#Purely for losing the genetic lottery

[astralazuli]

I need new undergarments. Which is like. My personal hell as a fat enby with sensory issues & slightly hindered mobility. Spent some time today digging through page after page of google search trying to find something &...

Look, I'm just saying. Whoever keeps deciding to list their brands as "size inclusive" & "plus size" when their largest size is a women's 14?

I think fat people should be allowed to hunt them for sport.

[ayerlind]

June 14, 2020

[outoftheframework]

characterization cheat sheet: the batfamily boys

Hey everyone! I had the idea to compile a comprehensive list of different traits and attributes for each member of the batfamily based off of both canon and fanon interpretations. I think this could be useful for new members to the fandom, or those looking to write and/or draw for these characters. Remember that these will have a slight bias considering I, a fanon creator, am creating the lists. But I’ll try to make them as accurate as possible.

Appearances vary from artist to artist, so I’ll try to stray away from general details and add more little things you can consider in your art.

Bruce Wayne:

Age: 35-45

Appearance: Extremely physically fit, but signs of aging and prolonged exertion can slip through. Has a collection of scattered scars varying from fresh to fully healed. Strong, dark features. Conventionally attractive, but can easily switch to be foreboding/intimidating. Well kept in public appearances, but can look like death incarnate when in private.

Personality: Dual personas: “Bruce” (at home, but not as batman) and “Brucie” (public appearances like galas, news interviews). Bruce is stoic, well-read and educated, well-mannered, and occasionally can be witty and laid-back. Smirks rather than smiles. Brucie is loud, spontaneous, charming, and sometimes oblivious. He is the womanizer and scandal-maker. Often the actions of Brucie are motivated by Batman’s interests.

Speech: Bruce was mainly raised by as English butler, so his speech patterns are proper and smooth. Rarely uses speech fillers such as “uh” and “um,” except when interrupted while concentrating. Despite living in Gotham his entire life, he has not picked up the accent. His voice is newscaster American, almost impossible to pinpoint to a certain region. His speech as Brucie changes to relate more to the audience he is addressing. Speeches to Gotham high society will sound different than those aimed to the general public.

Additional Attributes: Bruce Wayne in all of his personalities is fiercely protective, and can easily slip into a deeper voice to intimidate. Bruce can be extremely empathetic and slightly impulsive when it comes to children who have lost their parents. As learned through his training to become Batman, Bruce is disciplined and can work for hours straight.

Dick Grayson:

Age: 23-29

Appearance: Dick Grayson mirrors a young Bruce Wayne despite their not being blood related. This could be a subconscious action by Dick to absorb traits of his father figure. His lean acrobatic body starts to set him apart from Bruce’s image. Dick manages to be well-built but still limber and flexible. His feet and hands are rough and calloused. His hair can get long but usually stays at a length in between Bruce’s and Tim’s. His eyes are bright blue without even a hint of green or brown. 

Personality: In one comic I believe it was Superman who said that Dick Grayson is a universal constant, meaning that on every alternate earth or timeline, you can always rely on him to be good and pure. I think this really sums up who Dick should be. He is kind to a fault, and can sometimes be naive and not think things through. He loves to love, be that in his family, in his romantic relationships, in his friendships, and even in strangers. He is a chronic hero who only wants to see the world as a better place. But it’s important to note that Dick can get angry when pushed, and holds grudges.

Speech: Dick is an extremely interesting study in speech patterns. As a child he traveled with the circus, until he lived with clear-spoken Bruce Wayne and a proper English butler. So influences to his speech and accent come both internationally and locally to Gotham and Bludhaven. As a child living at Wayne Manor, Dick picks up a slight Gotham tinge to his accent with some British flourish in his vowel sounds. He regularly speaks in slang. As Nightwing he is able to suppress his unique speech to sound more evenly American.

Additional Attributes: Dick acts differently around each of his family members as to be what they need in a big brother. For example, he is more fatherly to Damian while to Tim he is more an equal. Dick can fidget and has less of an attention span than Bruce. He can use jokes as a coping mechanism.

Jason Todd: 

Age: 22-26

Appearance: Hair is often long on top and shorter on the sides, sometimes with a white streak as a side effect from the Lazarus Pit. Tallest and heaviest of all the kids, very physically intimidating. Has a lot of scars and burns, and in some fan works he has a “Y” shaped scar the length of his chest from his autopsy. Never skips leg day. Green/blue eyes.

Personality: Jason goes through a lot of character development, but for this list I’m going off a timeline of post-Under the Red Hood, where Jason is on okay, yet still a little shaky, terms with the rest of the family. Jason has a hard time separating vigilante life and civilian life; his death as Robin ended his life as Jason Todd, blurring the lines between the two. Jason is legally dead, so he is basically building an identity back up. He holds some attributes from childhood: brave, impulsive, loud-mouthed, and street-smart. But his experiences post-Robin have made him a hardened loner. He lives modestly and with some semblance of order. He’s hard to foster a relationship with, but can be a passionate friend/family member when he opens up.

Speech: Jason probably has the least influence from Bruce and Alfred’s speech patterns, seeing as though he spent a lot more time with his biological family/on the streets than he did as a preteen in the manor. He is the definition of Gotham vernacular, with a rough edge. So much so that as a child, the high society gala attenders sometimes had a hard time understanding him. Often talks in curt, short sentences.

Additional Attributes: He has trouble expressing his emotions, more specifically anger and/or grief. Can both love or hate furiously. Inherently good, but sometimes does “bad” things. Protective over children, especially those living on the street. Very much a believer in “the ends justify the means.”

Tim Drake:

Age: 17-20

Appearance: Pale skin, dark hair. Sharp cheek bones and jawline, mostly from how skinny he is. His body isn’t technically “built” to be extremely athletic, but he’s forced a nice lean build from stringently working out. Easily loses and gains weight as a direct result of his work, causing fluctuations in his build. Five foot something, will eventually be out-grown by Damian. Long hair that can still be styled to look professional.

Personality: Tim Drake is very passionate in pretty much everything he sets his mind to. He feels as though he imposed himself onto Batman to become Robin, so he works twice as hard to prove his worth. He can be self conscious and deprecating. Tim as Robin or Red Robin is very different than civilian Tim; his hero personas can be bolder and more confident. Despite dropping out of high school, he values education.

Speech: Tim grew up rich, and his speech reflects an intelligence gained from private tutors. Despite this, he knows how to interact with those his age in using less formal language and slang. Often quotes books and movies. Can be awkward and stumble over his words when teased by his friends/family. He can manipulate people easily in business settings by talking fast and confidently while explaining complex topics.

Additional Attributes: Tim’s demeanor is directly tied to his varying levels of confidence and anxiety. Tim is has above-average intelligence and is diligent in detective work, but can still act like a teenager. He can be stubborn to extremes and will patiently play the long con. He does not cope well with loss.

Duke Thomas:

Age: 17-19

Appearance: Short dark hair, shaved on the sides and/or the back. Often wears the colors yellow and black. Around the same height as Tim, but a little taller. Stronger and heavier build more alike to Jason than Dick, but he’s still light on his feet. Expressive face that can give away his feelings easily. Still a bit of a baby face, but he’s still well-proportioned and conventionally handsome.

