseofkylo @mandowhoreian @ah-callie

#flip zimmerman x reader #flip x reader #adam driver #snl #adam driver snl #flip zimmerman #blackkklansman #my writing #crack taken seriously #bryan snl #lmao i dont know how to tag this sorry #i just couldn't resist

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spidergvven · 7 years

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tips for dealing with depression and suicidal ideation

given todays news i thought some people might need this, all of it is based of my personal experience w depression and mental illness so here goes:

things that are easy for everyone else will be insurmountable obstacles for you, people will definitely make you feel bad for this whether they intend to or not, look in a mirror and say “fuck them!” say it again, yell it as loud as you can, FUCK THEM!

you probably haven’t showered in a week and thats ok, baby wipes and dry shampoo are your friend

feeling grimy and gross will make you more depressed though, if you can get up and brush your teeth and splash water on your face you will feel better if only because you accomplished something (if you feel like brushing your teeth isn’t an accomplishment go back to tip one, it is and you are doing great!)

take care of what you can when you can, remind yourself to not feel bad for not doing what you cant today

your room/apartment/house is probably a mess, thats ok. don’t try to clean up everything at once, you will not be able to do it and you will get more depressed when you don’t succeed. clean up one (1) thing and i truly do mean one, put a dirty item of clothing where your dirty laundry goes (not a pile on the floor, get a hamper/basket/cardboard box anything that will help your brain file it as organized instead of clutter) put one cup from your room in the dishwasher. the magic of this is once you do one thing you start to feel a sense of accomplishment and the bigger tasks don’t seem as scary, before you know it all the dishes are clean or you’ve done all the laundry.

reward yourself for doing the hard stuff, even if thats just getting through another day. you do not have to suffer a certain amount before you deserve nice things that make you feel good.

get some vitamins. depression destroys whatever healthy eating habits you may have had and honestly no one is getting enough vitamins these days anyways. vitamin b and d deficiency can contribute to fatigue, chronic pain and depression. 15 minutes in the sun gets you your daily dose of vitamin d, so get a sun lamp or just sit outside once a day, you don’t have to do anything, except maybe drink some water since its july. vitamin b supplements are pretty cheap, they taste like candy and give you an immediate energy boost. a multivitamin w iron will help your body get the nutrients it needs and give you more energy as well. no vitamins wont cure mental illnesses but when your body feels physically like crap along with your mind it makes everything that much worse.

exercise if you can. the catch 22 of depression is that everything that will make you feel better is almost impossible to do when you’re depressed. the reason exercise is always recommended though is because it does help release those happy little chemicals in your brain as well as helps you form a routine. which means anything that gets your heart rate up and that you can commit to doing on a regular/semi regular schedule counts as exercise. dont think you have to become a gym rat or someone who loves running to get this benefit. anything you can do to get your body moving is a good thing.

square breathing and mindfulness will reduce tension in your body and mind (it should be noted that if you are prone to dissociation traditional mindfulness can make that worse but you can also practice a modified mindfulness while doing a task to keep you present and in your body) for square breathing- sit up straight or lie on your back and breathe in through your nose to the count of four, hold for a count of four, breathe out through your mouth to a count of four, then hold for a count of four and repeat. if you cant do a four count three or two is also fine, the idea is simply that you are breathing in and out and holding for the same count. breathe as deeply as you can from your diaphragm, since so many of us spend so much time hunched over devices and computers you may need to use a back roller or a particularly firm pool noodle to open up your chest cavity and breathe properly. (this will also help your body not feel like crap because so many people have alignment issues without even realizing it, straightened out your spine and and tailbone can affect your brain patterns so much it’s almost unbelievable) its laughable when you’re supper depressed and people try to ask you “well have you tried meditation/yoga” but yoga breathing techniques and practicing being present and feeling your body and the sensations you are experiencing is actually helpful. theres a reason yoga is such a culturally important practice that has existed for centuries and its only now that western medicine is starting to recognize the science of treatments that have long been dismissed as homeopathic folk remedies. most of my physical therapy exercises now include yoga breathing and square breathing to retrain my body’s neuromuscular patterns and they always leave me feeling better emotionally too. how you breathe really does affect your brain waves.

