#this is something I wrote while procrastinating on something else purely in an effort not to do the thing. don't @ me

[itmeblog]

THERE WAS LITERALLY NOTHING STOPPING ME FROM WRITING FAN FIC ABOUT MY OWN SHIT!!

FUCKING NOTHING!!!!

(Maybe because I created this world it's canon now? But that is 1001% not my concern nor my problem)

Nova was alive. The pulse that ripped between her temples and settled angrily behind her eyes informed her as much.

She groaned, reaching in vain for memories from the night before. There were flashes: a bar, a party, another bar, a man, possibly a third bar and then…nothing. The rest of the night was ash and dust. She reached out for the glass SAWA should have left on her night stand and knocked something over sending shards of pain dancing in the space between her eyes.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” She ground her face into the pillow. It smelled of something sweet, herbs the people on this planet used to keep pests away.

“Fuck.”

Please be a hotel.

She couldn’t take another morning of awkwardly running into the members of a family of someone she could only vaguely remember.

Nova gathered what pieces of herself she could manage. Her mouth was dry, her head was attempting a revolt from her neck, and spending the morning retching in whatever passed for a toilet here seemed a half-decent idea. It only got worse as she sat up.

The room was sparse, just a bed really. Her clothes were strewn across the floor, mixed with an outfit Nova didn’t recognize, all sequins and scarves. A screen sat nestled into the far wall and flickered silently through a morning report, a perky looking reporter sang the GU’s praises in the subtitles that scrolled across the bottom.

A hotel room.

Thank God.

Nova’s attention landed wearily on the woman sleeping beside her. What had happened to the guy she’d been with? Had she ditched him? Wandered off and found better company? She tried to remember but all she could recall was him pinning her to a wall, the heat of his body pressed against hers and the fleeting thought, hazed by brandy and something bitter she’d been offered to smoke, that he wasn’t enough to silence the thoughts in her head.  

Maybe the woman had succeeded where he’d failed. Nova wasn’t sure. She couldn’t remember this woman at all.

That was supposed to worry her. Lulu would be concerned.

Nova shut the thought away with a viciousness that made her stomach pitch.

As it turned out, there was a proper restroom, though a prerequisite for puking was actually having eaten something in the first place, so it was really more about form than efficacy. Nova sent prayers to a porcelain alter, a thought that teased a near hysterical laugh from her throat.

God, she was tired.

She picked up her clothes, showered, and left her companion to sleep off whatever had happened the night before.

“Hey.” Nova leaned heavily against the front desk she only half-remembered approaching, rubbing her fingers against her temples as she reached for words.

“Yes?” The person behind the counter, some alien with six eyes that blinked asynchronously in a way that made the impossible task of focusing on where to look, harder still.

“I—, uh, shit, I don’t even know the fucking room.” She turned around like that might somehow make it clearer, but she distinctly remembered taking a lift. She was fucking this up. Breathe. New tactic. “I’m Nova. Did a Nova sign in a room yesterday?”

The receptionist typed something, every key stroke hit like an axe between Nova’s brows.

“Last name?” Thunder.

“Don’t have one,” except the art of opening her mouth properly had escaped her and everything had come out in a continuous nearly indecipherable donaveone. Which after receiving several blinks Nova repeated to marginal success.

“Mmm, there was a Nova NoStar.”

She cringed. “NoStar?”

The clerk nodded, well, sort of nodded. Bobbed. They had no neck or equivalent thereof.

“Goddammit,” her hands returned to her temples, her elbows to the counter, the effort of keeping herself upright just a bit too much when she had to deal with this shit. “Yeah, NoStar. I’d like to pay, yesterday and today.”

She’d have to burn this planet off the list. How fucking stupid did she have to be to give her real name? Sure, there were probably millions of Nova NoStars out there but Jeanne would find a way. Fuck.

Nova paid, the blaring of the screen as her transaction went through made her want to dash her head against the wall.

“Is there anything else you need?”

Nova blinked, waiting for the words to settle in her head and mean something. “Need? Oh, uh, yeah, fuck, is there someplace to get breakfast around here?” She glanced at the sun that filtered in through the small window by the receptionist’s desk. “Or lunch?”

The directions she’d received sent Nova to a small food stand that smelled of grease and the promise of revival. She couldn’t read the menu and simply pointed and was handed something that might have been bread and some sort of meat, along with a bottle of water. The man who ran the stand was some flavor of human, though Nova could hardly be bothered to parse his existence. Modified, maybe?

She tried not to look too hard at what he’d given her. It undulated a bit if she stared at it too long, like it wasn’t quite dead despite the steam wafting from it. The first bite reminded her that she hadn’t really eaten the day before and the thing was gone before she knew it. She licked the oil from her fingers and set on the water.

Thank god for small miracles. She felt halfway human.

The traffic of the world sang through the air above her, in large ships belching black into the skies and buffeted her from all sides in lower forms of travel, things with wheels and rails and low flying capabilities. Galactic Union banners waved high overhead. Somewhere a commercial played calling for people to sign up for positions at their embassies.

The Galactic Union: Be part of something bigger.

Nova didn’t recognize this part of the city. It was cramped and crowded, two things Nova actually liked while she was working, but now that she was simply eating and drinking her way through her savings, was simply another obstacle that teased the remainder of her headache from the corners of her mind.

That and with food and water sustaining her, what little of her mind that was able to rouse for non-essential activities busied itself chiding her for her stupidity or cycling through all the things she could have done to save Lulu.

If only she’d been faster.

If only she’d noticed sooner.

If only she wasn’t such a fucking idiot.

If only she hadn’t listened.

Nova, stay put. The words rang clear as a bell between her ears. And then she was there again, frozen. Watching.

Lulu smiled. The skin at the corner of her eyes crinkled in concern, for Nova or herself, Nova didn’t know.

Then Lulu was gone.

The air around Nova was too thin, her pulse was a thready hum. She walked faster as if that might somehow put some distance between herself and the memory. A horn blared and the world rocketed into focus as a vehicle stopped just short of ramming her full speed and settled instead for banging into her leg just enough that her palms slammed into the hood to keep her steady.

Nova stared, wide eyed at the driver, her breaths coming in pants.

Wasn’t this what she’d wanted?

Why hadn’t they been driving faster?

Why did they stop?

The curses that filtered in through her translator were colorful and fantastical. Her bottom lip quivered as tears pricked the back of her eyes.

Lulu wouldn’t want this for me.

Her hands flew away from the hood as if she’d been burned. “Sorry,” was all she offered as she hurried away, her leg protesting at her speed after enduring that abuse. The driver’s curses followed her until she turned a corner and pressed her back against the wall of some towering building. The stone dug into her back, rough and painful, and real.

Her hands shook with leftover adrenaline.

“Fuck.”

She was going to cry. She couldn’t keep doing this.

“Lulu wanted you to live, you fucking idiot,” she whispered. “How could you forget how to do the one goddamn thing she wanted you to do?”

[qwters]

i feel like we, as a society, need to talk more about the video “dream - minecraft 1.15 world record reaction”

there is just So Much to talk about here. it is by far one of my favorite videos in general based on pure vibes and because dream is potentially the most e word he’s ever been so lemme just write a whole essay or something. here u go:

sapnap and george are so happy and giddy at the start. that’s already so !!! and i am smiling so very hard. they’re so happy for dream!! they were there for basically his whole speedrunning journey and they watched as he improved enough to get the world record? and now they’re so proud on his behalf that they’re screaming as if this were their own accomplishment? yeah i’m gonna go lie on the floor and feel emotions now. guys they’re just so happy for him guys they’re so,,,

but when dream comes in, he’s so much more subdued than them so you hear his voice and it’s really quiet and you’re just like?? bc this is mister LETS GO!!!!! so why is he? so quiet? but then he says he’s almost crying and that’s when you realize that oh. he’s not excited rn because instead he’s content in his victory and proud of his accomplishment and relieved to have finally reached his goal. it’s not george and sapnap’s screaming and it’s not his LETS GO!!!!!! after the initial reaction in the original vid because there was so much more to this journey than usual. it’s not LETS GO!!!!!! because it’s not as unexpected as his other wins where he defies the odds in order to come out on top, it’s the emotional catharsis of reaching a goal at long last and the thought of finally because he knew this was going to happen eventually. after all, he wasn’t going to stop until it did.

and that’s,,, wonderful. the idea that he put so much time and effort and genuine skill into this thing and decided that he wasn’t going to stop until he literally proved that he’s the best? the confidence. the determination. THAT IS SO GODDAMN E WORD I AM GOING TO CRY

also. he said he might’ve sprained a muscle while punching the heck out of his desk. what an absolute idiot (fond).

and,, god. when he talks about how long he spent just grinding out runs? and how he wanted george and sapnap to be there in case he got the record bc he wanted them to be in his youtube vid? man,,,, man. i’m gonna run the phrase e word into the ground while talking about this video but what else am i supposed to sAY when i am faced with this? hm? he is e word here. mans really fuckin e word.

it’s also just plain cool to hear his ramblings about the different strats he tried over the course of the ten days (ten days!!) he spent doing this and what was going through his mind in those last moments before killing the dragon. it’s honestly such a gift to see how quickly his mind works and everything that goes into every single one of his actions. fantastic content. mwah.

and then he stEALS THE WORDS I WROTE EARLIER GODDAMN DUDE WHAT THE HELL— like,, i watched this a few weeks ago and meant to make a post about it bc it rlly just Needs to be talked about (but i procrastinated writing out everything i wanted to say because Of Course I Did) so i wrote the first few parts of this down today before rewatching the whole vid to see what i missed and,, well. i’m proud that i remembered the emotion in his voice right, but dream. u stole my words man,,,

anyway. that’s pretty much all i have to say about this. dream is so incredibly e word here. watch the vid. it’s like 6 minutes. you won’t regret it <3

[greaseballer]

I wanted to feel more productive so I wrote some headcanons for my fav bois; Gary, Johnny and Derby. If you happen to like this and want to see more of any of these three, just lemme know ^-^

How they asked their SO to be their girlfriend:

Gary Smith

• I imagine that Gary is sort of friends with everyone at school because he can either tell them what they want to hear or constantly insert himself into their lives. You would fall into that latter catergory because Gary just loves picking on you and getting you riled up.