Personality: In my works, I’ve often described Duke as having a “sun-shiny” personality. He is one to not even think twice about putting others before himself. Duke uses his own personal experiences to guide him as a hero rather than suppress his emotions. Duke went from being an only child to having a large family, so he can sometimes feel overwhelmed. He is on friendly terms with every member of the batfamily, as well as many other heroes. Duke is self-sacrificial and is still learning how to effectively work as a detective.

Speech: Duke grew up in a middle class Gotham family, so his speech is influenced by his parents as well as his city environment. Duke has a mild Gotham accent and speaks a lot in modern slang. He hasn’t had much influence from Bruce and Alfred, considering he hasn’t lived with them for long. It’s possible that as he grows he will pick up some influences from Bruce and Tim’s way of speaking, but will most likely hold onto the accent of his childhood.

Additional Attributes: Duke is a metahuman vigilante in a city where Batman typically bans them, which causes a bit of an insecurity and a perfectionist drive. These are exasperated by the long line of history preceding him, as well as the fact that he involved himself in the Robin movement rather than being handpicked by Batman. He and Tim can relate in that way. Duke is an ardent student of Batman and is dedicated to the cause.

Damian Wayne:

Age: 10-14

Appearance: Looks similar to Bruce when he was the same age, yet stronger and with tanner skin. His hair is expertly cut and styled, but still age-appropriate. He is the shortest of the batkids, but still has a lot of time and potential to grow. He pretty much won the genetics lottery with Bruce and Talia as his biological parents, and is made for athletics. He has some scars that stand out with their pale coloring against his tan skin. 

Personality: Damian is slowly becoming less of a brat, to put it bluntly. He admires his family and tries to mimic them, but will never confess it. Damian is quick to judge and will voice his opinion no matter how scathing it may be, both as civilian and hero. Damian is slowly realizing he may not want the Batman mantle as quickly as he planned. Jon is a perfect foil to Damian, and often makes him a better person when they’re together. 

Speech: His speech is proper and formal. Prefers formal titles: ex. “father” over “dad” and last names over first. Damian is at least bilingual (Arabic and English), and can switch between languages easily. Most of his speech patterns developed from his tutors in the League, and more recently, Alfred. Influences like Jon and Dick have introduced him to a more modern, laid-back way of speaking, which he sometimes utilizes when relaxed.

Additional Attributes: Damian has problems with authority, especially those that he doesn’t respect like his teachers at school. He can be arrogant and childish ever though he often acts like he knows everything. Damian is still a child and has much to learn from batman and family as well as unlearn from his time at the League. Dami was forged to be a ruthless warrior, but now has to find a balance between the hero Robin and the child Damian Wayne.

Hope this helps someone! Feel free to add on if you think I missed anything. Just please remember to be civil and respect different interpretations of these characters. Let me know if you want another one of these posts outlining the girls or other characters.

[mrstaeminlee]

Mission Complete Ch. 7

You had two goals in life. One: Complete your squad training without dying. Two: Fuck Levi Ackerman

Pairings: Levi/f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, slight degradation, daddy kink, 2K+ words of dick sucking

A flood of arousal like he'd never experienced in his life coursed through Levi's veins, searing him all the way down to his blood vessels and making him itch to make you do everything you'd just promised him then and there. He grabbed your head in his hands, smashing your lips together once more. You parted beautifully for him, the taste of shitty wine long gone and Levi growled low in his throat as he tasted you for the first time. He curled his fingers in your hair, pulling it at the root as he kept you firmly against him. You knew he'd probably never kissed anyone else like this, but the way he slanted his mouth over yours again and again with pure domination made you feel like he was the one about to teach you a lesson. The kiss was hot, feral, filled with tongue and teeth. You were paralyzed, glued to him, almost ashamed he'd made you so crazy with lust over just one kiss. Your tongues stroked each other, learning the inside of each other's mouths, tasting and exploring until you were reduced to a whimpering, whiny mess. The sound your lips made as they finally separated caused you both to sigh with pleasure, and you both stood there for a moment, lips barely connecting in short, fleeting kisses as you tried to calm yourselves down.

Once the both of you regained control you lowered your gaze, pushing him away just enough so that you could raise your hands to the top of his shirt. Your movements started slow as you unbuttoned the offending garment but picked up the pace as your eagerness to finally see his body grew, and you had to stop yourself from drooling as more and more of his pale skin was revealed.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Levi."

His hand grabbed your chin harshly, snapping it up to meet your gaze. His cold, silver eyes met yours and your breath hitched.

"What did you call me?"

You blinked.

"I-I called you by your name-"

"Did you?"

He leaned closer, taking your lower lip between his teeth and biting down harshly, swallowing your yelp of surprise with a hard kiss.

"I don't think a good girl would use such foul language, not when you aren't even fucking yourself on my cock yet."

Your knees weakened and you felt you could have died right then and there.

You nodded with such vigor Levi thought your head would fly off and he chuckled lowly, the sound causing you to clench your thighs together for some sort of relief.

"I'm sorry.....Daddy," you whispered.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit

Levi glanced down to where your hands had stilled, raising an eyebrow.

"Did I say you could stop?"

You shook your head, quickly returning back to your earlier task and unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, using both hands to push the offending fabric to the sides so you could get a good look at him. He was buffer than he appeared, not overly large but what he lacked in size he more than made up with definition. Your mouth watered as you took in his physique, his muscles straining with desire, and your pussy pulsed at the up close sight of his abdomen. You couldn't help reaching forward, slowly grazing your fingers over his abs one by one, taking in every curve and dip. Because of the candlelight you could feel more than see the scars littering his torso and it took everything in you to stop from tracing every single one with your tongue. There would be plenty of time for that later. Your fingers continued their journey down until you reached the fabric of his pants, undoing the buttons and pushing down the zipper. You stopped just before you exposed him, glancing up almost shyly. "How do you want to start? Do you want to fuck my throat standing up or do you want to lie down while I suck you off?"

Levi bit back a groan. Your tone was so light you could have asked him what his favorite brand of tea was.

"Kneel."

You obeyed instantly, getting down to your knees until you were facing the object of your every wet dream. Leaning forward, you nuzzled your face almost tenderly against his straining cock, able to feel it's thickness and heat even through his pants. "Daddy, you're so much bigger than I imagined," you breathed, placing an open mouthed kiss at the tip. Unable to wait any longer, you reached up, tugging his pants and briefs down in one go, throwing them to the side once he'd stepped out of them.

Levi clicked his tongue.

"You're an eager one, aren't you?" He cooed, reaching down to pet the top of your head affectionately.

You nodded shamelessly before reaching up to grab him at the base, not wanting to waste even a precious second of this gift that was literally in front of your face. He was hot in your palm; smooth, the softness of the skin a stark contrast to the pulsing hardness it concealed. You began to slowly explore his cock with your hands, a childlike fascination taking over your features. He was thick, much thicker than you anticipated and you clenched in anticipation. He was longer, too, a slow smile spreading across your lips as you raised your eyes to his, eyes alight like you had just won a prize.