being present in your body is hard but it helps, turn on a fan and lie in front of it, concentrating on how the air feels on your skin, the sound of the fan that you hear, your hair moving in the breeze, reconnect with your senses and surroundings. also you get the added benefit if lying in front of a fan when its hot as hell which is always nice.

dont feel bad for wanting to hurt yourself because it will only make you want to hurt yourself more

snap a rubber band against your skin or hold ice in your hand to simulate the feelings and relief of self harm without doing permanent damage buy cheap dishes from goodwill and smash them all to relieve the impulse to destroy without hurting yourself (dont do this if youll be tempted by the sharp edges of of the broken dishes) write everything you hate about yourself, your life, and the world down, then destroy it, rip it up or burn it and breathe. imagine letting it all go. you wont let it all go but it might feel a little lighter and thats good too.

make a list of reasons to stay alive, like not some philosophical big deep reasons for living, just shit you want to do. really love marvel and cant wait to see the movies they’re releasing next? thats a reason to live. cant go to the premiere of infinity war if you’re dead.

despite what some might say feeling suicidal absolutely can be triggered by other peoples actions. this doesnt mean other people are responsible for your mental health but you don’t deserve to be treated badly because your depressed and if you’re in an abusive environment you dont deserve how you’re being treated at all, you deserve to live happily and safely.

if none of these tips work for you it’s not your fault. you’re not broken. this is what ive found helps me but treatment and recovery look different for everyone and you’re not a failure bc a list of tips didn’t cure your depression. you are trying and thats what counts. please keep trying, try someone else’s tips, try therapy, try some shit that you just made up because it hurts no one and helps you even if it feels silly. just keep trying because you are worth it.

#depression #suicide #self care

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themoneybuff-blog · 6 years

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What I learned (and taught) at Fincon 2018

Greetings from sunny and sweaty Orlando, Florida! It's been a long, lovely, crazy week behind the scenes at Get Rich Slowly. I've spent the past ten days hanging out with fellow money nerds at Fincon, the annual money and media conference. Fincon started in 2011 with just 225 attendees. Now there are over 2000 attendees including nineteen of us who have been to every iteration. Here's a quick run-down of what I learned (and taught) at Fincon 2018.

Bond with Friends and Colleagues Fincon is first and foremost a chance to meet and bond with friends and colleagues. When you're a money writer (or money podcaster or money YouTuber, etc.), you spend a lot of time holed away by yourself. It's a lonely existence. It's rewarding to see each other, even if it's only once a year. It's been eighteen months since I've seen Mr. Money Mustache, for instance, but we got to be temporary roommates this week, and are now spending a couple more days together (with other friends) at a post-conference retreat in Clearwater. Plus, I got to make new connections with folks like Piggy and Kitty from Bitches Get Riches (my favorite money blog), who are even more awesome (and hilarious) in person than they are on the cyberwebs. Like me, the Bitches are huge fans of Harry Potter. Actually, they are huger fans than I am, considering I haven't yet read the final two books. (Sorry, I didn't like Order of the Phoenix.) Talking with them made me realize that although I've always self-identified as a Ravenclaw, I am actually a Hufflepuff. (You're a Hufflepuff with Ravenclaw rising, Piggy suggested, and I think she's right.) It's strange to think that although I see these people only one week each year, they're almost like family. We're able to pick up where we left off twelve months ago and continue as if we'd never been apart. Teach Everything You Know Fincon is also a chance for us to teach everything we know in order to help others improve their sites, podcasts, and channels. The unrestrained sharing of info and experience is astounding. In a lot of other fields, people would be jealously guarding their secrets. Not here. Here, folks are dropping knowledge bombs all of the time. As always, I've been involved in a couple of presentations (in addition to the bajillion casual conversations in bars and lobbies). On Thursday, I joined my pal Jim Wang (from Wallet Hacks) to give a talk on how blogging has changed during the past decade. We had fun exploring the ways in which this world has (and has not) evolved since we started in 2004 and 2006.On Friday, I moderated a panel discussion about the four flavors of FIRE. Our small group discussed the rising popularity of financial independence and early retirement. Why is the subject suddenly resonating with so many people? Is it an idea that's only applicable to tech workers without children? How does retiring early affect relationships?On Saturday, I participated in a panel about Playing with Fire, the upcoming feature film about financial independence. This project has been in production for more than a year and is finally nearing completion. In fact, Fincon saw the world premiere of the Playing with Fire trailer! (To learn more about the movie, check out the Kickstarter page.) I don't really like public speaking. I turn down a lot of requests. And when I do agree to speak, I'm often very nervous. But I'm always happy to do whatever presentations I'm asked to do at Fincon, and I'm nearly never nervous doing them. Not sure why that is. Maybe because I'm completely comfortable and in my element? [embedded content] Partner with Like-Minded Companies Lastly, Fincon is a chance to meet with potential partners, companies who want to advertise on our channels or who want to pitch their shiny new money apps. Ive never actually done this in the past and probably wont do so again in the future. This year, I over scheduled. (In fact, I nearly collapsed from exhaustion on Friday evening for real! and had to return to my room for a few hours until the empty, hollow feeling and dizziness wore off.) The real problem, however, is that many partner pitches just aren't appropriate for me or for you. Fortunately, some are. I was impressed with three companies in particular, and hope to work with them in the future (whether or not there's financial compensation involved). This year, I came to the startling realization that I, as a man nearing his fiftieth birthday, really ought to be working with AARP, the national non-profit whose mission is to empower people to choose how they live as they age. It was hilarious during my meeting with the AARP rep to watch the light switch on in both of our heads: Oh, our missions are well-aligned, and there's an opportunity here to collaborate and make the world a better place. We don't know what that collaboration would look like yet, but I'd be surprised if we didn't work together extensively in years to come.

