ADHD hack that helps with my time blindness: if I haven't taken my meds and I really need to focus on something, like homework, I'll set a timer on my phone for 2-5 minutes (I give myself less time if I'm more distracted). If my mind wanders without me realizing, the alarm going off will kinda help bring me back to the present.

I just keep resetting it as I go along. I also feel a little boost of "accomplishment" every time I manage to get through the timer without losing focus, and those little boosts can really help on bad days.

My "time blindness" can be really bad - I'll just lose massive chunks of time without realizing until it's too late - so this helps with that specifically. It isn't foolproof, I know, and some days even this can't keep me on track the way I want to be. But it helps, some days, when I'm really struggling to be aware of the time. Hopefully it helps someone else:)

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03.07.2023

Was travelling with family last week and fell a lil sick. The weather was wonderful today and I was able to spend a few hours learning. Finally completed uworld block on genetics. Feels like a huge achievement honestly.

TOKUSATSU VALENTINE’S: day 5 ➵ my valentine 🌸(ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ)🌸

Drop comfortable (and by that i mean back-breaking) sitting positions for sitting IN A CHAIR i am slowly running out of mine. I need more. Give me recommendations,,

Sneak peak for tomorrow!

What Lies Beneath - Chapter 3 - x_etoile_x - Black Sails [Archive of Our Own]

archiveofourown.org

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Black Sails Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver Characters: Captain Flint | James McGraw, John Silver Additional Tags: Demon AU, Monsterfucking, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Episode Related, 2.7, Flint is very tormented, and Silver is always looking for an angle, because someone around here has to have common sense when dealing with the supernatural, Rimming, i would not say the consent is dubious exactly, but its tricky at some points, they're working through some things, Jewish John Silver, very incidentally, what if Silver's canon ideas about Flint were true: the fic 

Summary:

Silver is braced for the transformation, and so he manages to maintain his composure, though when the pressure of fingers against his skull becomes the sharp flex of talons his knees go weak. Huge, bat-like wings erupt from Flint’s back, and horns sprout above his temples; by the time it's over, he has grown to at least half again his normal size. His face is still more or less his own, but his eyes are decidedly reptilian, and they watch Silver warily.

“Oh, hello,” Silver murmurs, soft and soothing, determined not to be ruled by his fear. “Aren’t you magnificent?”

Flint’s lips pull back to reveal sharp, gleaming teeth; he gives a warning growl.

“None of that now,” Silver says, holding his ground as he would with a skittish animal. “You aren’t going to frighten me away. Did you not think I knew what I was asking for?”

____________

Chapter the Third: In which everyone finally gets what they want. 

(Six trying to pretend being a surgeon with Andrew's medical degree)

Six : Alright, Imma just.. keep this thing right here for myself and... alright, we're ready to sew them back up again!

Nurse : Uh, sir, you just removed the patient's heart. This was just a surgery to the stomach-

Six : WHO IS THE GODDAMN HEAD SURGEON IN THIS ROOM, ME OR YOU?!

Thank god none of the alternates are doctors. They'd absolutely suck at it lmao

Me: So, I have these dizzy spells that take me when I am walking and I almost fall bc of them. I also have trouble standing for any period of time because of my poor balance, which is made worse by the above mentioned dizzy spells.

My doctor: have you considered sitting down when this happens?

Me: Gee, thank you Sherlock! I really never thought that sitting down could solve my problem with standing up. But did you hear the part where I told you I kind of like walking and the point is for me to still be able to go out of the house for more than 1 hour at a time?

Copia has always been a shy one—ever since he had the gall to put words to his tongue, could lace his boots and toss a cap on his head and pull on a thrush of dark wool—but, oh, does he love the ones who aren't.

The ones that flash soft grins in flame-kissed shadows and say, Come here, darling. What's your poison?

(Holy ground, or unholy gravelings? The sweet ache of restraint? A dark-roomed white-mooned symphony of husken growls: more love and praise and need than he can handle, than his shyness can bear?)

And they'll lay their fingers on his chin, with adoration in their eyes, and a hunger even the good Saints couldn't have words for: that is both beasts waiting to maul and innocence pleased to bloom: that guide his hands right where they want them.

And Satan evermore—

What a beautiful thing that is: letting go. Nosing down a navel that glitters, his breath hot as a brand, haggard with adoration of his own; lip-paint a pattern of black-mothed wings, and nails a sweat-slick glide, and a flush of beauty on beckoning skin: a meal he could devour 'til the end of his days, and lick the plate clean with every offering.

Come here, darling, they say. Let me look at you.

And he—who has never cared for his freckles, or the soft lines of his waist, or the gnarledness of his fingers; who has stared hope in the eye of his own mirrors, and stood a thread from putting a knife through the glass; he, who would blink at them, always, with disbelief in his brow and sheepishness in his lungs—well.

He must come alive, in their eyes. An unfurling stem of more colors than he can dare to name, with how they hold him, kiss him like a soul who has never known the touch of a temptress's lips, paint nail-scraped lines over skin that yearns to be seen as something that cannot be broken, to be treated as living, to hear those lovely things in his ear again and again and again.

The dawn will greet him still freckled and soft-bellied and a dryness in his mouth; tangled in sheets that are not his own, bathed in a glow that couldn't come close to the sleepy slants of satisfaction that peck at his teeth, morning breath and all.

Even a cluster of solidago, to some, can be a bouquet.

Little by little, a crescent pressed to their lips, he starts to believe it.

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11.05.2023

Decided to deep clean my room and set aside my exam materials because I wont be needing them in the near future. Also found my paint palette with acrylics adherent to them for over 6 months, I have soaked them in water. Any ideas to peel them off faster?

schoolkid V2 (i think she'd be the thug type)

no-table, no-bubble, no-both versions, as well as some closeups under the cut! (cw: visible underwear (im so sorry about this))

variants:

closeups:

Almost all the media coverage of AIDS has been aimed at the heterosexual groups now minimally at risk, as if the high-risk groups were not part of the audience. And in a sense, as Watney suggests, they’re not. The media targets “an imaginary national family unit which is both white and heterosexual” (p. 43). This doesn’t mean that most TV viewers in Europe and America are *not* white and heterosexual and part of a family. It does, however, mean, as Stuart Hall argues, that representation is very different from reflection: “It implies the active work of selecting and presenting, of structuring and shaping: not merely the transmitting of already-existing meaning, but the more active labour of *making things mean*” (quoted p. 124). TV doesn't make the family, but it makes the family *mean* in a certain way. That is, it makes an exceptionally sharp distinction between the family as a biological unit and as a cultural identity, and it does this by teaching us the attributes and attitudes by which people who thought they were already in a family actually only *begin to qualify* as belonging to a family. The great power of the media, and especially of television, is, as Watney writes, “its capacity to manufacture subjectivity itself” (p. 125), and in so doing to dictate the shape of an identity. The “general public” is at once an ideological construct and a moral prescription. Furthermore, the definition of the family *as an identity* is, inherently, an exclusionary process, and the cultural product has no obligation whatsoever to coincide exactly with its natural referent. Thus the family identity produced on American television is much more likely to include your dog than your homosexual brother or sister.

—Leo Bersani, “Is the Rectum a Grave?” (1987)

Hey um. What?

actually all those articles implying that traditional ai is somehow lesser because it can't CREATE THINGS like generative ai does....i have some questions i'd like to ask the authors.