• He knew you didn't really hate him since you hung out with him, Jimmy and Pete on most days in the boys dorm. You guys would usually watch TV or try to beat each other's scores in Future Street Race 2165. Sometimes though, Gary would want the group to get up to some harmless mischief involving various items from Jimmy's chem set.

• Gary would start understanding his feelings when you're hanging out with other people more than usual. He doesn't care if it's with girls or boys, he realizes that he wants you for himself. Who else is he supposed to mess with? Petey? He never fights back.

• Gary might decide to ambush you while you're studying on a bench somewhere. He'd snatch your work before you were able to notice his presence and immediately begin reading over it, nitpicking every little part. When you jump up to get it back, he just uses one arm to hold you back and continues what he's doing with the other.

• He wouldn't have had any intent on confessing at that moment, not until one of the prefects call him out for bullying you. Gary's arm would move around your shoulders to pull you closer instead. ''She's my girlfriend, we're just playing around.'' He'd smile until the prefect went away.

• He laughs when you get all flustered and tell him not to lie about things like that. That's when he'd casually bring up ''Let's just do it for real then'' or something along those lines. He'd try to act like this was no big deal, but would secretly be really pissed off if he got rejected.

Johnny Vincent

• A total mess when it comes to expressing honest feelings. He's used to having that 'tough-guy' image around his friends so letting that go for someone comes with difficulty.

• He doesn't have great self-esteem after his relationship with Lola and probably procrastinated ending things for a long time. Although, she would have to do something pretty extreme for him to lose faith that she could ever be loyal to him.

• He'd start with spending a lot of time around you between classes, maybe helping you out with projects for shop class. But once you become a part of the clique, he'd ask you to hang out with them more casually. Johnny wouldn't let you come along for anything dangerous- like if they were gonna vandalize shit in Old Bullworth Vale.

• As for actually asking you out, he'd make up an excuse to be alone with you. Maybe he'd ask you to help him test out some bikes they've been working on and you two would ride along the dirt paths in New Coventry. He'd definitely show off and jump a couple ramps.

• When you guys took a break and got off the bikes, that's when he'd try to segue into it. Johnny starts off with making sure you know his situation with Lola and that he's completely over that. He wouldn't want you thinking that he was still committed to her and pulling you into the drama.

• He'd be stumbling his way through the confession, awkwardly tugging on the inside of his jacket and trying to put on a calm facade. Johnny's eyes would lock with your's once he actually came out and asked you if you'd 'be his girl'.

• Even without knowing your response, he felt better to have that off of his chest. It was a turning point for him as he could finally tell himself that he was over Lola and could leave that part of his life behind. He at least felt like he was being honest with you but could only hope you'd say yes.

Derby Harrington

• For Derby to even talk to you, you would have to already be in his social circle. Since you're not related to him, you would either come from money or get brought into the clique by one of the existing members.

• Derby obviously holds himself on a level above his fellow preps and he wouldn't treat you any differently at first. Something about you or your family would need to impress him before he could start paying any attention, he won't spend his time on just anybody.

• But once he considered you a friend, he found spending time with you to be exciting. Since he was expected to only marry cousins and keep their blood 'pure', getting closer to you sparked a more rebellious side to him. In his mind it was thrilling to imagine what a relationship with you could be like, and to completely disregard his father's expectations.

• He wouldn't even consider whether it would be a secret arrangement or not. Perhaps he could get away with it if he found the right way to present it to his father? Either way, he was going to make his own decision for a change.

• Going with his sophisticated nature, he would handwrite you a letter, telling you where to meet him at some extremely cheesy location. It would have to be somewhere that you two could be alone though, maybe in the middle of a romantic rose garden that Derby just so happens to own.

• When you find him and ask why he wanted to see you, he'd ignore your questiones and recite a short poem. That would be the lead up but as he asks the question, he would take your hands in his. Derby's very confident in his efforts to court you and has no concerns that you'll refuse.

[disconnected-from-reality]

Fanfic Rec: 00Q Part 3

It’s been more than a year! I have totally been procrastinating in doing this if I’m truly honest. A lot of things happened in my life as well! There are good and bad things, but what matters most is that I still have a number of fics to recommend for you! I haven’t stopped reading, don’t worry. 

Also I think it’s a good time to post my list. The next Bond movie has released its trailer and the 00Q crumbs we got from the trailer got a lot of shippers back on board. If you’re that person, you might want to check these fanfics out! 

To see the other parts, click here for part 1 and for part 2.

Let Love In by dhampir72  [Words: 21,437 | Teens and Up Audiences] They're still learning that love is more of a journey and less of a destination. [A series of interconnected vignettes].

Ulysses by girlbookwrm [Words: 89,065 | Teens and Up Audiences] “Paperwork for the new head of Q-Branch,” Tanner said. “Of course.” The words were like glass in his throat. Smoke inhalation was a bitch. His brain felt slow and foggy, like it was full of smoke too. “Who shall I take them to?” M lifted one white brow. “They’re for you, Quartermaster.” Bond and Q are drawn together by names, work, and a certain Aston Martin. In which Q is kidnapped once, Bond is poisoned twice, and Eve is a badass on at least three occasions. AKA that time I tripped and wrote 80,000 words of 00Q. All titles unapologetically stolen from Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Espionage is a Family Affair by nagapdragon [Words: 78.403 | Mature] It's common knowledge that angels make good weapons and terrible soldiers. They're hard to kill, hard to catch, and leave a swathe of destruction wherever they go. That's why MI6 likes them. James Bond, Agent 007, is one of the most devastating weapons MI6 will admit to having. Explosions follow his every whim and he's nearly impossible to kill, despite the best efforts of terrorists worldwide. He's second only to the weapons MI6 pretends don't exist- archangels are only a theory, after all. Aren't they?

Bond to You by therunawaypen [Words: 5,749 | Mature] Bond isn't a name. It's a rare breed of people that have designated soulmates, to whom a Bond will be eternally faithful to. Every child dreams of being a Bond's Chosen soulmate. James uses his status as a Bond to seduce many a mark into thinking they're his Chosen, while deep down he resents his identity because he has been unable to find his Chosen. Then he meets Q that fateful day in front of that painting.

How Q Hacked Online Dating by JayPendragon [Words: 23,836 | Explicit] “How does that lead to…?” Eve waves her hand at the mess behind Q’s back. Q feels his expression morph into a sly grin. “I have a new plan. I’m going to stay on these dating platforms, but I’m going to treat them as databases. Rather than waiting for an algorithm to set me up, I'm going to try reverse-engineering this entire system.” In which Q works in the private sector, still winds up friends with Eve, and applies science to his love life. Obviously, Eve gets involved.

Leading Edge by Batsutousai  [Words:  7,251 | Teens and Up Audiences] All fae-born were raised on stories of how cruel dragon-borns were, how they had no care for anyone outside themselves and their greed, that they would sell their own mother's soul to the devil before allowing themselves to be hurt. They were told that all dragon-borns were to be killed on sight, and taught spells that would do just that, if ever given the chance. It would be just Q's luck that one of his agents was dragon-born.

Pen and Paper by Salios [Words:  5,300 | Teens and Up Audiences] Q wrung his hands anxiously, teeth gnawing at his lower lip. It was a bad habit, biting his lip, but he couldn’t help it when he was nervous. And he really did have reason to be nervous. Well, excited to the point of nearly crippling nervousness, actually. Today he’d finally get to meet his boyfriend of three years. For the first time ever.

people can surprise you (or not) by pdameron [Words: 10,538 | Teens and Up Audiences]   “I’m not you, Bond. I don’t exactly have a technique for getting rich strangers to like me.” “Just do your naive cute puppy thing, and they’ll be doting on you in no time,” Bond replies as he pulls up to the grand estate. “My what?” Q asks incredulously. Bond doesn’t answer, simply giving him an indulgent smile. The fucker. (or: 00q meets Gosford Park. Except not really.)

A Common Solution by SailorChibi  [Words:  17,654 | Teens and Up Audiences] Bond has been ignoring his biological needs. Boothroyd is retiring and MI6 is in need of a new Quartermaster. What do these two things have in common? They both have an easy solution... if only M can get Bond to extract a certain hacker  NOTE: This does not have the “James Bond/Q” tag, but I’ll add it in my list anyway.

Taken by Nana_41175 [Words: WIP | Explicit]    Or, the cheating fic that *nearly* is! Q is engaged to be married, but not to Bond. Excerpt: Bond blinked. “Boyfriend? What do you mean, boyfriend?” “I mean exactly that,” said Moneypenny. “Honestly, what’s the matter with you? Q’s been seeing someone for over a year. And if I’m not mistaken, Daniel is going to pop the question on him this evening. Dan asked me for advice on the ring, after all.” NOTE: This is currently a WIP fanfic, but it’s almost done with 2 chapters left to be posted. Would be a bummer if I don’t add it, right? 