The Future of Get Rich Slowly Perhaps the biggest Get Rich Slowly news to come out of Fincon is that I've found somebody to come on board to handle the technical side of the site. As loyal readers know, I'm a writer. All I want to do is write, to share stories and strategies for better managing money. I hate hate hate dealing with the technical and business aspects of this business. (And make no mistake, this is a business.)

Well, my friend Tom Drake from MapleMoney does not hate the technical and business side of things. In fact, he's the sort of nerd who digs this sort of drudgery. (For him, it's not actually drudgery.) We haven't hammered out the details yet, but we've agreed that some sort of partnership is in order. In fact, he's already begun working behind the scenes to clean things up around here. Yay! I still have a couple of days left here in Florida. I'll return home to Portland on Wednesday. (Then, almost immediately, Kim and I will dash off to the Oregon coast to celebrate her birthday.) Next week, things will be completely back to normal at GRS. Meanwhile, I already miss my Fincon family. I know I'll see many of my closest colleagues several times in the months ahead, but I won't see most folks for an entire year. The 2019 edition of the conference will take place in Washington, D.C. (where I've never spent any substantial time), and I can't wait. I also can't wait to resume writing for you money bosses. There won't be anything new tomorrow, but it's my goal to publish a new substantive, real article on Wednesday. See you then!

https://www.getrichslowly.org/fincon-2018/

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celticnoise · 6 years

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FORMER Celtic defender Alan Stubbs reckons Southampton have no chance of luring Brendan Rodgers from the champions.

The struggling Premier League outfit sacked Mauricio Pellegrino on Monday and were immediately linked with the Hoops boss.

Stubbs, who managed Hibs to their Scottish Cup victory over Sevco Rangers in 2016, believes Rodgers has no intention of quitting his boyhood idols.

He said: “Brendan is at a fantastic club. Celtic are a massive club and he has stated he is perfectly happy at the moment.

“There is a lot to be said for being happy where you are. Brendan will feel he has unfinished business at Celtic.

“Reading between the lines, it is going to take a really interesting offer to prise him away from Celtic.

“He doesn’t look like he is in a rush to leave at the minute.

“With all due respect to Southampton, they are a really big club, have a superb academy and have great values.

“I know they’ve signed the likes of Victor Wanyama, Fraser Forster and Virgil van Dijk for decent sums of money, but Celtic got three good deals out of that.

“It is an entirely different ball game if they want to try to land one of the most successful managers in Celtic’s history.

“The bottom line is Celtic are a much bigger club than Southampton.

