#first pancake

[flock-of-cassowaries]

[empoweredmysticalharmony]

“You’ve gotta get comfortable with cooking that first scoop of batter to make your first shitty pancake . . . Or else you risk never getting to enjoy a whole stack of your best pancakes.”

When I first drafted this copy, I originally wrote, “a whole stack of perfect pancakes.”

Even though I am working intentionally to honor the idea that, “writing is not editing, and editing is not writing,” as soon as I typed out those words, I immediately deleted them in order to prepare to write something that felt more aligned.

I’ve been doing a lot of inner work to release my perfectionism. My Sun and Moon are both in Leo, and my Ascendant is in Virgo. If you know anything about astrology and analyzing birth charts, then I’m sure you can appreciate that these placements can be a recipe for quite a spicy internal struggle. If you don’t know much astrology, suffice it to say that these placements can bring out one another’s bitterest flavors when not properly integrated. As such, I have been doing a lot of shadow work around this. I digress, though, because that’s a whole different conversation. The point here is that I thought I had gotten a handle on my perfectionism. Until I realized that I had only re-labeled it as “optimization.”

It’s a lot easier said than done to truly get comfortable with the reality that you’re probably going to have to face at least one shitty pancake before you get to the good ones. I do have to commend myself, though, for the growth that it took in order to get to a place where I could at least try to be okay with not being “perfect.” And yet, I also have to acknowledge that, although I was able to be a little more self-compassionate, I was still stifling myself with this need to be “optimal.” I realized that even though I had changed the word I was using, I hadn’t actually changed how I was treating myself.

I was still getting stuck in analysis paralysis. I was still procrastinating on things that I wanted to start and/or finish. Why was I still frozen? I didn’t self-identify as a perfectionist anymore. How was I still self-sabotaging? Because, as it turned out, me waiting until the “optimal” moment, or until the plan of action felt “optimized,” was effectively me still stalling for perfection.

I can hear people on all sides of the perfection vs. optimization argument. And I’ve been on different sides of the argument myself. You might be thinking that the nuances between these two concepts are too subtle or just semantic, so the words can and should be used interchangeably. I no longer subscribe to that. I don’t think that serves anyone. These two concepts are fundamentally different, so when used with intention, they have the power to convey very different messages.

When I switched my language from “perfect” to “optimal,” I thought I was practicing temperance and offering myself grace. And if I would have been using that word as intentionally as I do now, that would have been the case. However, it wasn’t until I finally listened to what was still coming up for me, and acknowledged how I was indeed still holding myself to unrealistic standards, that I was able to tap into what optimization really means. And what self-compassion and authenticity truly feel like.

I was already making the effort to ban the word “perfect” from my vocabulary. Even in the context of something as innocuous as these metaphorical pancakes. Now, not only am I being even more intentional about not using that word, I am using “optimize” and “optimal” with the utmost intentionality, and in a way that feels so much more aligned and supportive. Because there really is a massive difference between desiring to do something to the best of your ability, and desiring to do something perfectly.

Perfection is flawlessness. Optimization, on the other hand, is making the best or most of something.

As a soul who has been sewn up into a meat sack, i.e., a human being, I have to acknowledge that no human is perfect. No human is without flaws. I mean, even the most carefully crafted and well-planned systems and constructs are not flawless, so how could we ever reasonably expect flawlessness out of these meat sacks? What I am endeavoring to expect from myself is simply my “best” and/or my “most.” And honoring the fact that those words are superlative adjectives, which means that they compare three or more things on a spectrum.

I simply can’t continue to operate in an all-or-nothing, 0% or 100%, “immaculately perfect — or — flawed failure” dichotomy. In fact, that type of thinking is actually a cognitive distortion, which is an irrational thought that negatively warps how reality is perceived. Reality is not black or white, but is a spectrum with many shade variations between the two extremes. I do not think it is irrational to expect the best out of myself. Especially when I honor the fact that, because “good, better, best,” is a spectrum, we have to hold space for the idea that our best can and will look different depending on the context. And that’s good enough. That’s authenticity. That’s reality.

I could go on here about how authenticity is much more valuable than flawlessness, but for now I want to get us back to the topic of pancakes, and the concept of the “first pancake.”

When you’re preparing a stack of pancakes, that first pancake will undoubtedly not be your best pancake. Even if it’s not “that bad,” it’s still not “the best.” Why? Because it wasn’t prepared in the most optimal conditions. But you can’t know that until you take the first step, i.e., cook that first scoop of batter. Once you make that first pancake, and you get a sense of what you’re working with, then you can make the necessary adjustments for optimization. You can turn your heat up or down. You can add a little more butter or oil to your pan, or wipe some of it up. You can add a little more liquid or flour to your batter. You can pace yourself better and wait a little bit longer before you flip.

I mean, the only thing we’re trying to do here is make pancakes, and yet here’s all these little factors that can be adjusted to affect the outcome. How do you know what adjustments to make in order to create your most optimal conditions? How do you know what your best is going to look like under these conditions? Well, you kind of just have to start, don’t you? You can’t know anything about how that bowl full of batter is going to come out if you don’t cook that first scoop. You won’t ever get to sit down with a plate of your best pancakes if you don’t make that first pancake.

Why is normalizing this so important? Because it can be applied to anything in life. You don’t know what you don’t know. You can make assumptions and educated guesses, but you don’t actually know anything until you start. Perfectionism often stops you from even starting.

The fear that someone is going to see that first not-so-great pancake and judge you for it keeps you from making any pancakes at all. You go the whole rest of your life without ever enjoying your best pancakes because you’re too afraid of what might happen with that one imperfect pancake. Even though you know that first pancake has to be made. Even though you know that first pancake might not even turn out that bad. Even though you know that even if that first pancake is super shitty, you still have the opportunity to troubleshoot and try again.