His Keeper by Nana_41175 [Words:  45,482 | Explicit] Protecting the Quartermaster entails a special set of circumstances, and Q is the last one to know. Excerpt: “Your identity has been compromised,” M said as he leaned forward in his chair, his features grim even as his tone remained even and calm. “I am standing you down from all your duties in Q branch. Kindly hand in all personal computers and devices. I am placing you on administrative leave, effective immediately. You need to disappear for a while, Q, for your own safety. Think of this as the holiday you never had these past two years. We will get down to the bottom of this and repair the damage done; otherwise I shall have to ask you to step down. ”Q gaped at him, finally speechless. “At any rate, quartermasters are entitled to double-O agents as bodyguards, when the need arises, and he personally volunteered,” M continued as though he’d not just dropped the equivalent of a bomb and a death sentence through slow torture rolled into one, “and I do agree that under the circumstances, 007 would be the best choice as your bodyguard.”

Daddy and Uncle James by 1MissMolly [Words:  26,115 | Teens and Up Audiences] James Bond can remain cool and collected in the most trying of circumstances. He is an expert at hand to hand combat and marksman with numerous weapons. He can seduce any woman or man he chooses. He has the highest success rate at achieving his goals, and he has his sights on the young Quartermaster. The only thing standing in his way is the only thing that will surely defeat him. A six year old girl named Elizabeth Park. Bond's planned seduction of Q is interrupted by the arrival of Q's daughter, Lizzie.

Treason, Traitors, and Treachery by Kryptaria, zooeyscigar [Words:  63,230 | Mature] All James Bond wanted was a quiet holiday on his luxury motoryacht on the Costa del Sol. Time to recuperate and think about his future with MI6. But his plans get hijacked when a traitor to the crown returns, bringing news of an even greater threat to MI6. And the traitor isn't working alone.Thankfully, neither is James.

Playing the Part by ElektricAngel [Words: 23,116 | Teens and Up Audiences] James Bond comes into Q Branch after a mission with all of his equipment accounted for and in tact, and a complete mission report in Q's inbox. Q is pleasantly surprised and more than a little suspicious. Rightly so, as it happens, because Bond makes an unusual request of him. And yet, his license to kill is not the only thing that makes the man difficult to say no to...

Breathe With Me by Flantastic [Words: 7,575 | Explicit] When James Bond goes back to MI6 following his disastrous relationship with Dr Madeleine Swann, Q wants nothing to do with him. Then there's an accident in Q-Branch...

Bittersweet by dr_girlfriend [Words:  14,229 | Explicit] The first time Bond flirted with Q, it was purely out of self-defense. The second time Bond flirted with Q was largely manipulation. The third time Bond flirted with Q, he just wanted to feel something. The fourth time Bond flirted with Q was out of sheer boredom.Somehow, flirting with Q became something of a habit for Bond.And then, it became something else.

A Bond of Matrimony by enigma_kar [Words: 12,691 | Mature] The one where Bond’s next mission involves going undercover with Q. Includes: banter, fake marriage, espionage, car chases, life-or-death situations, and Moneypenny taking far too much delight in the whole affair.

as permanent as stone cathedrals by pdameron [Words: 6,002 | Teens and Up Audiences] Q has been in love for two years, six months, and twelve days when James Bond walks away, leaving him with a bleeding head and a broken heart on a dark and noisy London bridge.

just like old times (please don’t ever change) by Rosslyn  [Words:  5,173 | Teens and Up Audiences] Sometimes when Q is alone in his workshop and there is an experiment that needs to be supervised and he can’t go home and he can’t sleep, he watches Bond’s vitals.

How Much Love Can the Weight of Water Carry? by 00QEros (Dassandre) [Words: 39,549 | Explicit] Though Bond returned to MI6 after his ill advised jaunt around the globe with Madeleine Swann, Q still struggles with his own feelings for the agent in spite of the fact that Bond is clearly not the same man as the one who walked away from their friendship on Westminster Bridge. James regrets having left London and MI6, but it is nothing in comparison to the remorse he feels for abandoning Q. However, James has made repairing their friendship his primary goal in the hope of gaining something he never realised he needed as badly as he does. But Bond really hasn’t had a good time of it lately. Breaking his leg in a freak accident, James camps out at Q’s flat when the white-washed, soulless walls of Medical become too much for him to tolerate. Unfortunately, his leg is only the beginning of Bond’s health problems, and Q is conscripted into being James’ caretaker. Confined to the close quarters of Q’s flat, the Quartermaster finds himself opening back up to the agent, but will the two men find their way to one another as they should have done years ago, or is time no longer on their side?

So I guess that’s it for now! I still have a couple in my belt, but most of them are still WIP so I’d keep them for now. I’ll be adding them once they are finished. 

[creamypudding]

The endless chain of writers-block and its effects on productivity

Heyo!

I just thought I'd give an update as to what's happening in regards to writing projects, for anyone wanting to know.

I have a lot of things going on and not enough attention span to stick to any one particular thing. My To-Do list is 18 projects strong and in the last three months I've worked on 4 things (technically 5 if you wanna include Barbershop Duet which I had only minor tweaks needed in order for me to consider it complete enough to post), trying to complete one, getting stuck or bored or uncertain and then sought refuge in another story, only to get stuck, bored, or uncertain in that one and moving on to the next one, etc.

It's been a bit of a hard slog, TBH.

But just to list the four ongoing projects, because I want to get them done in the next 12 months -

The project which took up a lot of my time has been The Anomaly: part 2, which is my Axel is a demon AU. The first part you can currently read on AO3. I've had a very solid plan for that since I first published it a year ago. I wanted to have the story finished for Halloween this year, but the project grew too big. Part 2 is done (but not uploaded), and I have a part 3 and 4 to write now. I got hopelessly stuck on part 3 and moved on to another story, which I'll talk about below. But going back to The Anomaly for a moment - I'm very excited about this story. It's the biggest project I've got going because it has a lot of off-shoot projects attached to it, which I look forward to delving into once I'm done with the main story. And the main story is a beast. I've re-written large parts of part 1 to make it cohesive with the subsequent parts. I added an extra 5000 words to it, bringing the word count up to 40k. I haven't updated the story yet and won't do so until I'm ready to post parts 2, 3 and 4, and I'm not sure when that might be. Part 2 is over 30k, and while I'm not sure about the length of part 3 (esp since I'm so horribly uninspired and stuck on it) but it might be long once I get back into it. I think part 4 will also be quite long as well, as that is the part I’m really looking forward to writing. So you see, it is definitely a project I'm really enjoying... when I'm not stuck on it, and I’m stuck on it because of a POV change. God damn. So I dropped The Anomaly and moved on to this 'short' AkuRoku smut drabble I have to write for a friend, which should be the easiest because it was just supposed to be smut but I got bogged down in backstory and motivations and character drives like I usually do. I got up to a certain point and gave up on it. It feels like I've been working on it for ages but only have like 3000 words of writing to show for it. Also, an added fun bonus (not) of difficulty was a very unexpected crisis I had in regards to writing tense. I had started writing this story in past tense, but then going back to it after spending so much time living and breathing The Anomaly (like I was crazy prolific, writing about 50k in the span of maybe 3 weeks) I couldn't write past tense anymore. I basically rewrote what I had for this AkuRoku story in present tense and continued going with it, until I hit a brick wall and moved on from it.

The project I went on to work on is something I've had sitting on the ‘to be completed’ pile since October 2017. I'm very close to finishing it. Possibly two more chapters, but I am terribly uninspired about writing it too because it's hard. It's a Clack and AkuRoku story, where Cloud and Roxas as brothers (I love that familial relationship). It's also written in past tense, so of course I had a really hard time switching gears from the present tense high I was on from the previous two projects to the past tense this story needed. I thought about re-writing this Combo story but... I had already written too much to warrant the effort of rewriting the whole thing. So I had to stick to past tense and that was insanely hard. It had me in tears. It had me pulling at my hair and doubting that I would ever be able to write anything cohesive and meaningful ever again. Everything I had written felt like crap because I now feel like past tense is too passive. I really enjoy the impact of present tense. So everything I read and wrote felt like swill. 

In the midst of my crisis, I’ve now decided to exclusively write in present tense once I finish the past tense stories. It's also why I haven't gone back to The Anomaly and the AkuRoku story, because I'm scared of getting stuck in present tense mode again. It was really fucking hard to break out of that mindset to write past tense again, so I don't want to relive that experience.

Anyway, predictably, I got stuck on the above project and moved on to the current project which I'm writing. It's pure Clack. I started writing it in September 2017. Back in 2017 I got stuck on this Clack story, moved on to writing the Combo story above, and got stuck on that and started writing what became the behemoth that is The Two Penguins, which consumed two years of my life. But this Clack story is my true passion project. It's the thing I love and cherish the most. It's the thing I've been longing to get back into writing the most. Clack is my OTP, above AkuRoku. It's the pair I fear writing because I feel I can't do it justice; writing Cloud is hard. AkuRoku is my comfort ship. My easy ship. The ship that's as easy to do as breathing. Clack is breathing while climbing Everest, but I love it, and I am determined to finish it (until I get stuck on it and feel tempted to move on to something else 😅). I am three chapters away from finishing this Clack story. I'm having serious concerns about getting stuck after I finish chapter 7 because I think chapter 8 is a POV shift, which (as you may recall was also the thing that made me give up on The Anomaly) is always challenging for me. But God damn, I love Clack. I love this story and I want to finish telling it and exploring really heavy issues around recovery from severe physical and mental trauma (’cause that’s the way I roll). 

Anyway... these are the four projects I've got going at the moment and hope to finish in the next 12 months.

Clack Clack/AkuRoku AkuRoku The Anomaly (I don’t have any solid titles for any of the above stories, bar this one, as I did publish the first part of it, so ship names to identify the stories will have to do)

I want to finish the stories In that order. I'm least excited about the two middle projects, So I figure if I stick The Anomaly at the end it will motivate me to finish the other AkuRoku fic.

If any of you would like to be pre-readers for any of these stories do hit me up. I might need you. When I have people I can talk to and brainstorm with about my current projects, it helps me feel motivated to stick it out and get it done.