"My goodness Daddy, someone won the genetic lottery. I can't believe you've been keeping this from me all this time."

Your grip tightened around him and you leaned forward, pressing hot, tender kisses along his head. You slowly began to fuck him with your mouth, repositioning yourself so you could reach up and cup his balls. They were heavy and hot, just like the rest of him and you massaged them gently in your palm. He slid through your lips effortlessly as if his cock had been made to shove itself between your lips and you quickly dedicated your heart to memorizing every inch of him. You sucked him off like your life depended on it, ignoring the slight discomfort as his head breached the back of your throat. Right fist clenched, you inhaled deeply through your nose, eyes rolling back at how fucking delicious he smelled and you pushed forward until he was in your throat and your nose nuzzled tenderly at his pubic hair. You moaned around him, swallowing around his cock and feeling your heart swell with pride as he twitched in your mouth. Drool poured from the corner of your lips but you didn't budge, letting him slowly suffocate you with his cock and you thought there was no better way to die than with a mouthful of Levi Ackerman's dick. When you could stand it no longer you pulled back from him, gasping. You frantically went back for more, already missing the way he felt against your tongue. You took no mercy, your cheeks and chin coated in saliva and precum as you lapped at him like an obedient dog, tongue running along the length of him before dipping down to take his balls into your mouth, tongue flicking over each one rapidly. Your heart soared as you felt them tighten in your mouth and you would have sucked him dry if you weren't so eager for him to fuck you stupid. You moaned against his skin as if he were the one pleasuring you, your hips grinding into nothing as you returned your mouth to him. You squeezed the base of his cock with your hand, this time not hesitating in the slightest as you took him all the way into your throat, releasing him only to do it over and over again. Your other hand reached up to grab his ass, pulling him forward until he got the hint and started fucking your throat, slowly at first and then quickly picking up speed. You stilled your movements then, grasping his thighs only for balance as you let him abuse you. You raised your eyes to him, his beautiful features blurred by tears that coursed down your cheeks to combine with the mess of fluids coating the lower half of your face. You closed your eyes in bliss, keeping your right fist clenched to suppress your gag reflex, focusing on his addictive taste, the way his hand grasped your head like his life depended on it, the sound of his balls slapping against your chin over and over. You were in heaven.

Levi was losing his fucking mind. Looking down at you, he felt his balls tighten at the euphoria on your face. He watched with utter fascination as you took his cock like you had been made specifically for that purpose. Your lips were cracked and wet, your eyes red with unshed tears, face covered in a disgusting mixture of spit, tears, and his own fluids, yet somehow it only spurned his desire to shove his cock deeper down your throat, his hand ruthlessly fisting itself in your hair, pulling harshly at the root as he kept you in place. Your throat tightened obediently around him and he gasped, the dam on his voice breaking as he threatened to rip your hair out. "Fuck, you look so fucking good taking my cock like this," he rasped, a loud groan spilling from his lips. He let his head fall back, hair falling away from his face except for the few strands that clung to his sweaty forehead, his face scrunched up in pleasure. "God, just like- just like that, take it, take the whole fucking thing down that filthy fucking throat of yours."

You nodded as much as his grip on your head would allow, squeezing your eyes shut. His words went straight to your throbbing cunt and you sobbed against his cock in earnest, tears burning their way down your cheeks. You were disgustingly wet, panties completely drenched and you spread your knees, hips rutting against nothing in a desperate attempt to ease the pressure. You had never felt so fucking horny in your life.

"Fuck, ah fuck, darling I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fucking cum fuck!"

He felt his brain shut off and he mindlessly shoved your head forward, doubling over you until he was nearly bent in half as he rutted into your mouth, cock spasming as he released his load. You took it happily, gathering every rope of cum between your lips, unable to bear the thought of a single drop going to waste.

Levi's entire body twitched as he came down from his high, slowly releasing his hold on your hair only to awkwardly try to pat it back into place. He straightened up, hissing as he finally pulled away from your lips, cock spent and twitching. His breath caught at the sight of you, mouth hanging open and filled with cum, face glistening with drool and tears. You looked like a fucking angel. He reached forward and tenderly ran the back of his knuckles against your cheek.

"Swallow."

Your gazes locked as you followed his command, closing your lips and swallowing audibly, opening up to show you had followed his command. You preened at his touch, closing your eyes and leaning into his gentle caress. After a moment you opened your eyes again, looking up at him with such trust and adoration it made his stomach tighten.

"Did I do a good job?"

Levi nodded, mentally apologizing to every soldier he'd berated over the years. He'd never felt such extraordinary bliss in his entire life, and he couldn't wait to experience it again.

He was gentle as he helped you to your feet, a nice contrast to the man he'd been only a couple of moments ago. You winced as you stood straight, your knees and lower back deciding at that moment to remind you of your actions. The pain quickly left your mind as Levi gently kissed your tender lips, eliciting a gasp as he moved his mouth against yours. You hadn't expected this, after all the man was still quite the clean freak. While you weren't really surprised that he wasn't bothered by your filthy state a few minutes ago considering the circumstances, you were certainly shocked that he would still kiss you after he'd composed himself.

You hummed softly as he pulled away from you, feeling like a lovesick puppy.

Levi licked his lips, not quite sure what to make of the taste on his tongue. He did, however, know what to make of how he felt in that very moment.

"Disgusting."

You reeled back at his tone, quickly going from lovesick puppy to rabid dog. "Excuse me?"

He felt his cheeks fill with color, raising a hand to awkwardly rake a hand through his hair and he grimaced, both from his incredibly poor choice of words and the grime he could feel as he pulled his hand back. "N-Not you, I'm sorry. I just-" he sighed. Again with the fucking stutter. "I'm sorry," he repeated, ignoring the fact that he was completely naked and you were completely clothed. He pulled you against him, hands rubbing your sides and you cursed yourself at how easily you gave in, hands coming up to cradle his elbows in the hopes he'd keep touching you.

Your lips met once more; you didn't think you could ever tire of kissing him.

Levi pressed his forehead to yours, an almost shy and impossibly tiny smile gracing his lips.

You stopped breathing, he was just so fucking beautiful.

"I-I want....I want to continue, but before we do I think we should both get cleaned up. I feel like I've got ten layers of dirt and sweat caked on my skin and I'm sure you do as well considering you were trapped in a muddy hole for hours. If we're going to do this, I don't want it to feel like we're just rolling around in the hay. My room is next to yours, why don't you bathe here and change into the clothes the inn gave us and meet me in my room in a half hour."

You nodded dumbly, anticipation lighting your skin on fire from his thinly veiled promise of what was to come. Your cheeks flushed; you had been so preoccupied with trying to get Levi in your bed you completely forgot about the circumstances leading to this entire evening. You winced; he was right. Now that he mentioned it, your clothes felt like sandpaper against your skin and you became acutely aware of how you probably looked and smelled. The fact that he still held you close spoke volumes to how much he cared for you. Either that or it spoke to how much he wanted fuck you dumb after experiencing the best blowjob you'd ever given. You decided to go with the former.