“They also have Champions League football to offer Brendan, which Southampton won’t be able to offer now or at any time in the near future.

“I can’t speak for Brendan, but I don’t think the Southampton job is something that would interest him.

“Looking at the two clubs and where they are right now, you have Celtic looking to establish themselves as a competitive Champions League team and Southampton still trying to find out what kind of club they are.

“There is a lot of instability there because they’ve had 10 managers in the last 10 years and two since Ronald Koeman left two years ago.

“The power of the English Premier League is not to be underestimated, but I cannot see Brendan leaving.

“His mind will certainly not be on the Southampton job.

“He will be too busy focusing on successive Trebles and continuing to create history with Celtic.”

Read more from Celtic Quick News …

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athomeinexile-blog · 6 years

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The Force and Me

I am Star Wars. The eternal struggle between light and darkness that is fought among the stars is at the core of who I am. I have grown with it, I am shaped by it, and I am who I am because of it. That is because the ever important notions of destiny in Star Wars are not just narrative elements, they are real and powerful in their effect. Of course I don’t mean that in a metaphysical sense, otherwise I would be a fully fledged Jedi by now. Instead, I’m here at this desk writing about it.

The three most significant events of a persons life say a lot about who they are. It can paint a picture of what we love and care about, the things that we do, and our place in the world. For me those three events were when I met my wife for the first time, when I moved to the United States, and the first time I ever saw Star Wars at the cinema.

It was 1996 and in the lead up to the release of the first of the prequels, Star Wars was finding its way back into people’s lives. I was five when my Dad took me to see the release of the special editions. I have vivid memories of walking into the cinema in Tea Tree Plaza in Adelaide, Australia. I didn’t know it then, but it was one of the most important moments of my life. I remember the ships, I remember the clash of lightsabers, and I remember the faceless evil of the Empire.

That was when my childhood really began. From this moment on, everything was Star Wars. This obsession was nurtured with cool toys and books. I was so obsessed with the books that I was almost reading at an adult level in the second grade. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that Star Wars is directly responsible for my lifelong obsession with the written word.

When I wasn’t reading at school, I was roping fellow classmates in to pretending that we were X-Wings. Or maybe sometimes we were Jedi, sometimes we were battle droids. During a childhood hospital stay I made friends with a young nurse who would play stormtrooper with me around the ward. Her kindness to a nerdy little boy and the fun I had ducking around corners still makes me smile.

As I hit my teenage years it all started to take on a deeper meaning. Star Wars wasn’t just about the spectacle of space opera. It was about some of the most important things that someone can learn while growing up. There was a lot of talk about the fulfillment of destiny and the belief that we are all serving some great cosmic force. I’m still agnostic but I can understand the appeal of this kind of metaphysical thinking. I took a different view of the lesson of destiny. For me at least, it seems as if we are responsible for making the choices and taking the actions that help us fulfill that destiny.

While Darth Vader may always be the most iconic character to come out of Star Wars, the one who always resonated with me the most was Luke. As a young lad he found himself thrust into the center of a great conflict, barely grasping the cosmic significance of the path he found himself set on. He lost his family and left his home, he found out his father was a genocidal space wizard, and took up the mantle of responsibility for returning balance to the Force. Honestly, it felt a little like me growing up.

I had taken on responsibilities at home that most teenagers don’t. I had issues with my father that were as stark as the contest between light and dark. I was thinking about who I was, what I wanted to do, and what my place in the galaxy was. And with Star Wars having such an important place in my life it was natural for me to look at a character like Luke for answers.

When Revenge of the Sith came out in 2005 I remember feeling an acute sense of emptiness. The story of Star Wars had come to an end. While I knew that I would always have Star Wars and that I could draw on it whenever I needed, it was more than a little sad to think to consider that it was the end. The end of something that defines who you are does something to your identity. It hollows you out just a little bit.

The decade after this turned out to be some of the worst years of my life. Family conflict, the loss of a friend, bad relationships, and prolonged experience with anxiety and depression took everything from me. An exile from my own life, I would cling to what little I could. A message of hope came in the form of a frenzied Facebook post. My friend claimed that Disney had bought Lucasfilm and had immediately announced the release of new Star Wars films.