Send me asks, chat with me on Twitter or discord. You can find all my handle ID's on my AO3 profile page.

Anyway, I initially came here because I wanted to procrastinate and rave about my Clack project, but I might leave the raving to another day. I've procrastinated enough.

[fraddit]

My recent experience with depression, anxiety, and ADHD

I figured I would make a post about this, because I know that at least a few of my mutuals are dealing with some or all of these things themselves and might find this helpful.  Who knows?  Very long, very personal, but mostly positive post under the cut.  Like, really, more information than you probably ever wanted to know about me and my problems.  Proceed, if you feel so inclined.

First, a brief history, for context.  Throughout elementary and high school, I consistently scored in the 99th percentile on standardized tests.  Then, I almost flunked out of high school, barely got my diploma, took a year off, and started art school college for an animation English degree.  I was going to write novels.  After a year or two of that, I decided I could write without a degree, so I dropped out.  What followed was a decade of several strangely varied and unrelated jobs and no novel writing. Working a stable corporate gig while not accomplishing (or even pursuing) any of my personal creative goals was DESTROYING MY SOUL.  So, I quit my job to become a full-time student and finish my degree, because at least that was kind of in the same universe as actually being creative.  And now, a year or two later, here I am, 32 and a few semesters away from finally finishing that English degree.  Clearly brains won’t get you everywhere kids.

I was diagnosed with ADHD at age 7 and was on some form of medication until sometime in high school, when I decided I didn’t want to take it anymore, for reasons I won’t bother getting into.  It never occurred to me to even consider medication again until this semester, when everything fell apart.

ADHD can impact a person in a multitude of ways.  For me, the biggest impact is probably executive function issues.  I can wander through the garden of my ideas all day long.  I cannot make myself sit down and do work, no matter how much I may want to.  For personal goals, that means a literal solid decade of zero accomplishment.  For school, that means procrastinating papers until the night before or morning of or sometimes even two weeks late, on the night before the professor has to turn in their grades.  And the level of personal effort it took to make myself write that two-week-late paper was herculean in measure, when it really should not have been.

I’ve since learned that many professionals suspect this very common procrastination habit of ADHD folks is actually a kind of self-medicating by way of adrenaline via stress response.  Which sounds entirely plausible to me, because every semester since I’ve been back at school, I’ve found myself pushing the risky boundaries of procrastination further and further, like a drug addict needing a higher dose to get a fix.  A very unsustainable and unhappy process all around.

Which brings me to this semester, when the wheels finally fell off the car, and one of the campus psychologists found me crying on a bench outside the counseling center because they were closed for lunch and meetings, and I didn’t know where else to go.  I couldn’t do any of my homework, was crying every day, and having panic attacks.  To put it simply, I was a fucking mess.

I made more appointments at the counseling center, I spoke with my professors about what I was going through (hello more panic attacks), and for the first time in over a decade, I remembered that there are medications I should maybe try, and I made an appointment to see the psychiatrist at the campus medical clinic.  (Also, guys, if any of you are students, look into your campus resources.  There’s support for everything at my school.  There’s even an office that’s only there to help guide students to all the other support options.  Seriously, mental health, child care, food, housing, you name it.  Get the help you need.)

When I explained everything I had been going through, the very nice psychiatrist at the clinic told me, with an unsettling degree of alarm in her voice, that I was “deeply depressed”. Which, I knew, but she really sounded shockingly concerned.  And it’s like, jeeze, I maybe didn’t realize just how bad things had gotten, because I was just living with this shit every day, so it was kind of ‘normal’ for me.

Anyway, she agreed to start me on meds for my ADHD.  The one I’ve been taking is called Vyvanse.  I started on the lowest dose and have been gradually increasing.  A month in, I’m at a dose where I can clearly tell a difference, and it’s having a noticeable impact.  I wrote a meta yesterday.  I was thinking the thoughts, and just sat down and wrote it.  This morning, I got up and wrote some more, just notes for future things to do, but I did it.  Fuck, I’m writing this fucking thing right now.

I thought that maybe I should write this shit out, and it took a little while sitting and getting my momentum going, but now I’ve written 800 1300 1650 words.  And I’m sitting here actually crying as I type this paragraph, because this small little thing is like the biggest fucking thing in my life.

I don’t have any way to accurately explain what a big deal it is for me to have actively decided to write something and then to have actually actively produced content of my own volition and design, that wasn’t assigned to me and didn’t have a due date or a grade attached.  And, that I’ve done it repeatedly now…

OVER TEN YEARS.  Over ten years I went, writing almost nothing. Might as well have been zero words. Guys, I’ve been walking around with a trilogy of speculative fiction novels in my head for over ten years, I’ve been planning another unrelated novel for the last two.  I’ve been planning something like 30 fanfics, across two fandoms, and another 20 metas for the past year.  Part of me probably assumed feared that none of that would ever see the light of day. But now, it suddenly feels like maybe I’ll actually manage to write some of it.  And I’m hoping like fuck that it’s not just a fluke.

Now, the ADHD meds aren’t the only thing I’ve been doing to contribute to this ‘good place’ I’m in currently.  I’ve been going to counseling.  Apparently, I have a lot of negative feelings about myself and my inability to accomplish jack shit for a whole decade.  Who would’ve guessed?  I also have weekly sessions with the disabilities accessibility team at my university to work on external methods for dealing with my executive function issues. (Again, if you’re a student, utilize your university resources.  You’re already paying for them with tuition.)  And, this is obviously not an option for everyone, but even before I started the ADHD meds, I took advantage of the fact that I live in a state where certain botanical products are easily and legally available and found a brand of gummies that really help with my anxiety and panic attacks.  (They’re high cbd, low thc, so calming and don’t make you high.)

So far, the meds aren’t 100% sunshine and rainbows.  With the dose I’m at right now, where I’ve been Getting Things Done, I can actively feel the drug, which is… not the greatest.  I feel jittery, vaguely anxious, like I’ve drank way too much coffee but worse.  And, the decreased appetite is something I really have to be vigilant about, because I don’t have any room to lose weight.  These were both known possible side effects of stimulant meds, so I wasn’t surprised, and perhaps the doctor and I will be able to fine tune the dosing or try another med or something.  But right now, I think I’m really leaning toward, I’ll put up with the side effects, because holy shit, I can finally actually do what I want to do.  Also, I think (and Nice Doctor Lady thinks) the new higher dose is having a positive, stabilizing impact on my mood.

I guess my reason for writing all of this, other than pure catharsis, is to say, if you’re dealing with shit like this, try to be willing to consider all your options.  For whatever reason, I didn’t think about trying medication for my condition.  It wasn’t even like I was anti-meds or something.  I just didn’t even think about it.  Not until a few months back, when I sent a random ask to an ADHD blog on here, asking how they managed to make themselves write, and they responded with I had to get medication.  Suddenly, it was like… why have I not been considering this option?  So, this story is for anyone else out there that maybe also hadn’t thought to consider this option.

And really, not just the medication.  I’m a hide behind walls, overly independent, do things on my own, never ask for help sort of person.  But, I guess I finally reached a level of desperation where I was like, Clearly, doing this by myself, my way, has not gotten me the results I want.  So, fuck it, I’m going to ask for help from every professional available to me.  Which, I’m very lucky, and currently have ready access to multiple resources in a way not everyone does, but being open to getting this much assistance is very new territory for me.

I’m not really sure how best to wrap this up.  If anyone actually read all of this, I’m astonished and… Hi, I guess?  You really know quite a bit about me now.  Hopefully, I haven’t scared anyone off.  And, if anybody has further questions about any of this or you want to talk about your own issues, I’m sincerely available for that. I think the world we live in today makes it too easy to feel completely alone, even when you’re surrounded by people, and I’m here for chats, if you need it.

[khalix-hyetology]

Slices of Writing (2)

Now that I have established certain stuff I hope it gets to you in an important. If not, no matter — I have some more pointers. If you already knew the previous rules, more power to you. If not, try to incorporate them in your life in whatever customised or direct way you want and need. There is a reason I highlighted those words. Your wants and needs are important too. Though, your wants and needs also can be hierarchal. You must balance them accordingly to get a process going and get results. More on that later. 

Onwards to new things that perhaps will be helping for you with writing. In the last segment I had shown you that writing is a psychosomatic, emotional and spatial skill. It interacts with other skills, with you and your environment. I have written how the word innate should not mean fast/rapid/genetic in your repertoire. People can be gifted but so can gifts be earned and attained. I am reviewing this because this is something that must be constantly reviewed. It will stick, then unstick, then stick again only to unstick once more. And again, more on that later. 