After one last kiss you reluctantly removed yourself from his embrace, reaching down to hand him his clothes, pouting at the sight of his beautiful body getting covered by the offending garments.

Levi noticed your distress after getting dressed and he smirked, leaning forward to nip at your lower lip, his smirk only widening at the blush that graced your cheeks. He opened the door and stepped out, giving you one last promise before leaving you to get yourself cleaned up.

"I'll see you soon, baby girl."

[tawus]

"We doesn’t come with direct spoilers, but it does heavily imply the events that come in the manga. Also if you’ve read the manga, the implied content in We hits different!" Noted! then I'll read We in a couple days when I've finished the manga! hope I don't suffer (much lol). Also about DC, i'll look into it! see if i like it hehehe thanks for all the advices ♥

You will suffer bby, but it’ll be worth it! ❤️

And so sorry for answering this late, I wanted to include a snippet of my upcoming Akira fic, to hopefully entice you:

Proem: The “red strings of fate” is a fallacy. The strings are actually a dark red colour, even somewhat contiguous with brick red. And there aren’t that many strings. Their number is actually contained to just two. And these two strings have a pattern of behaviour: they flow in from two sides, one from the left, the other from the right, and they each stop in front of your respective eyes where they spin endlessly in two little but perfect circles. That is until they curdle and oxygenate into two flashes of pure white and you lose all of your chances to escape. You got tangled in those two strings. Can you untangle…? Decoding the proem requires that we rewind the tape. Rewind, please. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 31st October. Halloween house party at the home of your crush. The star of the rugby club, straight A student, and the winner of the genetic lottery as well as of your glossy love, Hiro Takashi, invited all the kids from school to his spectacular 3-storey townhouse that Hiro’s parents fortuitously vacated for the Halloween weekend– Wait, wait, wait. Are you kidding? That isn’t the beginning. Come on, don’t be stingy. Rewind some more. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 25th October. Tokyo Kamigaku high school. Outdoors. Crisp sunshine on a 1,750 square metre rugby field adjacent to the 400-metre running track. Despite the crisp sunshine, the metal bleachers overlooking the rugby field are cold and any spectator who comes in contact with them shivers. But not you. You with your little cream puffball hat and your khaki parka had a fire burning in you, so to say. A flame. One that could keep you warm through any October chill. This fire, this flame, is figurative, of course. But figurative doesn’t make it any less real. As real as Hiro Takashi’s downturned light green eyes that still in laser focus as he receives the ball from his teammate in a flawless switch pass. As real as his chiselled quads that visibly fire up as he bolts towards the opposing team’s try zone with the ball clutched to his underarm. As real as his triumphant beam and victorious fist in the air as he touches the ball onto the– A cacophony of high-pitched female squeals interrupt your focus. You click your tongue in annoyance and glance at the busy running track behind you. It shouldn’t have been busy and it usually isn’t. But right now it was swarming with hordes and hordes of thirsty girls, all wearing the Kamigaku uniform and evidently cheering for somebody on the starting line. Although you couldn’t see the starting line from your seat on the bleachers of the rugby field, it wasn’t hard for you to guess who that somebody was. All these heart-eyed squealing fans were enlisted in one army and one army only. The army of Akira Fudo.

[thecolorfulloko]

inborn, genetic, or learned culturally?

extra fine i can feel a strong attraction natural selection a little like vacation im gearing towards you i wanna chase your motivation too you just move so wonderful id say no to drugs but for you i would take a bite of the edible consider it purely medicinal but please by mindful i wont be on all my ps and qs i can recite my responses all i want its just never going to come out the way i want it to in all my one word answers i run and hide you put all your thoughts to rest i found a new shell that much must be addressed  for another cast down creative walking the cracked sidewalks of a beaten path you spare change to my cause in search of a missing lyric as i deep dive in your vibe and peak in its epoch however high you are right now is a flight i have to catch almost decidedly to forget my legal baggage at least it can only go up from here when things go south you remind me not to drink the water down there even though thats my main source uncontrolled chaos where art is a car to steal expression is a bomb in my core how fortune tellers know so much why it can be easy to misread ill try not to lose my mind make peace with that bad ending and i need this day with three extra cherries to naturally resonate harmoniously congratulations youve won reality i have yet to hit that lottery the cost of living comfortably without a life of luxury vintage costs a pretty penny so lets learn of each others lower class conspiracy you and you alone set the scene baby burst your cultural bubble all over me

[theroyalmile]

No Returns, No Exchanges

Disclaimer: I have debated for quite a while whether or not I should post this blog.  Social media is such a curated space for joy and happiness, it can feel oppressive at times.  There is so much life-changing positivity, from engagements to new jobs; and don’t get me wrong, that happiness is great to see.  But on the other hand, all of that positivity makes me feel like sharing any kind of negative information is attention-seeking and an immense overshare.  So let’s ask ourselves why I feel that way.  Why is happiness celebrated while the sad, sometimes harsh realities of life are thought to be oversharing?  More specifically, why do we feel like life-changing news can only be shared when it doesn’t make other people uncomfortable?  Our expressions of pain should not be regulated by the comfort levels of the people who surround us.  There comes a time when not sharing something begins to feel like hiding something, and hiding something turns to shame.  That is a feeling that I refuse to welcome into my life right now.  So here we go. 

It has been a while since I posted anything… a really long while.  It has been rare, these past few years, that I have even felt I had anything much to say let alone write anything, mostly because my life has been fairly normal, fairly unextraordinary, and I am rather blessed to be saying that during such a difficult time for so many. The few moments where I have felt like I had something to say have been fleeting, and after a good 2am word vomit on paper, I have filed these musings under “not to be seen by the light of day” which is probably for the best.

 Sometimes in the past I would find myself wishing I had something interesting going on in my life, something worthy of commentary… I don’t know, I was thinking like a cool hobby, an interesting skill, a kick-ass career, or a run in with Tom Hardy like I’d always dreamed of… something.  

 Well, to whoever is in charge, this is not what I meant, and I would like to request a refund. 

 Because as its final parting kick in the ass 2020 decided to gift me with breast cancer.  This isn’t a bad punch line, it’s just the truth.Let me give you a second to process that one.  I certainly needed a few.

 The thing is, a little itty bitty 3-centimeter tumor- that’s not something I can give back, as much as I might want to.  It’s not a too-large sweater you can return with a gift receipt, and it’s not a bad haircut you can complain about and get your money back (though it certainly will include one in a week or so!)

 A lot of you already know this story and frankly it’s not one I can tell with much finesse or humor, so I will keep it brief.  It was a dark and stormy 6pm when I found a lump in my breast in the shower back in November.  My initial thought was “you’re a crazy lady and a hypochondriac, let’s give it a few weeks since this is probably nothing.”   A few weeks, when my imaginary lump seemed to not actually be imaginary, I figured okay, it’s time to see my doctor, it’s probably nothing but we need to make sure.  I was in fact so unconcerned about it that I didn’t even see my regular doctor. I figured I just needed a medical professional to feel me up and let me know what to do next.  I didn’t even bother mentioning it to my parents. (For context of my laissez-faire, when I was 14 I found a lump in my breast that turned out, after little fanfare, to be a cyst which was unceremoniously drained on a cold metal table by a male doctor in a somewhat traumatizing but ultimately benign event.  That’s a longer story for later). 