It took a few years but we finally had it. 2015 turned out to be a big year for me and for Star Wars. I had started to find my feet again and I was feeling a sense of optimism that I had never felt before. Not only was I watching the trailer for The Force Awakens every night before the films release, but I was getting my life together. For the first time in a long time I knew what I was doing and the direction my life was going in.

I’m not ashamed to say that I cried at the premiere. It was a signal that it was okay to live again, to start anew and make my way out into the world again. With this new beginning came a new story and a new cast of characters to learn from, to bond with, and to enjoy. The return of Star Wars to the worlds consciousness marked the beginning of a renaissance of the Force. Not only did we have new movies, new books, new games, but I had a new lease on life. I planned to take advantage of that.

So I worked hard. I honed my craft and I worked on bettering myself. I marked those efforts with a tattoo, a rebel symbol on my right forearm. Funny enough, this is what brought me to the attention of my future (now) wife. So I guess in that respect you can say that Star Wars is also responsible for my marriage. As she is American, I guess it’s also responsible for me moving to the United States this year.

Rogue One marked yet another milestone. Shortly after the release in December I went to visit the US for the first time. I remember on the flight that we hit some rough weather about 4 hours out of Sydney. I used to be a bit of a nervous flyer, so to help with that I channeled my inner Chirrut Îmwe and chanted “I am one with the Force, the Force is with me.” You’d be surprised by how well that chant actually works when you need to calm down.

The future of Star Wars is as bright as mine. It is a universe full of possibilities and potential. For the first time in my life, the current crop of Star Wars heroes are around my age (actually a few are younger) and while their struggles may be ones of cosmic significance, mine are probably a little less important than that. But I am thankful that I can look to them and their fictional experiences for moral guidance.

There really is quite a lot more than that I am thankful for. I am thankful to Lucasfilm and their forward thinking stewardship of the franchise. Opening up Star Wars to contemporary audiences by recognizing the importance of representation to marginalized groups was a positive and long overdue step, and one that has the scope to go further. Being more inclusive will help the franchise grow. I am also thankful for all of the amazing actors, artists, writers, and directors that drive the saga forward. Their combined creativity has created something truly magical and meaningful in their scope. I can only hope to count myself among their numbers someday.

While many of us are now counting the days to Christmas, I am counting down to The Last Jedi (as of this writing it is 35 days and 8 hours). In the month between now and then you can bet that I’ll watch the entire saga again, possibly twice. Star Wars will once again find itself everywhere and the world wont be able to ignore it, and nor should it. The moral lessons it can teach us about our lives and the world that we live in are invaluable. I’ll never be a Jedi but I will always be a better person because of Star Wars.

This piece originally appeared on my website joelpetley.com.

#star wars #personal #the force awakens #the last jedi #rogue one #lucasfilm #writing

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trendingnewsb · 7 years

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Issa Rae: ‘So much of the media presents blackness as fierce and flawless. Im not’

The creator of Insecure talks the dating totem pole, films obsession with slavery and the gender-race pay gap as season two begins

I dont want the stench of the current administration on this show, says Issa Rae. I dont want people to look back and be like: Oh, this was a Trump show. I want them to look back and say Insecure was an Obama show. Because it is: Obama enabled this show. The sharp, pithy, Los Angeles-set comedy, dubbed by US fashion and beauty site the Cut as the black, millennial Sex and The City, which Rae co-created, writes and stars in, first aired on HBO last autumn, exactly a month before the US election. Culturally, Obama made blackness so present, and so appreciated; people felt seen and heard; it influenced the arts, and it absolutely influenced how I see blackness, how I appreciate it, says the 32-year-old Rae. When a black president is a norm, it enables us to be, too.

Being a norm is a matter of some import to the actor and writer, who in spite of her personal allegiances had no desire to make an overtly political show. She never wanted Insecure to be, as she says with a generous eye-roll, a story about the struggle or the dramatic burdens of being black. At the heart of the series is the relationship between her on-screen iteration also named Issa, who works for an educational nonprofit called We Got Yall and raps soliloquies to herself in the mirror and her best friend Molly (Yvonne Orji), a high-flying corporate lawyer. Together, they navigate the professional and personal challenges of late-20s urban life.