Avoid/Resist Toxic People and Situations as Much as Possible — This is not a rehash of the Trolls and the Haters phenomenon. This takes that further than that. Trolls and Haters usually occupy social media. They can also be real people as well, as I cited. But, they may be distant people. So, though this may sound similar it is not necessarily identical.  You may have to work with people who are unpleasant or unpleasant towards you. Usually, it can be latter than the former. If it is the former you can sometimes talk about this person with some other colleague who is a confidant. However, doing so regularly may a) jeopardise your job as no one can fully be trusted in the work space and b) cause you to create more toxicity by making your complaints a habit. Trust me. We all may have been there and we don’t want that.  If it’s the latter know that you don’t have to interact with this person beyond the minimum. Keep your interactions work related and respond only when particularly referred to. If this is your boss then choose select words and let your work do the talking for you. Do not reiterate anything much or try to seem over enthusiastic because toxic people use that opportunity to shoot you down and even publicly humiliating you. Do not tone down too much either nor else they will choose to be especially unpleasant and give you poor performance reviews.  If this person actively complains about you to your other bosses consult someone you can trust and change sectors or jobs if need be. Chances are that you will be happier and more productive in the new area. You have to prioritise your productivity and passions. Do not waste any of it on toxic people. Toxic people are not completely avoidable. This is just life. You will meet them in social media, in family, friends and even spouses.  If it is social media you can always ignore them or blocked them. If these are reviews then set the “no review” box for a while and even “non anon.” If this is family try to gradually lessen your interactions with them so that you can well not feel guilty or allow them to guilt trip you to go back to their toxic traps. Importantly, if they are parents you can really lessen your interactions with them. If you are being Abused. CALL SOCIAL SERVICES OR THE POLICE AND GET HELP.  Now, the other important parts. If toxic people are friends, you have to do what Anne Lamott said in her book Bird by Bird — your friendship needs a sabbatical. Seriously, if you feel you can’t cut them out think you are taking a sabbatical from your friendship. Sometimes toxic behaviour is also passive or indifferent behaviour. Such as not giving attention to your texts, not including you or showing any signs of elation when seeing or interacting with you. Then there is passive aggressive behaviour. Passive Aggressive behaviour is hard to stomach because it is a statement designed a joke or abstraction to still bruise you. You need to resist or stay away from these types of behaviour as much as possible. Friends are meant to enrich your life not make you feel like you are an abyss of uselessness.  If your spouse does this either go to couples counseling or seriously rethink the relationship. Your spouse/partner is not meant to belittle, humiliate, berate and ambush you with guilt all the time. Gaslighting and manipulating you is AN ABUSE. So, don’t stay with these people. PLEASE GET HELP ASAP.  The reasons I stated this is because toxic people like haters and trolls will debilitate and distract you from writing. If writing is your joy they will belittle it and they will try to ruin your work. Renowned novelist Buchi Emecheta had an abusive husband. When she wrote her first draft of Bride Price and gave it for her husband to read, she came back and saw him burning the manuscript. Yes, that did happen. That is how violent and toxic her ex-husband was.   You don’t need partners like that. Or environments like that. They will first feed parasitically on your writing and this will effect and eventually lead to other parts of you. Your writing is not only your passion, it allows you to gain privileges and opportunities and give you work. In the book So Good They Can’t Ignore You by Cal Newport he didn’t support passion so that is why I called writing also work. His reasons are actually credible. Passion, he states, is a side effect of mastery so that ties into how innateness does not equate much in the long run. And, a spouse who doesn’t take your work seriously is not going to take seriously other avenues of your life. By work here I also mean your efforts to master talents, your needs and wants and efforts at communication, habits you try to inculcate, and also your personality and beliefs. Toxic people and environments may ultimately ruin your needs and wants to master your craft. They are sometimes more dangerous than haters and trolls because they have a certain sense of closeness and intimacy with you, which they shamelessly take advantage of. If haters and trolls are clever and lack courage the toxic people are cowardice magnified. They also take the discrimination of cleverness and mutate it to entitlement. They feel that as they are with you they are entitled to behave with you in any way they please.  Don’t suffer from this garbage and take a stand for yourself to resist and avoid as much as possible. So yes the sticking and unsticking come here a bit. Toxic people and environments make you doubt yourself a lot and let you cave in to defeating pressure. Yeah, there is positive pressure. The feeling the demanding need to write and write as heartily and skillfully as one can at the moment.  So for your health tied to your writing stay away from toxicity as much as possible and resist it whenever the opportunities present themselves. 

Do not Wait for the Mood to Write — This is a cardinal rule that you need to repeat to yourself. I know I have to because I procrastinate on it and don’t do it but it is seriously and important rule. Even if you are depressed, take some time off for your health and then try to write one line and draft it out and redraft it out.  The reason I am saying this is that writing is a muscle and that it needs development and stimulation. Now, you may be thinking if I have writer’s block how can I be stimulated? Well, do other things. Or better yet start free writing. Take out your journal or Document and just start writing/typing random things and you will sure to get ideas. These writings do not need to final products or anything perfect. They can be to do lists or 40 best songs you liked or movies or even books. Write out your feelings of toxic people, your anxieties, your triumphs, etcetera and you are sure to get something.  Writing is a balance of passive and active nodes. Thinking alone about writing ideas usually don’t help. Thinking can also be passive because the mind is not stimulated enough to get somewhere. Free Writing can also be passive because it doesn’t have a necessary goal. However, both can be active too gradually. When I first started writing these writing tips I didn’t completely know how I would go about it. I still don’t know but I kept on writing and the ideas gradually came. If I stuck to only thinking and planning alone it may have taken longer. Yes, I thought out the headings and such and some of the chunks but not everything.  That is why I mentioned the hierarchy of desire and wants. Writing will not always operate on those things. Writing like any habit and skills needs time, dedication, discipline, patience and reiteration. If you are a victim of your moods and always get easily seduced by them writing will believe you are a player and not interested in a relationship (yeah, I went there). You need to understand that as there is no true innate quality to writing there is no ideal hour, moment, time or whatever for writing either.  Writing is paradoxical because human beings are paradoxical. Writing is sometimes born and borne out of great frustration and misery and flicks off your happy pastures world. Writing at times scowls at decay and looks for pure Nirvana. Writing is concrete in its form but relative in its act of conception. It creates its own ideals and mixes other generally thought out ones. It may sometimes strive in purity which can also be chaos and at times live in greys which can be a ordinary day in the park.  Don’t think that you need a mood always to write. You don’t need a mood always to breathe? It is as Scout said in To Kill a Mocking Bird. Reading to her was breathing. And, how do you breathe. You do it continuously. Now, I am not saying burn yourself out by writing. I am just giving a loose analogy. You don’t always breathe deeply and loudly so take writing also as gradual breathing which may sometimes stay nice and stable as though you are in a dream, sometimes peak up as you are being athletic and sometimes even be “soggy” like you are in a flu. You are writing about life so writing won’t be excised from life.  Like Life writing also needs other avenues than your thoughts to be feed. It needs experiential stuff, segments from classrooms, snippets in cafes and the smell of coffee and the warmth of tea, the kiss of a lover, the kiss of a stranger, the theories of betrayal and actual betrayals, the concatenation of pearls in a bracelet, the mathematical equation you learned the other day, your dissertation, your lab assignment and even the joke you told your friend.  Writing stems from all of these. Writing is the nodes of you as you go through life. Writing is the anatomy of your body, the curvatures of your spirit and the oceans of your soul with the forests of your thoughts and subconscious — writing is the braille of time and the alphabets of your spine dancing in unison to some track that is in your head and the cusp in your heart. Thus writing requires discipline, effort, time and dedication.  As you are analogous to your writing (if not themes or characters then certainly the process) than like you writing needs proper nourishment and nurturing. And your moods erratically firing off won’t always help. Be consistent as much as possible. And I mean a healthy consistent. Write in a day or two days. Write small quotes. Plan projects and try your best to finish them.  The more respect, time and attention you give to writing (a healthy amount because you need to take yourself and do other things) the more your writing will respect you and feel like listening to you. 

~ To Be Continued

[jamalam]

Love Me Lose Me

A gift for the lovely and talented @bunny-yams !!!

I wrote this in an hour, so please excuse any spelling or grammatical errors.

The smell of alcohol was heavy on Thomas’s breath as he stumbled through the doorway of his and Alexander’s home drunkenly, his vision hazy. He slammed the door shut behind him, uncaring of the rather loud bang it made, the noise resonating through the house. He walked in as straight a line he could, which was rather crooked, due to his current state, and into Alexander’s office.

Alexander sat at his desk, hunched over his laptop and typing furiously, eyes shining with reflected light from the screen. The document that he was currently working on was nearly twenty pages long by now, each dark word on the digital paper having been written in rapid succession. This, of course, meant that Alexander had not left his at-home office in two days, as he was notorious for doing.

“Hey, Lex…” Thomas slurred, moving over to Alexander and resting his arms on top of the other man’s head, leaning over him. “Wanna come to bed? I’ll make it worth your while…”

“Hi, Thomas.” Alexander replied, not particularly caring about his boyfriend’s drunken state. “I have to work on this, I can’t come to bed. Maybe later? I have to have this done by next week, and I really don’t want to procrastinate on it.”

“You never procrastinate, Lex, you’re you,” Thomas said, leaning down to whisper in the other man’s ear. “If you come to bed, I can make you feel good, Lex. Really good… Come to bed, Lex…”

“No,” Alexander responded, not willing to put up with Thomas’s antics at this hour. “I have to work, and you know that. Go to bed without me. I need to do this.”

“Work, work, work, all you care about is work. Work can wait. You’re already so far along, why can’t you just come to bed, Le-”

“Thomas, no! I’m not going to come to bed, I’m not going to have sex with you, and I am not going to stop working! You need to understand that I have important things to take care of!” Alexander interjected, frustrated, and pulled his gaze away from the computer.

“So, I’m not important? Is that what you’re saying? You care more about your fucking work than you do about me? Huh?”

“Thomas...That’s- that’s not what I meant…” Alexander stuttered, attempting to clear up any misunderstandings caused by his poorly-chosen words.

“Then why’d you say it like it was?”

“Thomas, I just have more pressing issues than going to bed with you right now, it’s not personal, it’s just-”

“It’s just that you care so fucking much about your work. So much that you just forget about your boyfriend. That’s fine. Fucking great, even. I’ll just find someone else to share my bed with, then. I don’t need you.” He declared, turning around and leaving the room quickly, footsteps heavy against the wooden floor.

“Thomas, wait!” Alexander said hurriedly, realizing his mistake. “I didn’t mean-” He tried to explain, but was cut off by the front door slamming shut loudly. Alexander raced over to the door, and nearly collapsed as he watched Thomas step into a cab and be driven off, too late for Alexander to stop him.