 Cue a physical exam, confirming I was not crazy and there was a lump, but it was probably nothing; an utltrasound, confirming the lump was a shape that they did not like, but it was probably nothing; and an ultrasound guided biopsy, in which the probably nothing was sampled.  The week between Christmas and New Year’s was spent impatiently waiting for the news, increasingly feeling that my probably nothing was maybe, actually something.

 On December 28 around lunch time I received a phone call in the middle of the work day from the radiologist, who while very nice, was someone I had only met once while she shot a needle in and out of my boob.  She asked me how I was doing and then told me my test results were in.  “I’m sorry to say it’s not good news,” she said.

 And believe it or fucking not my immediate thought was “It’s not good news… it’s great news!” My brain supplied this as if on autopilot like some kind of 90s game show host, knowing fully well that I would not be so lucky because we are not living in a Brooklyn 99 episode.  It’s weird where your brain goes under duress.

 It was one of the most uncomfortable phone calls I have ever had, wherein I found myself trying to reassure a complete stranger that I was okay and I’m pretty sure I even said, “it is what it is.”  I was told a breast surgeon and oncologist from my provider network would be in contact and the call ended. Ultimately, I was diagnosed with Stage 1B Triple Negative Invasive Ductal and Lobular Carcinoma.  No returns, no exchanges.

 I am two months into my diagnosis, and 1/8 of my way through chemotherapy, the first part of a three series treatment (to be followed by surgery and then likely radiation.)  This Friday, after my second chemotherapy treatment, I will begin to lose my hair.  Anyone who knows me at all knows that the hair loss will be a pill likely far harder for me to swallow than the chemo itself.  And while the look may have worked for Demi Moore in GI Jane, I do not have her bone structure, nor her body.  I anticipate I will look more like the yellow peanut M&M, which while obviously the best M&M of the bunch, I think we can all agree is not a cute look for me.

 I do not say this to be melodramatic, I just say this because I am cynical and pragmatic by nature: I am not particularly surprised that I have cancer.  And this is for several reasons, some of which probably deserve a longer blog later.  To put it simply, I have been surrounded by cancer, both by choice and by cruel fate and happenstance, my entire life. 

 Cruel Fate and Happenstance: Having several relatives who have gone through cancer, and a mother with a BRCA 1 genetic mutation (which I had a 50% chance of inheriting, and in fact did) I always figured it would eventually happen to me.  The odds this condition dealt me? “About 13% of women in the general population will develop breast cancer sometime during their lives. By contrast, 55%–72% of women who inherit a harmful BRCA1 variant… will develop breast cancer by 70–80 years of age.”  That 55-72% is the kind of percentage you want winning the lottery, but the lottery this most certainly is not, and that much I understood. So, I always figured something like this would probably happen.  Did I think I would be 28? No. But I figure that just makes me an overachiever. 

 Choice: I volunteered at a cancer support non-profit from the time I was 12 to the time I was 22, and I wrote my college senior thesis in anthropology on women with ovarian cancer, the cancer that killed my aunt Lizzy when I was 4 years old.  I have likely read more books on cancer than your average newly diagnosed person, which I find to be both a blessing and a curse.  On one hand, I know some of what’s coming.  On the other hand, I know some of what’s coming.  Of course I don’t think any of these things gave me cancer but you might say I have been training for this my whole life.  I think this joke is far funnier than pretty much everyone I say it to except my immediate family, because the Tenney/Koss folk are very big on gallows humor, in which case this is hilarious.  Comedy is our family coping mechanism, and I am guilty of occasionally forgetting not everyone is wired like that.   

 So where are we right now? Taking it day by day.  Do I frequently find myself wallowing in self-pity these days? Sure.  But all the same I feel truly lucky.  This is a feeling I am trying to hold on to, because I think the other options might be truly unbearable.  Why? Well, I found this tumor.  I’m 28-years-old, which means I am hardly old enough for a regular mammogram and MRI.  My last yearly physical was a TeleHealth appointment (hence no actual physical) and I will be honest, I never made a habit of regularly checking myself like I should have.  But this tumor just presented itself casually during a shower.  Breast cancer, when caught early, is highly treatable and curable, and I am fairly confident, knock on wood, that is where this particular nightmare is headed.  The fact that it was caught early: pure luck. 

Another reason I feel lucky is for the most part, I feel like I actually have the stability to handle the oncoming struggle.  I have a large and wonderful support system, an incredible and supportive partner, a savings account with actual savings in it, and a job where I am cared about as a human.  If this had happened to me three years ago, almost none of these things would be true.  There will never be a good time to have cancer, but some times are apparently better than others.  Of course, the ongoing pandemic means I can’t have people go with me to chemo, or my wig fitting, or my surgery consultations, and alone a lot of this seems much more daunting and difficult than it might otherwise have been, but I am trying to make a habit of counting my blessings, and despite this terrible thing I’ve been given, my blessings are many.

 There isn’t a “right way” to have cancer, but I think there might be a “right way” for me.  I am a private person and I find sharing some of these details difficult and more than a little uncomfortable, but I am also intimately familiar with the healing nature of writing and comedy, so I am going to give it a shot.  

 And now that I think of it… the peanut M&M is going to make a really great Halloween costume. 

[brainfuzz]

My kid is a T1, my grandparents were T2 and very thin and active. I think a lot of the T1/T2 misdiagnoses is also due to how they used to present - T1 was for kids, and T2 was old people. Then T2 turned into fat people, but T1 was still for kids. We've since learned that is far from true, and a lot of people are getting dx'd with T1 when they're older, but a lot of GPs don't keep up with things, and if they're not familiar with T1, then they're going to assume it's T2, especially if you're overweight and/or inactive.

No food will "give" you diabetes. NONE. I don't care if your kid lived on a diet of gummy vitamins, Twinkies, soda and pure sugar. That will not give you diabetes. You know what does? Shit genetics (sorry kid, you lost the lottery)

My grandmother did not have a sweet tooth, rarely ate desserts, was thin as a rail and walked everywhere - she didn't have a driver's license and lived in a town where she could walk to the stores. She had what we called "sugar" which meant she couldn't eat sweets. No big deal, she didn't anyway. She died from a heart attack as a complication from diabetes.

My kid, who's 23 now, preferred fruit to sweets when he was small. You offered him a cookie or an apple and 90% of the time, he took the apple. He didn't drink soda, or even a lot of juice, but when he was 9 he got a bad cold, which in turn triggered his autoimmune system to go stupid and that was it for his pancreas and he's a T1. He was tested for other autoimmune diseases when he was admitted to the hospital and he has the marker for Celiacs as well. He lives in fear of getting sick again and triggering that. (Yes, Covid's been fun).