I just wanted to see my friends and I reflected on television, in the same way that white people are allowed, and which nobody questions, continues Rae. Nobody watches Divorce [a HBO stablemate, starring Sarah Jessica Parker] and asks: What is the political element, what is the racial element driving this?

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Watch the trailer for season two of Insecure.

But so rare is it to see what its creator describes as a show about regular black people being basic in contemporary entertainment Insecure has nonetheless been hailed as revolutionary. It wasnt always so. Growing up, Rae was an avid fan of the predominantly black US sitcoms Moesha, Girlfriends and A Different World. Then they disappeared, she says of the film and television landscape. Somewhere along the way, being white became seen as relatable, and you started to see people of colour only reflected as stereotypes or specific archetypes. So much of the media now presents blackness as being cool, or able to dance, or fierce and flawless, or just out of control; Im not any of those things.

It is a hot and swampy summer afternoon in Manhattan, and Rae is in town doing the requisite rounds of late-night talkshow appearances ahead of Insecures season two premiere. On arrival, she seems a little lethargic entirely understandable, given her promotional schedule. But once seated in a buzzy restaurant, specifically chosen because its the sort of spot that the on-screen Issa and her girlfriends would patronise, Rae immediately perks up, emanating charismatic good humour.

Born in an affluent suburb of Los Angeles, Rae real name Jo-Issa Rae Diop is the third of five children, her father a Senegalese doctor, her mother a teacher from Louisiana. The rapid rise in gang violence in the city prompted Raes parents to move the family to Senegals capital, Dakar, when Rae was five years old. Her father tried to open a hospital there but things didnt work out and, three years later, they came back to the US, but to Potomac, Maryland, on the east coast, where Rae attended a predominantly white private school. When the family moved once again, this time back to LA, Rae entered a largely black and Latino school. Everybody thought I was lame and hated me, she says, matter-of-factly. It was a huge culture shock.

Part of the on-screen Issas insecurity of feeling not black enough for black people and not white enough for white people is, Rae says, something that I have been called out for by kids in my life. Ive experienced a real sense of feeling out of place. But with admirable chutzpah, she found a creative solution: I wrote a play and cast all of my bullies, and they loved it. They thought I was cool after that. She pauses, and gives a wry smile. Well, cool is a strong word. But I wasnt on their shit-list any more.

Big society … Raes character with co-worker Frieda (Lisa Joyce). Photograph: Justina Mintz/HBO

While studying at Stanford University, Rae began to notice that many of the television shows she loved, including Curb Your Enthusiasm and Seinfeld, were all-white comedies. Of course, sense of humour is relative, is subjective, but there is an assumption that black people wont find certain things about white comedies funny, she says. I got really frustrated and just wanted to start making my own stories. She conceived and directed Dorm Diaries, a mock reality show with an all-black cast, in the style of MTVs The Real World. When she posted it to Facebook, it quickly circulated, and Rae realised that she had a talent for portraying everyday black life; she has called it my epiphany moment. A few years later, she created what would be her breakthrough web series and the forerunner to Insecure, The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl.

A web show is one thing, of course, a mainstream television show on a high-profile cable network quite another. I ask her about the sociologist and civil rights activist WEB Duboiss concept of double consciousness, which she has referenced in the past, defined as the psychological challenge of always looking at ones self through the eyes of a white society. Does she feel that even more sharply now than before?

Absolutely. I didnt create this show for white people, I didnt create it for men; I created it, really, for my friends and family, and for their specific sense of humour, she nods. But now that we know we have an audience including HBO executives the double consciousness comes into play, because youre always wondering: How do they see what I am writing? Are they laughing at this specific joke for this particular reason? When season one aired, I had Asian women coming up to me on the street, saying: Oh my gosh, this reminds me of me and my best friend, she recalls. And thats wonderful thats what you want for a show but you are always wondering: What elements do they relate to the most?

I suggest that in future she stops fans and asks for further, more detailed feedback. She throws her head back and laughs. Yes. Excuse me, but why do you like the show? Tell me right now, please.