He put his face in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair regretfully. He really fucked up this time, didn’t he? He could feel wet tears begin to trail down his face as the weight of the situation fully dawned on him. He had essentially told Thomas that he didn’t care about him, that some stupid report was more important than the man he loved… Yes, he really had fucked up.

Alexander drove up into the driveway nervously, looking up at the home he and Thomas shared amidst the pandemonium of the city. He parked the car, taking in a deep breath as he did so. He could do this. He could walk inside their home and beg for forgiveness. Thomas hadn’t come back home the previous night, and he’d been in meetings all day in a separate building, so Alexander was unable to try and speak with him. Then, to top it all off, Alexander had been forced to stay an extra three hours longer because of some new case that was barely worth the effort.

Stepping out of the car, he ascended the few stairs to their front door and closed his eyes, breathing slowly and opened the again, bringing his key up to unlock the door. When he reached for the doorknob, however, the door creaked open on its own, already unlocked and ajar. Alexander cautiously stepped over the threshold, shoving his keys back into his pocket.

He gently closed the door behind him, careful not to slam it, unlike Thomas had been the night before. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he remembered the harsh slam of the wooden door last night as Thomas stormed out when Alexander had told him...had told him that...that he...That wasn’t important at the moment. What was important was finding Thomas and apologizing. It didn’t matter if Alexander had to beg on his hands and knees.

Soft laughter sounded from their bedroom and Alexander lifted his head at the noise. Thomas must be in there, he thought, and headed towards the room. Pushing open the door, he felt his heart skip a beat as he took in the sight before him.

Thomas laid in bed next to his closest friend, James Madison, who was evidently more than Thomas’s close friend- at least, now he was. They were both fully undressed, laying in eachother’s arms beneath a thin blanket. The room was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, and Alexander nearly screamed as his mind processed the what he was seeing.

“Oh, Alexander!” Thomas noted boredly, as if it was a simple fact and not his boyfriend catching him cheating. “You’re home. I warned you, didn’t I?”

Alexander felt a tear trail down his face, still in shock. “Thomas, y-you-”

“I what?” Thomas asked condescendingly, cutting Alexander off. “I had amazing, mind-blowing sex with James? I had sex with someone else in our bed? I don’t really give a fuck if you’re crying or not? I’m just following up on my promise from last night? Because the answer to all of those is a definite yes, Alexander. I told you that I’d find someone else to share my bed with, so I did.”

“Thomas, what’s going on?” James asked, slowly emerging from the depths of sleep. “Why are you shouting?”

“Nothing, Jemmy, it’s nothi-”

“It’s not nothing!” Alexander interjected, eyes wet with tears. “You’re cheating on me, and you’re acting like it’s nothing! I trusted you, and I wanted to make things right, but apparently you don’t want to…”

“Why is Alexander here?” James asked, gaze switching between Thomas and Alexander as he sat up, pulling away from the other man. “You told me that you two had broken up, Thomas!”

“Then I guess he lied to you! We didn’t break up, and I get to come home to see my boyfriend cheating on me!” Alexander half-sobbed, half-shouted, not making any effort to hide his emotions.

“Thomas, you fucking bastard!” James yelled, leaving the bed as quickly as possible and pulling his boxers on. “You knew I wanted you, you fucking knew, and then you go and tell me that you and Alex broke up so that you can what? Cheat on your boyfriend with me? Get revenge for something miniscule? You fucking disgust me, Thomas. I’m leaving.” He said, pulling on his pants and grabbing his shirt, heading for the door and stopping as he looked at Alexander in front of him, sobbing heavily. “Alexander...I’m so sorry…” He muttered before leaving the room, and soon enough, the house.

Alexander stared at Thomas through blurry eyes, his cheeks stained with tears. The taller man lay in the bed, naked save for a sheet covering his waist and everything below it.“Thomas…” Alexander spoke softly, wrapping his arms around himself. “How could you do this to me?”

Thomas let his gaze fall on Alexander, focusing on him. “We had a fight. And it looks like I won, Alex.” He stated plainly, sitting up and resting his back against the headboard.

“Is this actually about that stupid fight, Thomas? I-I was going to make it up to you, was going to apologize and beg for you to talk to me again, even if it was just to tell me to go away. I couldn’t sleep last night, I was so upset at what you would say to me. Couldn’t imagine a life where you really despised me for what I did. Well, I could, but I didn’t want it, Thomas. Not ever.”

“Alexander, you said-”

“I hadn’t slept in three days! And you had been gone all day, I missed you, and I wasn’t thinking straight, and I was lashing out at you, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I...I had no idea, Alex, I-”

“But I guess you aren’t, huh? You didn’t stay awake all of last night terrified that the your boyfriend would never love you again. I did that. You were off fucking James Madison. Why? Because you were mad?”

“Yes, Alex, but-”

“But nothing! You didn’t have a good reason for it then, and you sure as hell don’t have a good reason for it now! I’m leaving, Thomas. I’ll be back for my stuff later. Goodbye.”

“No, Alex, wait!” Thomas shouted, nearly jumping off the bed and grabbing onto Alexander’s wrist tightly. “Please, don’t leave me...I fucked up, I know I did, but please, Alex, I need you…” He begged, staring up at Alexander with wide, fearful eyes.

Alexander yanked his hand away from Thomas’s own, and stepped back, staring at Thomas with a look that could not be mistaken for anything other than pure spite as he spat, “You didn’t need me earlier. It looked more like you needed James.”

And with a pivot and a slamming of the door, Alexander was gone.

And Thomas was alone.

He would remain that way for quite some time, his only company being the sobs that echoed through the room.

[ah-gway]

Another Goddamn Open Letter...

People of Ireland,

It’s been nearly two years since I wrote my “Open Letter to the People of Ireland (And Anyone Else Who Wants To Read It)” about the marriage equality referendum (http://irishduck.tumblr.com/post/118152887195/an-open-letter-to-the-people-of-ireland-and) and since then a lot has changed for me personally. I’m in college now and all that. But while I have made great strides in personal growth, let’s take a look at Ireland.

Now, for the purpose of not having this letter being 48 million pages long, I am going to, for the majority, not discuss the abortion debate or the numerous Catholic Church scandals (the Tuam babies etc.), purely because time constraints. I actually do have college exams that I’m procrastinating for and therefore, I must vent all my frustrations in an efficient manner.

If you think that the marriage equality referendum and the Gender Recognition Bill 2015 brought equal rights to LGBTQ+ individuals in this country, YOU ARE SORELY MISTAKEN. While our legal status may have improved, society is being the typical arse that it is and not adapting in correlation. 

Maybe I’m biased and seeing the negatives in all this, I was raised in rural Ireland after all. But I’ve been living in Dublin now for almost a year and I’ve come to notice a lot of the same stuff happening, some things are even more prevalent. There has been threats, slurs, all the trimmings of a homophobic society. Friends of mine are unable to walk down O’Connell Street without being beat up, simply because they want to wear a pair of heels. I’m not asking for a lot Ireland, I’m just asking you let people do what they want to do. Like cop on...

And lets bring this out to a broader, more global perspective. Lets talk about Chechnya. In case you’re not caught up, there are six concentration camps in Chechnya, a southern province of Russia, where they are imprisoning gay men. 3 dead and 100s imprisoned. That we know of. And while the community globally are making efforts to do something, the mainstream media refuses to cover and people are taking a very Laissez-faire approach to all of this. They are ignoring the fact that gay men are being systematically tortured and killed, and you argue that homophobia is dead?

However, there are some rays of light in all this, its not doom and gloom. People are making an effort to change things. I only know about the goings-on in Dublin, but we recently had fundraisers to raise money for the Russian LGBT Network. There have been bake sales, bucket collections and even a table quiz/drag extravaganza. So people are making efforts.

So what do I want this time? Last time, I wanted whoever read it to vote, this time, I just want two things. One, don’t tell me that homophobia and trans*phobia in this country is dead. Because that’s a lie. And secondly, don’t let people forget about Chechnya. Realistically, Russia isn’t that far away. That could just as easily be me and other Irish gay men in concentration camps. Don’t let it die. That’s the least we can do.

Go raibh míle maith agat,

Luke Nolan.

[ships-and-saints]

Moonlight Escape at Adarlan University [Celaena x Rowan magical AU]

So... this is what i’ve been dreaming up while working on PSaOE :) I’ve been thinking of writing a Celaena x Rowan modern AU fic set in a magical/futuristic world. it’s just bulletpoints right now, but here’s a drabble that may or may not be featured in the future story, or I may pull some parts out and work them around. It’s probably slightly OOC, I don’t know, I wrote it for fun and to be more casual so pls don’t take it too seriously~

Sorry if there are some mistakes; haven’t looked it over too carefully since it’s somewhat of a drabble! Feel free to leave feedback if you liked it/want to read more like it :D

Word Count: 2630 [ read on fanfiction ] | [ read on ao3 ]

It was nearly midnight on a Sunday, and she couldn't fall sleep. Celaena Sardothien growled as she leapt up from where she had been slouched on her lush satin bed, and she paced the floor restlessly. She was in her dormitory room at the prestigious Adarlan University of Magic and Research, and she had had a particularly rough day.

She hadn't woken up feeling like the day was going to be shit. Everything had started off fine; she had gotten crepes for breakfast with Elide, lounged around procrastinating for a bit, and then finally gathered her notebooks and books to study in the sprawling campus library.

There, she had run into Rowan-rutting-Whitethorn, a gods-damned know-it-all and an arrogant fucking prick. He was just a third-year student but he was a teaching assistant for one of her first-year magic courses, and he acted like he was above all the rest of them. At the library, he had caught her idly doodling on a library book and arrogantly reminded her that she was damaging school property. And she basically told him to fuck off and not talk to her until he had removed the stick up his arse.