He personally feels that T2 is worse than T1. He wants to eat a sugarbomb of a dessert, he gives himself insulin and eats it. His grandfather (my dad) wants the same thing and good luck because that's going to raise his blood sugar too high and there's nothing he can do.

Neither one of them ate anything that gave them diabetes, they just have shit genetics. Being fat and/or inactive doesn't give you diabetes. Shit genetics does. Being overweight or inactive doesn't help, and by losing weight or exercising you might be able to get your blood sugar back down to normal, but you're still diabetic, you just don't have any symptoms. It'll come back.

Please for the love of fuck stop saying food or cute couples will give you diabetes. It won't. It never has, and never will. And all saying that does is reinforce misinformation.

I had to hear a family member call type 1 diabetes "real diabetes," which is just pure ableism and fatphobia. Type 1 diabetes is not more valid, more worthy of care, or more moral. If you think it is, it's because you believe that health is a choice, that people make the choice to have type 2 diabetes, and that disabilities from birth are more valid than other types of disabilities. And of course we can't forget how type 2 diabetes is stigmatized as being "the fat people disease" despite anyone being able to get it, so most of the stigma around it is just pure fatphobia.

Stop making diabetes jokes, and especially stop equating type 1 diabetes as having increased morality over type 2.

[sigmaleph]

but surely “actually being fat is the result of immutable biological factors” would be a lot more reassuring than that. if it’s the result of choices, well, people make bad choices all the time. if it was set in stone by your genetics or whatever, then no matter how much you fuck up you are not going to gain weight you can’t lose, if you’re currently thin

if you’re going to look for a bulveristic explanation for the idea, you’re looking at it backwards imo. “being fat is purely the result of your lifestyle choices” means that your current thinness is proof of your virtue, not of having won a biological lottery.

when you see someone in a shitty situation, theres a very strong desire to believe that their behavior is the primary cause of this situation, and that you will never end up in that situation, because your behavior is good and wise. and like, *sometimes* this is true. but often its not! random chance plays a huge role in our lives. i think "there but for the grace of god go i" is an important thing to keep in mind imo, both in the name of truth and because it encourages compassion.

anyway i think this dynamic plays a huge role in the belief that being fat is purely the result of diet and lifestyle choices. the idea that lots of people become fat and can't get thin regardless of the sacrifices they try to make is scary, because it means *you* might become fat and not be able to lose weight, and (obv) there are some pretty significant disadvantages to being fat!

[halforc-mercenary]

Anton - Mar

           If they had a kid meme        

…send me a pair name and I’ll tell you what I think it would be like if they had a child.

Name: Biollok Margvisdottir

Gender: Female

General Appearance: If you mix the genetic of a Halfhuman/Halfelf and a Halfhuman/Halforc what comes out is a result of pure genetical lottery. Biollok is a short, muscular and  curvaceous woman with small, pointy ears, springreen eyes, straight blonde hair and the for her Mothers humanfamily so typical hooknose and freckled ebony skin. She has no tusks, thought she has very sharp, elfish fangs. Her face is more round than heartshaped, resembling Mars face and usually a not at all coy smirk thrones on her lips.

Personality: Biollok is straightforward and bold, almost cruel with not holding back her honest opinion. After all: If you had hung your bare rear over the railing during a seastorm more than once, you will eventually lose all shame. She owns a quick tounge, a clever mind and a horrible coarse humor.

Special Talents: She has a artistic talent, which she uses to draw maps in her adult years.

Who they like better: Mar

Who they take after more: Anton

Personal Head canon:-When Biollok turned 12 she let herself be hired on a cog as  a Mose, against Mars will. From that first year on she would spend the summers on the sea, learning her skills as a shipman and trader and spend the Winters at Home in school, studying Navigation. -Considering her Matronym Biollok has either no idea who Anton is or chosed herself to not identify with him. In the Light of Mars relationship skills, it is probably the first. (She would be Antonsdottir, if she would consider Anton a father or Mar would have wanted her child to be related to him.). -Biollok means “little flame”-In her Adultyears Biollok is a Navigator, usually shipping between Ratchet, Silvermoon and Booty Bay to be hired on Tradingships. She saves money for the day to buy her own two cogs.-She would be a Hunter, usually accompanied by a Nightsaber who would make sure the Ships stay free of rats…and unwanted stowaways.-used to live on Ships, Biollok makes a very ungainly view on Land. Usually she toddles and sways unelegant while walking.-Beside the fact that Biollok is only Quarter Elf, she will live at least up to 500 years. Genetic can be nice.

Face Claim: Coming soon. Gimme a little time to draw.

@curiouscodex

[iamronvalron]

The Leftist Case for Nationalism – The Scottish Dilemma

When one mentions nationalism, it’s almost exclusively in a right wing, and negative context. Rightly so, might I add. Especially when we’re speaking of race based nationalism or nationalism rooted in imperialism, but nationalism can and often does take on another and more progressive and positive form.

 The issue is, is that for a large part of the 19th and 20th Century (and continuing to a lesser degree to the modern day), nationalist tendencies were used by powerful groups to exert dominance over less powerful ones. The First World War was, in the most simplified sense, a clash of Empires all attempting to overlap and overtake each other and the Second World War began as an Aryan nationalist movement. Since the fall of the British Empire, the phrase “Rule Britannia” is still used by knuckle dragging Neanderthals as a rallying cry to excuse any kind of abhorrent behaviour and America has declared themselves the World Police, purely on the basis that they can. In these forms, Nationalism is hideous, vile, often violent and rightly maligned.

 However, there is another form of nationalism, one that is positive and productive (Or at least, productive in the short term). It exists whenever oppressed people band together under a single banner, whenever they stand up and say “no more”. This form of nationalism isn’t about saying that one group is superior to any other, but saying that one group is equal to all others. The Scottish National Party calls it civic nationalism. That is; nationalism based on a shared culture or (preferably) a constitution, rather than a racial identity.

 It is, altogether, a much more modern form of nationalism. In the past, countries and social groups were largely defined by genetics, and although it’s true that the genetic lottery plays the largest role in what nation we live in, in the modern world most people can move relatively freely. A country is defined by the laws and ideals it sets for it’s people to live under. Anyone, at any time, can choose to move to a country that more closely fits their beliefs. That is what makes civic nationalism different to racial nationalism; it’s primary concern is freedom. From oppression, from persecution, from desperation.

 Of course, as a Marxist whose ultimate goal is a classless, stateless, moneyless society it might seem odd for me to have any internal conflict regarding any kind of nationalist sentiment should be bizarre to say the least.

 But I do. Because while I take no misattributed pride in the achievements of other Scots, and while I do have an interest in Scottish history, that interest is fuelled by genuine curiosity; not some futile attempt at finding origin. Further, I don’t feel an immediate kinship with all other Scots. I would sooner break bread with an English waiter than a Scottish banker. I’m certainly no jingoist, who believes in “my country; right or wrong” and I’m far from a racial purist, looking to breed a race of “pure blooded” Celtic supermen.