Boyfriend material … Jay Ellis as Lawrence in Insecure. Photograph: Justina Mintz/HBO

While Insecure may be only inadvertently political, this second season is noticeably more charged with social commentary, and examples of everyday discrimination. Through Molly, the show explores the gender pay gap, with an added issue to unpick: is she being paid less because of her gender, or her ethnicity, or both? These are questions that we constantly have to ask ourselves, as minorities, or double minorities, or triple minorities, nods Rae. In terms of the intersectionality of it all, you are constantly asking yourself: Which part of me is being discriminated against? Which part of me is being targeted? If not all parts of me.

The often-dispiriting experience of modern dating features prominently, too. At the start of this series, Issa has recently broken up from her long-term boyfriend, Lawrence (Jay Ellis), and thrown herself into the choppy waters of Tinder, Bumble and Hinge. Dating in todays digitally enabled world is rough enough but there is, Rae believes, an added dimension for her characters. Black women are at the bottom of the desire chain, of the dating totem pole; were not the trophies, she says.

In rap culture, especially, theres always an idea that once you achieve an amount of success, your trophy is the white girl on your arm. However, she asserts, thats not limited to hip-hop. Its not scientifically proven, but theres evidence, in dating apps for example, that were the last to be chosen, the least desirable. The theory is also explored in Aziz Ansaris Netflix show Master of None, which includes a scene in which one of his dates, a black woman, tells him: Compared to my white friends, I get way less activity [on app dating sites]. I also find that I rarely match with guys outside of my race.

Lawrence, meanwhile, is also experiencing discrimination, albeit in a different form. In one scene spoiler alert! he is picked up by two non-black girls at a grocery store, who lure him to their apartment, where they proceed to seduce him. Their fetishisation of his blackness has echoes of Get Out, Jordan Peeles racism-thriller which triumphed at the box office earlier this year.

That was based on a real-life situation that one of our writers shared, says Rae of the uncomfortable tryst. It didnt end well, which had nothing to do with his blackness, but we thought: How can we make this story apply to fit our show? Every show can have a threesome story gone awry, but how can we make it unique for Insecure?

Off the clock … Rae in New York last month. Photograph: Amy Sussman/Invision/AP

There is a show-within-the-show too, an antebellum-era television drama that several of Insecures characters are glued to. Last year, our show-within-a-show was Conjugal Visits, which was a comment on the trash TV that consumes us all. Setting it in a prison a system which, in this country, incarcerates mainly black and Latino people and making that entertainment, was definitely meta-commentary, nods Rae.

This seasons skewering of popular culture is no less pointed. Theres [been] such an obsession with depicting slavery that the last few years, I have been kind of slaved-out, she sighs. So we thought it would be funny to have the characters obsessed with this new slave interracial drama. A guest-starring role for Sterling K Brown, who won an Emmy for his portrayal of prosecutor Christopher Darden in The People Vs OJ Simpson, ups that meta ante even further, but Rae is quick to assure me that this wasnt a casting that she chased down. No! We actually have an anti-celebrity policy on the show, she insists. We were doing something together for the Independent Spirit awards, and he was, like: I love your show, if you ever want to cast me The musician Syd, another self-proclaimed fan of the show, also makes a brief cameo.

Although Rae resists comparisons between Insecure and Girls and of herself to its creator Lena Dunham: I get the inclination to compare us because were both young women, but the stories were telling couldnt be more different, she says the two share a deliciously frank depiction of female sexuality. Broken Pussy, one of Issas raps, became something of a refrain in season one, after she speculates that Mollys run of bad luck with men might be the result of a defective filtering system.

My friend and I have a thing where we talk in, um, pussy sounds, Rae laughs. I think that most women know whether they want to sleep with a guy or not within the first five minutes of meeting him, and so we speak in Marge Simpson voices about whether or not a guy could get it. She demonstrates. If its a yes, well say: My pussy was like: [Perky, eager voice] Mm-hm, girl. Or, My pussy was like, [Low, negative tones]: Mm-mm. So, the conversation about Molly feeling like she wasnt attracting the right type of guys was me suggesting her pussy might actually be broken.

What did her mother make of this particular piece of dialogue? She only saw it at the screening! Rae laughs. She pulled me aside afterwards and was, like: That mouth, were going to wash it out but, good job.

Insecure continues on Thursday 10 August, 10.35pm, Sky Atlantic