Rowan was a teaching assistant for the beginner magic course, Laws and Limiters of Magic. He was from the reputable Whitethorn household in the country of Wendlyn, so he had been trained in magic since he was old enough to read and write, even after his parents had been murdered. The Whitethorn house had served Queen Maeve faithfully for many years, and perhaps Rowan had appeared particularly gifted because she recruited him into her service when he turned 16, and he, of course, had accepted with honor.

Rowan had lived at his Uncle's estate with many of his other cousins and wanted to escape his often-insufferable family for a while, so he requested Maeve to give him a research mission in Adarlan while he enrolled at Adarlan University.

Queen Maeve didn't say anything at first as she considered his request. This might be a good way for her to keep an eye on the happenings across the ocean... She agreed to send him, as well as Lorcan and Fenrys, to enroll at Adarlan University. She also mentioned offhandedly that her niece Aelin Galathynius may also attend the university in the future.

Rowan recalled a conversation he had with Maeve. "When she arrives… Make sure she doesn't get into any trouble, will you?" Maeve's violet eyes flickered to Rowan's face, who was kneeling on one knee in the center of the room.

She drifted over to inspect one of the many poisonous and rare plants she was cultivating in the throne room. "She doesn't look anything like me. You'll know her when you see her. Those teal and… gold eyes. Ashryver eyes, like her mother's." Maeve waved her pale hand dismissively.

Bright turquoise irises and rings of gold around the pupils. Until recently, it hadn't clicked that Celaena Sardothien and Aelin Galathynius were the same person.

Perhaps he was annoyed that she was going by a different name, tricking people into believing she was someone she was not. In the hushed library, he had revealed to her how he worked for Queen Maeve, like it was supposed to scare her into submission or awe or something. And he acted like Celaena, even though she was a blood relative to Maeve, was beneath him because he had been recruited to work for the bitch-queen of Wendlyn and she hadn't.

Celaena's perfectly arched eyebrows raised higher and higher, and after he was done with his little tirade, she just snorted and drummed her fingers on the table. Her mother, Evalin Galathynius, had cut contact from Maeve before Celaena had been born. So she had never met Maeve, and she vaguely remembered her mother saying something about how Maeve used people to get what they want.

In fact, she went by Celaena Sardothien and not her real name anymore, because people often tried to get close to her, either to take advantage or curry favor with her, to try to gain access to Queen Maeve. But it turned out that even using a different name wasn't enough to avoid people like Rowan, who thought the gods-damned sun shone out of that woman's arse.

She stopped drumming her fingers and leaned forward to sneer at him. "I pity you for being bound to someone else's will and for being a brainless soldier playing an arrogant student. You don't know anything about me, Rowan Whitethorn, and you can't scare me by being a kiss-ass."

Rowan's checked anger had slipped at that, and a small gust of wind picked up. Students nearby began shifting uneasily. Nevertheless, Celaena had thrown her own defenses up. She never turned down an excuse to brawl.

Both of their magical energies elevated enough that they were scolded and thrown out of the library soon after. Celaena had been docile and cordial, blaming Rowan for instigating the fight. Rowan had acted ever the gentleman, bowing his head and promising it wouldn't happen again. The library woman on duty agreed to let them go as it was their first offense and as long as it didn't happen again.  

Celaena simpered sweetly at Rowan when she heard that, and they parted ways outside the library without further incident. She loved books, and a quickie brawl with Rowan certainly wasn't worth getting banned from the library. But she didn't get any studying down after their run-in. Instead, she went for a run outside and trained at the gym until she worked off some of her pent-up energy.

And then wasted time up until now. She had to get up early for morning classes, too.

Dammit. Damn it all. Celaena was still pacing in her dorm room, which was quickly becoming too small to contain her rising fury as she continued to think about what had happened earlier. She needed to do something, or she was going to break everything –

A glass of water exploded on her nightstand, and Celaena nearly screamed in frustration, but she worked on calming herself down. She didn't bother with the glass shards strewn all over the nightstand and ground. Instead, she focused on her breathing and cast her mind to find a goal for her to focus on, to keep her mind occupied. To keep her vast magic from slipping the leashes and going out of control, and setting fire to the gods-damned drapes again.

Celaena pulled on a black zip-up hoodie over her turquoise V-neck and combat boots over her distressed jeans. Maybe a walk would help clear her mind. She looped her blonde hair into a loose bun atop her head.

Her fingers brushed against something in her hoodie's pocket, and she fished her handheld device out and stared at it for a second before casually tossing it onto the bed and walking out. She didn't want to talk to anyone, and she didn't want anyone to find her. She silently slipped out of her room and down a back stairwell to exit the building.

As soon as Celaena felt the cool, fall breeze sweep over her face, she sighed in relief. The leaves were starting to turn autumnal hues, and the weather had started to turn chilly. She began walking with no destination in mind but ended up in front of the ancient music building. The wind hummed and leaves rustled as she stared up at the intricate columns.

Well, she might as well go in. It was unlikely anyone would be here past midnight on a Sunday. She reached into her pocket to grab her –

Dammit. She had left her handheld, which doubled as her ID, in her room. Not that it mattered too much. She shoved her hand into her back pocket and pulled out a flat device, shaped like a card. She pressed a button and the screen flickered to life, scanning her face to unlock the facial recognition screen. As soon as the device recognized her as the owner, it unlocked and revealed a menu with several settings.

Squinting, Celaena peered at the bright screen and modified a couple options before holding the device up to the electronic scanner on the front doors. The scanner beeped in recognition and flashed green, allowing her to haul the doors open and slip in.

She wandered down the lonely halls, the sound of her boots reverberating off the walls. On impulse, she peered into a dark room at the end of a hallway, slipped inside, and flicked on the light.

It was a small practice room, with a piano, a piano bench, and a music stand. There was a stool tucked in one corner and scattered sheet music was stacked haphazardly on a narrow bookshelf. Celaena sighed and dropped her hoodie on the floor.

She briefly adjusted her seating on the piano bench and then began warming up on the keys with scales. Celaena noted that the keys were mostly in tune, and she took a few minutes to learn the piano, to learn the shape and sound of its keys before she really began to play. The music and her anguish twined together, flooding the room with sound and pure emotion.

She played the lullaby her mother used to sing her. Then a few of the bittersweet songs of the people. And then the ballad she had composed when she was 15, in honor of her friend Nehemia who had died long ago in a freak accident. Celaena had never understood why the gods hadn't taken her as well, back then.

She played continuously for twenty minutes before finally pausing to take a break. Sweat dripped down her face from the effort, and the tears that had streamed down her face earlier had already dried. She moved her hand to brush stray strands of hair from her face –

Somebody coughed intentionally behind her.

Celaena jumped, slamming her hands down. The keys rang out in discord, and the wind of her movement sent some of the pages stacked on top of the piano fluttering down. She hastily wiped the mascara tracks from her cheeks and whirled around.

"Are you spying on me?" she accused, embarrassment creeping up her cheeks as she realized she had been so lost in her music that she hadn't noticed gods-damned Rowan had been standing there for gods know how long. She hurriedly began gathering the fallen pages up to keep her hands busy. Rowan bent down to pick up a page that had landed near him and she snatched it from him, smoothing it out and adding it neatly to the stack.

Rowan had silver hair that nearly reached his broad shoulders, and he was wearing a simple, black v-neck. A wicked tattoo curved up his neck and creeped up the side of his jaw. He shrugged nonchalantly, but his green eyes were unfathomable as he watched her. "No, I just happened to be walking by."

Celaena's turquoise and gold-rimmed eyes narrowed as she snorted, trying to keep the mortification from her face.

"You just happened to be walking by the music building? Oh yeah, I forgot about all of the music classes you take," she drawled and pursed her lips at him.

Rowan couldn't help but chuckle at her dripping sarcasm and how fast she had caught him in his lie. "Okay, you're right. I just wanted to… make sure everything was all right after earlier." His gaze pinned hers, as if he could read the answers directly from her face.

Celaena narrowed her eyes at him and schooled her face into a smooth, emotionless expression. She didn't know what magical powers he was keeping secret, so she double- and triple-checked her mind's barrier. She blinked at him.

"I'm fine. And even if I wasn't, it would be none of your business," she replied coolly.

"That's –" Rowan inhaled sharply through his nose and then exhaled. "I've been harsh on you. And I… said some things I didn't entirely mean."

"I don't expect any special treatment," she snapped. What was his problem? After what happened earlier in the library, now he was following her around like a lost puppy? Celaena could feel a headache coming on from the mental whiplash.

"But still… I should have been more understanding," he admitted. Celaena just stared at him as if she were weighing his words.

"As far as you know, I'm just another, first-year student that goes to Adarlan University. Young. Hopeful. Uninteresting." Her sharp, perceptive eyes bored into his as she enunciated every word with a clipped tone. "I don't care what you do outside of school or whose employment you've weaseled your way into, as long as you stay out of my business. And as far as Maeve goes, I've never known my Aunt Maeve, and I don't care to know her," she ground out, defiance burning in her eyes. She was honestly considering punching him right in the nose if he was stupid enough to challenge her.

Rowan held his hands up palms facing her, trying to pacify her aggression. "I'm not – I wasn't trying to convince you to or anything. I just wanted," he took a deep breath, "I just wanted to say that I'm here if you wanted to talk about it. I know what it's like to have… family troubles."

Celaena just blinked and raised her eyebrows at him in disbelief. She rolled her eyes up at the ceiling and sighed. "Thanks. That's nice of you, but I don't want to talk about it. Goodnight."

With that, she grabbed her hoodie from where she had dropped it on the floor earlier and tried to storm out. Unfortunately, Rowan was still in the doorway. He moved to fully block her exit and her anger nearly snapped then, but she inhaled through her nose and waited.

"Get out of my way," she hissed through her teeth.