 And yet…this is my home. I can’t deny that I have a fully illogical, emotional attachment to this place, this landscape, this culture. I could try and claim, that what I feel is gratitude, because I have been afforded opportunities simply by winning the cosmic lottery and being born here that I would not have been afforded anywhere else. And to an extent that is true…and while those opportunities, in education, in health care, in social mobility have been removed from England, they were completely available at the time I would have needed them. Besides which, I’ve spent extended periods in England and it just...isn’t home. It doesn’t offer me the same, warm, comforting feeling that I get living here, north of the border. Ultimately, I am indeed a nationalist.

 But is that a bad thing? Must nationalism always be aggressive and abhorrent? Is there not a left wing, or even Marxist approach to nationalism?

 I’d argue that yes, there is.

 What’s worth noting, is that during the run up to the 2014 Scottish Referendum the Scottish political sphere of the internet was awash with articles justifying (or denying) our freedom, or weighing up the pros and cons of liberation against the pros and cons of servitude. That isn’t what this post is. Not exactly. While the entirety of my experience will be influenced by my Scottish background, what I’m aiming for here is how nationalism can apply to Leftist thought as a whole, rather than Scotland specifically.

 Firstly, the Bourgoisie is a ravenous creature, constantly looking to expand its power and influence, trying to dominate the working class all across the globe. A worker’s state with a clear, national identity can draw a clear line in the sand and say; “No further.”

 No, Brussels you may not outlaw socialism in Scotland.

 No, Westminster you will not park your nuclear weapons in our water.

 No, U.S. medical insurance companies you will not purchase our National Health Service out from under us.

 Simply put, a strong sense of community can curtail Bourgeois expansion.

 In a motion that was passed to the 2016 Solidarity Party Conference last October I made the case that strong, close knit communities are the purest form of democracy. The idea was simply that if an issue cannot affect the people outside of a given community, then no one outside that community should be able to make a decision on it. This would empower local councils and community organizations, and you could almost call it micro-nationalism.

 Crucially, with this form of national reinforcement, you would eventually render the top layers of government (at a national, an global level) obsolete. They’d exist purely as an administrative procedure and would be swept away eventually. This would be the first functional step into anarchism.

 Certainly more functional than kicking a bin, anyway. Because if anarchy is to be achieved, it will be a gradual transformation, not a rapid transformation.

 What one must never lose sight of when advocating for leftwing nationalism, is that the rightwing is always looming. Leftist national identity must be one of equality, not superiority. For such a movement to be legitimate it must be inter-sectional; it must embrace all people regardless of racial, sexual or gender identity. The “Nation” as it were, must be one that it constitutional rather than geographical, with citizenship being bestowed on anyone with a shared ideal of freedom, prosperity, equality and democracy.

[chwpromoblog]

CHANEL HOROWITZ. college sophomore; nineteen. cindy kimberly. OPEN.

and, as cher horowitz once said:

“Okay, so you're probably going, "Is this like a Noxzema commercial or what?" But seriously, I actually have a way normal life for a teenage girl.”

BEFORE THE PARTY;

Chanel Horowitz. How could one describe Chanel Horowitz? If you were to ask this question around Rosewood, you’ll receive all sorts of responses. Such as, her gorgeous head of hair was insured for ten thousand dollars to the pesky rumor that Justin Bieber tried to propose to her… and she denied him, which an exaggerated account of what actually occurred. He simply had a crush and wished to take her on a date, which Chanel had graciously declined. But despite all these rumors and differing opinions on the woman, the people of Rosewood did all agree on one thing. Chanel Horowitz was flawless. 

She truly was.

One look at her and you’d agree. Not only had she won the genetic lottery, in fact she had won it twice over. If that wasn’t enough, she was also born with the silver spoon in her mouth. But even the most flawless of people have a flaw. You might have to look hard to find Chanel’s but it was certainly there. 

And what was that flaw? 

Chanel lacked focus. Everyone in her house was applied, forces to be reckoned with at their respective fields. Her dad? Mel Horowitz was one of the most powerful litigators in Chicago. In fact, you could argue that he was the best litigator in the area. There was a reason why his clients paid him thousands of dollars an hour for his services. And then there was her former step brother, Jasper Moore. The golden child, her father’s biggest pride. Their parents weren’t even involved in a legal battle anymore — daddy’s latest marriage had married them into the Montenegro's but irregardless of that, her father not only considered Jasper a family member but compared her to him all the time. Just because he preferred to plant trees with his granola breath friends while following in her father’s footsteps to become an environmental lawyer. Whatever the hell that was. 

Chanel on the other hand, was clueless towards what it was that she wanted to do career wise when she got older. Well, aside from wanting to remain gorgeous and rich. You see, Chanel was what most would consider a ditz at times. Given that most of her life, she’d been given what she wanted at the snap of a finger... she did not understand the concept of trying your best to get what you deserved. She thought she just deserve the best because it’s what had been engraved in her. Case in point, if she were to get a C in a class, instead of trying to work her ass off to try and get a better grade next time... she’d do her best to argue her way out of it. That is where she took after her father. She knew how to argue her way out of anything.

What one thing she couldn’t argue herself out of? Getting enrolled at Ravenwood University. She had graduated from the illustrious Rosewood Academy, an achievement all in itself. That school was like really hard, they asked for so much school work. So she plead her father to give her a year to discover what it was what she was meant to do. A year in Paris, to clarify. It was the perfect place for an it girl like her, she was bound to get a job. And that she had, she’d had scored a job as a fashion blogger for Teen Vogue. A huge deal for anyone who cared about fashion, but her father wasn’t one of those people. Her father accused her of spending her days on Avenue des Champs-Élysées, maxing out her credit cards or riding on the back of Vespa that belonged to cute French guys… which wasn’t entirely wrong. 

But when in Paris right? 

Her father didn’t see it like that. He saw her job as superficial. Vapid, he called it. Despite Teen Vogue being quite the reliable source for information nowadays, he wanted his daughter at an Ivy League school and doing something worthwhile with her brain. 

So she was forced to return to her old stomping ground and attend Ravenwood University with all the people who would just think of her as a socialite with a credit card despite her numerous writing credits. 

But maybe she could make the best of this? She only had to go to school, she didn’t even have to become a lawyer. Her best friend, Dylan Davenport along with her boyfriend, Paxton Morgan and a whole bunch her friends attended the school. It would just be like Rosewood Academy all over again, and with her best friend by her side... she could do anything. Not only that, but there was a plethora of people at Ravenwood who required her help.

That was another defining trait for Ms. Horowitz. She always went out of her way to help her fellow human being out. It might not always be the most practical of ways, but her heart was always completely pure in her intent. Of course, Jasper assumed that she’s completely selfish in everything that she does but his doubt was why she took Taissa under her wing. 

Chanel wanted the girl to have everything she had ever wanted. The look on her face when Chanel walked up to her and asked if she wanted to spend the day with was all she needed to know that she was doing the right thing with Taissa. Her best friend Dylan thought she’d lost her mind, Taissa was definitely rough around the edges but she was a wonderful young woman that had been overlooked because of her outer appearance. Chanel was going to make it so that no one made that mistake again. Not just with Taissa but with the countless other people pushed aside because they didn’t fit people’s standards of beauty. Her father and Jasper might think that what she did wasn’t changing lives, but she was going to prove to them that it did. 