"You don't want to talk about it with me, or with anyone?" Rowan asked seriously. His pine-green eyes were scanning her face, assessing her near-feral expression, and she idly noticed how long his dark eyelashes were. The question caught her off-guard, and the rage on her face smoothed out somewhat as she considered.

"You, maybe, or with – with anyone, I suppose." Celaena placed a hand on her hip and surveyed him. She did have Elide, but they hadn't talked about… this. About what Celaena suspected, with her aunt. "Are you going to move?"

Rowan turned to the side and Celaena breezed past him without another word. She didn't care about him. She didn't care about his stupid, piercing green eyes, or about that wicked tattoo winding its way up his neck. She had dropped her guard earlier, sinking into her music to escape, but her escapade tonight had only led her to feel more confused about everything that had happened.

Rowan could only think about that burning pain he had seen in her beautiful eyes, after she had whipped around to face him. Her eyes had flickered with hurt before she carefully smoothed out her expression. He watched her stalk away from him and didn't try to follow this time. He had a feeling she wouldn't let him go without a real fight next time.

She turned down several hallways and slipped down one of the stairwells to exit out of one of the building's backdoors. Celaena was annoyed that Rowan had followed her so easily in the first place, and she made sure he hadn't tailed her again.

She walked aimlessly for a while, before swiftly scaling a tree and tilting her face up at the moon. At least the moon was the same, no matter where she went or how lost she was.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

OK, I'LL TELL YOU YOU ABOUT FILTER

VCs ask that you shouldn't answer: Who else are you talking to? For I see a man must either resolve to put out nothing new or become a slave, and there was no good way to do it well, then the most successful ones. The Model T didn't have all the features previous cars did. Whatever you make, you will inevitably tend to put them out of business; they feel obliged by various state laws to include boilerplate about why their spam is not a problem. Subject line and doesn't have a probability for Subject free! The spammers are businessmen. For example, about 95% of current spam includes the url of a site they want you to visit. I can usually catch them. False positives yielded by statistical filters turn out to be an email from a founder that helped me understand something important: why it's safe for startup founders to be nice people. Content-based spam filtering becomes a serious obstacle, the spammers will actually stop sending it. It was not till we ourselves raised money that I understood why. Just ask anyone who uses them.

The reason is that between your ability to delude yourself and the wildly unstable nature of the system you're dealing with, things probably either already are or could easily become much worse than they seem. This works better for some startups than others. But consulting is far from free money. Raising money is the second hardest part of starting a startup.1 The curious thing is, this elixir is freely available to any other company. And don't feel bad if you haven't succeeded yet.2 We constantly have to make a living, and it's hard to predict, till you try, how long it will take you through everything you need to do.3 The remaining 5% want you to call a phone number, reply by email or to a US mail address, or in a few cases to buy a certain stock. For millennia that was the canonical example of a job someone had to do it for free, and yet we can profit by helping them, because with our help they could make money.4

And since a successful startup on behaving like a nonprofit to people who don't have money? It's that startups will underestimate the difficulty of raising money destroy your morale, it will rot your brain.5 That idea is not exactly novel.6 I was about 9 or 10, my father told me I could be whatever I wanted when I grew up in the noise, statistically. One possibility is that this custom reflects the way investors like to collude when they can help a startup, and I'll be rich. This is an area where there's great room for improvement. Sometimes jumping from one sort of work I'd prefer? Y Combinator don't generally have much money, and work on what you want to stop getting spam. And yet in the mid twentieth century servants practically disappeared in rich countries, and these tend to be exactly the ones you'd want to take the two-job route: to work at something for a while at least, if they are the actual registrar for it. Prestige is just fossilized inspiration. The custom of a startup needing a fixed amount you need to make it prestigious. So unless you're fairly sure what you want to do when they're 12, and just glide along as if they got the answer to some math question before the other kids.

But liking the idea of the corporate ladder was still very much alive. Because they're good guys and they're trying to produce research, and only things that are new count as research. And since a successful startup on behaving like a nonprofit to people who don't have money?7 You need some kind of job. Another project I heard about this work I was a kid I was firmly in the camp of bad. If your eight year old son decides to climb a tall tree, or your daughter gets pregnant, you'll have terrible problems with procrastination. The domed cities and flying cars we expected have failed to materialize. VCs don't expect you to answer the first question.

It just made me spend several minutes telling you how great they are. They're problems! In fact, what makes the preceding paragraph true is that most readers won't believe it—at least to the extent of acting on it. Maybe the only answer is a central list of domains advertised in spams. Tip: avoid any field whose practitioners say this. You can filter those based just on the content because the headers are innocent and they're careful about the words they use. There may be room for tuning here, but as the corpus grows such tuning will happen automatically anyway. I understood why.8 When new mail arrives, it is exciting to them. Grad school is the other end of the spectrum from a coding job at a big company.

A lot of people: that you could get smarter programmers to work on what you want to help them. And that is dangerous for so many reasons. The techniques for building integrated circuits spread rapidly to other countries. What made this clear to me was having an idea I didn't want to start a startup now, because the economy is so bad is making the same mistake as the people who thought during the Bubble all I have to do is remove the marble that isn't part of it. In fact, it's just as well to make the headers look innocent, but my motives are purely selfish.9 01 tcl 0.10 The most effective approach seems to be an accident. The Bayesian approach assigns an actual probability. If new ideas arise like doodles, this would explain why you have to try to get into a good college, from which one would be drafted into some organization and then rise to positions of gradually increasing responsibility. I didn't want to start a startup. A Plan for Spam filter wouldn't have caught it. It was from someone in Egypt and written in all uppercase.

Most people have characteristic ways of doodling. That tends to produce deadlocks. A company that needed to build a factory or hire 50 people obviously needed to raise a large round and risk losing the investors you already have enough funding, that reduces to: close them now or write them off. Use the data to weight your strategy. And since a successful startup out of curing an unfashionable but deadly disease like malaria? I was talking about how investors are reluctant to put money into startups in bad markets, even though that's the time they reach an age to think about. Imagine if people in 1700 saw their lives the way we'd see them. A url that led to a redirect would of course be especially suspicious.

It describes the work I've done to improve the performance of their algorithm, let alone of Bayesian spam filtering in general. But I don't think the bank manager really did. Acquirers too, while we're at it. They may have felt they were forced to do this startup with or without them. When I heard about after the Slashdot article was Bill Yerazunis' CRM114. The response rate for spam-of-the-future must be low, or everyone would be doing it and it will take some effort to make that look neutral. I've been able to achieve filtering rates that approach CRM114's. 9999 if they occur between two digits. It becomes: let's try making a web-based spreadsheet? Be independent. Linus and his students at Liege were among the more tenacious critics.

Notes

Part of the Daddy Model and reality is the most common recipe but not the bawdy plays acted over on the parental dole for life in general we've done ok at fundraising is so hard on the critical path that they only even consider great people to endure hardships, but had a juicy bug to find out why investors who turned them down because investors don't like. This was certainly true in fields that have little do with the melon seed model is more important than the actual lawsuits rarely happen.

VCs seem to have been the losing side in debates about software design.

Bankers continued to dress in jeans and a few months later. Abstract-sounding language. 17.

So instead of hiring them.

Users dislike their new operating system so much better to read this essay will say this is to create a silicon valley out of fashion in 100 years.

Patrick Collison wrote At some point, there was a kid, this is also a second factor: startup founders are in set theory, or magazines. An hour old is not whether it's good, but that's what you're doing.

I hadn't had much success in doing something that was killed partly by its overdone launch. Digg is Slashdot with voting instead of blacklist.

Most employee agreements say that intelligence doesn't matter in startups is very hard to predict precisely what would happen to their situation. People and The Old Way.

If a bunch of adults had been with us if the president faced unscripted questions by giving a press conference. It does at least should make the fund by succeeding spectacularly.

That's why startups always pay equity rather than trying to upgrade an existing investor, lest that set an impossibly high target when raising additional money. To talk to, so presumably will the rate of improvement is more efficient: the source of the tube. But it's a net win to include things in shows that they were regarded as 'just' even after the first abstract painters were trained to paint from life using the same people the shareholders instead of blacklist.

Thanks to Robert Morris, Dan Siroker, Kevin Hale, Geoff Ralston, Paul Buchheit, Reid Hoffman, and Adora Cheung for the lulz.

[beginagainagain]

How I’m Feeling

I won’t make this a vanity piece. Even though, all of this could be seen as said vanity piece but that’s one opinion. Recently I wrote down my goals, long term and the short term. I didn’t want to overwhelm myself so I kept it simple one note card for each. Yet the feeling that followed was the type of procrastination that occurs right at the precipice of work. Something I feel all too often. 

Consider this geometry for one moment. If productivity is meter represented by a half circle, zero to just about 90 degrees would be the complete lack to partial mental and the physical effort of doing something we set out to do, after 90 degrees going up  would mean we hovering on a nervous breakdown, a couple employers come to mind, but 90 degrees is the sweet spot. Well all that said I can safely measure myself at 44.9999 there are on the newly patented  Workometer. Almost about to get off of the bed to accomplish something that has been haunting me for a while but not quite there yet. 

This morning I had the oddest thing happen to me that I can’t help but relate. For the first time in ages I’ve woke up from a nightmare, one that made me genuinely glad to be alive and here and not anywhere else. That says something seeing how I spend most of my waking day dreaming I was somewhere else. 

The dreaming, day and night tells me one in the same. That my head is unanchored. No mindful realization or elder has provided me that epiphany, that was pure shower thinking right there. 

I took a break from my self study of the migration of man to take a breath outside and finally put my perspectives into work. It was to be a fruitful moment, a barefoot walk on the grass, a look at a setting sun, and calm breath. I could here my Workometer tick, 45 degrees, and rising. Lets see what this gets us.