Taissa would only be the first.

DURING THE PARTY;

Chanel showed up to the social event of the year in her stunning Alaïa dress, prepared for a night of mindless fun. Sure, she didn’t do house parties anymore unless it was a party at Valentino’s Chateau de Wideville. But some random house in Rosewood would have to do for the evening. Not only was tonight about fun? It was about introducing the new and improved Taissa. After several dye jobs with her trusted hairstylist, a trip to her glam squad, hours of watching ‘RuPaul’s Drag Race’, an etiquette class or three and an entire closet overhaul, Dylan and her muse was a vision of perfection. Taissa looked like an entirely new person, all while retaining her personality. That Chanel made sure to keep in tact, her goal had always been to simply improve on what was already present. And she’d done just that. 

And she’d done it well, the guys at the party were flocking to her. Her mission for the evening was suddenly clear. It was up to Chanel to make her new friend appear untouchable. After all, the more influential boys of Rosewood always wanted what they couldn’t have. That would be Taissa. With any luck, she’d find a guy that would instantly shoot her up to the top of the social ladder.

But given the craziness of the party, Chanel had lost sight of her friend. How had it been that easy for her to lose a whole human being? Chanel searched the party, before eventually running into her ex-boyfriend. Cristiano De La Renta, the recent recipient of GQ’s Model of the Year. Their past had been quite the messy affair. They’d been together, happy as could be. Next thing she knows, he cheats on her. With a guy. Phillip Dyun, before coming out as sexually fluid. Irregardless, the two found themselves in this odd back and forth. Some days, they were the best of friends and on other days, they couldn’t help but bicker back and forth. 

Tonight was one of their bickering nights, as he was distracting her from finding her friend. But Cristiano had of course, found Taissa. He pulled her up the step where he stood and from where they stood, she saw her. She was doing some ridiculous dance with Tate Ahadi, Rosewood’s resident pothead. A part of her wanted to rush over to interrupt them, Tate wasn’t going to raise her stock but Cristiano had someone to introduce her to.  Her ex didn’t even have to say his name, she knew the man well enough due to his work. He was this photography wunderkind, his work all over the pages of the major publications. He was her ex boyfriend’s guest, apparently he was working on a coffee table book and this party would definitely featured.

And perhaps, Chanel could be the highlight of a page or two?

She instantly hooked her arm with the guys, offering to show him a great time. A better time than Cristiano would, she made sure to say aloud so that her ex boyfriend would hear them as they walked away from him. 

The rest of the evening had played as things typically did at a party. She drank, she danced and she flirted. The photographer eventually suggested they take things to a private room in the house, holding up his camera to let him know what he had in mind. Yes, she thought as she led him upstairs to an empty room. He began to snap pictures of her, complimenting her and her beauty. He then suggested that she remove her dress, the coffee book was about teenage rebellion and debauchery after all... but Chanel wasn’t comfortable with that. Not to mention, her father would have been very disappointed if she appeared half naked in some publication and that was the last thing she wanted.

But before she could say a thing, Jasper Moore bursted into the room. Great.

alternate faceclaims and prompts.

[love-startups]

Mindset By Carol Dweck – Book Summary

Author Description

Carol Dweck is a Professor of Psychology at Stanford University. Dweck is known for her work on the psychological trait.

Book Review

The puzzle experiment — Students were first given an easy puzzle to solve. Once solved they were praised either for their intelligence or effort. Then they were given a hard puzzle that challenged them. The students were then asked do you want to go back to working on easy puzzles so you will do well or these hard puzzles where you can learn a lot. The children that were praised for their intelligence almost always went for the for the easy puzzles. Whilst the children praise for their effort go for the hard ones. Why? The kids who were praised for their intelligence wanted to continue to feel intelligent and when faced with a problem that can’t be solved quickly it leads to a loss of confidence and a desire to return to that feeling of being smart. This is what Carol Dweck in the book Mindset calls the fixed mindset.

In experiment after experiment, Carol Dweck shows that the fixed mindset is a huge road block to success in life. Whether it be school or business or marriage or anything you are trying to achieve. If you have a fixed mindset you believe you are blessed with raw talent irregardless of whether you truly have the skills or not and you spend your life trying to protect this identity you’ve created for yourself instead of putting effort to grow. You stay clear of anything that will challenge you to ensure that your confidence and pride is protected. As Dweck puts it: “From the point of view of the fixed mindset, effort is only for people with deficiencies…. If you’re considered a genius, a talent, or a natural—then you have a lot to lose. Effort can reduce you.”

With the fixed mindset you can also believe that you lost the genetic lottery. I’ve heard numerous times “I’m just not good at math” used as an excuse for failure on a math test. I sadly have also been in this category. I used this as an excuse almost my entire life. Until I wanted to get into data science. Data science is almost purely a numbers game. Initially, I struggled to learn how to develop algorithms and deal with millions and millions of records. It took me months of working late nights, reading on the weekends, practicing almost every day to get the hang out of it and just last week I wrote an algorithm to save one of Australia’s largest companies millions of dollars. I’m not saying this to brag, I’m saying this because I used “I’m not good at math” as an excuse to shield myself from putting in the effort to learn. This fixed mindset prevents you from failing in the short–run, but in the long–run it hinders your ability to learn, grow, and develop new skills.

People with the growth mindset believe that basic qualities, including intelligence, can be strengthened like a muscle. How does an Austrian farm boy trapped in the military, not from a rich family, with not only his parents but colleagues and army commanders against his dreams become worth 300 million dollars? Through sheer hard work and effort. Arnold Schwarzenegger was forced into the military while this would have stopped most people, he didn’t let it stop him. Like everyone else he went for 5 am runs with heavy combat gear, did his daily work of cleaning guns, going to the shooting range, marching 20 miles and then at the end of the day when everyone almost dropped dead from exhaustion he trained for 3 hours then woke up early and did more push ups and sits ups. It’s this dedication and effort that lead to him winning his first bodybuilding competition and then to being the highest paid actor and then to becoming the governor of California.

With a mindset to take on challenges and put in the effort, anything can be achieved. In Dweck’s words “a person’s true potential is unknown (and unknowable); it’s impossible to foresee what can be accomplished with years of passion, toil, and training.”

The following image, created by Nigel Holmes, and found near the end of the book, is a great summary of the key ideas in Mindset, and how it affects your life:

Think about which side of this image better represents your beliefs and your resulting behavior. In case I haven’t made it clear: skill is something you can cultivate, not merely something you’re born with.

You can become more creative, more intelligent, more athletic, more artistic, and more successful by focusing on the process, not the outcome.

Instead of worrying about creating a billion dollar company, commit to the process of creating a product or increasing sales or creating a better customer experience. Instead of worrying about writing a bestselling book, commit to the process of publishing your ideas on a consistent basis. Instead of worrying about getting six pack abs, commit to the process of working out and eating healthy each day.

It’s not about the result, it’s about building the identity of the type of person who enjoys the putting in the effort.

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