Seriously, replace “pancake” with literally anything, and this concept still tracks. All you have to do is give yourself the grace to start. You have to meet yourself where you are, or you’ll end up never going anywhere else. You have to have the self-compassion to allow yourself to make mistakes and corrections, or you’ll never learn and grow. You can’t let perfectionism keep you stuck. You can’t let perfectionism stifle your authentic self-expression. You can’t let perfectionism stop you from doing your best.

That’s why I called this “The Pancake Post.” It’s my first post. I don’t know how it will turn out, but I do know that I can’t possibly write my best post without writing my first post. Just like you can’t make your best pancake without making your first pancake.Is there a plate of pancakes you’ve been meaning to make? If so, I invite you to heat up your griddle and give it a go. When you do, I’d love for you to connect with me to share how your first pancake turns out! And please remember, even if that first pancake isn’t flawless, it doesn’t mean you’re not a good cook. It means you’re a human being who is showing up and doing their best. And that is enough. You are enough. 🥞🎉💖🌟✨💫🥞🎉💖🌟✨💫

[what-marsha-eats]

[the-pancakes-say-no]

chapter 4

[nebulousmedic]

whats wrong with her,,,

[delsshitposts]

MOM!

MOM VANRIPPER'S AT IT AGAIN!

HE CAN'T KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS!

[800db-cloud]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO EVERYONE'S FAVORITE CARVING ARTIST !!!

if you really think about it, it's technically cakehole's birthday too 🥳

[kendallville]

It's true, and it's so sad, because Connor has endless patience for the siblings, and he's always treated like an outcast. He says he doesn't need love, but he does love them. And they take his love for granted.

And they call him an idiot, first pancake, delusional, a joke, and he's still there for them. He knows that they are what they are due to being raised by Logan, something he pretty much didn't experienced, and what he longed for, and yet/that's why he has endless patience...

The best dad they had 🥲

the siblings were so busy chasing after their father’s approval when it was right under their noses. he was there patting their shoulders, kissing their cheeks and foreheads. calling them “baby”, “honey”, “kenny” and “romey”. taking kendall and roman on a camping trip. taking roman fishing. telling cheesy dad jokes that no one laughs at but him. i mean, the siblings even have the “you’re his favourite” mentality towards him

[seichimi]

Been playing stardew valley 💚

[kurishiri]

Jude spoke Queen’s English for a fan

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but please don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

Jude: So yer sayin’ ya like Queen’s English so much ya can’t take the way I normally talk? Ha, whatcha gettin’ all panicked over, ya mug. Then, before you push your desires onto others, perhaps you may consider thinking before making such a remark. There ya go, yer oh-so-beloved Queen’s English. Go on n’ weep with joy.

original tweet🕊️ ┊ ko-fi☕️ ┊ comms🤍

[hyunpic]

HYUNJIN | ATE MAKING FILM

[xreanimatedcorpse]

Hi guys. Tucks hair behind ear. So there’s this 26 year old game and spin-off YouTube series…

[what-marsha-eats]

[ricciardo133]

Winter Break 2025

maxiel, weight gain, body worship, pregnancy briefly alluded to

-

Daniel always loves the way Max looks during the winter months. As Max steps into Daniel's Monaco apartment, Daniel eyes the tight fit of Max's running shorts along his softening hips.

"So, you have new merch?" Max asks, oblivious to Daniel's ogling. Daniel snaps to attention and follows Max into the living room.

"Well, obviously. As your new sponsor, we gotta make a whole Verstappen collection," Daniel adds with jazz hands for pizazz. "And I wanted to get your approval before we send the designs to print and you're stuck wearing all this for a year."

"It can look like anything," Max says, unbothered.

"Oh, good. I'll tell them we're a go on the Enchanté-branded assless chaps."

Max laughs, eyes crinkling in mirth. "Yeah, perfect for Media Day. I assume there is a matching cowboy hat."

Daniel feels his cheeks flush, picturing Max actually wearing that combination and nothing else.

"Just try on the samples and humor me, Maxy."

Thankfully, he's now not the only one blushing. They've been friends for long enough to know how to edge the unspoken line without ever crossing it, neither ever making that final push to send them spiraling onto one side or the other.

"Yeah, alright," Max says. "I'll do a fashion show."

Daniel claps and leads Max over to the dining room table where an already-opened cardboard box holds an assortment of red, blue, white, and orange apparel. He holds up one of the pull-overs, assessing which to try first.

"They're just the rough drafts, so let me know if you think they look like ass."

"No, Daniel, they look very cool. I like the classic look. And the big "É." Very you."

Daniel feels his dick twitch in his pants, thinking of Max branded with his label, marked as his, for the world to see. He tosses the shirt into Max's arms and pulls out a pair of summery shorts to match. "Just give these a spin. I sent them your size, so they should fit."

Daniel has seen how deep the flush can go over the years, like an old-timey thermometer measuring of how flustered his younger friend can get. He bites his full lips as his neck turns pink.

"I, uh, might be a bit bigger right now. But they'll fit for Melbourne. I'll look better."

"You look great now, Max."

Max spins on his heels and into the adjacent half-bath, door closing, as if Daniel hadn't seen him almost naked before. Daniel sits on the barstool at the kitchen island.

Sometimes he hates gooning this fucking horny friendship line and wishes he could just buck up the nerve to say something. Anything. Maybe now that they're not somewhat teammates, it'd be okay? Or is it inappropriate for a patron to think about cupping their client's ass and spreading his soft flesh-

"Okay, remember, they'll fit better in a few months."

Daniel looks up and feels his body tighten as he takes in the sight of him. Max squirms in the pull-over, zipper done all the way up. The orange sleeves hug his full arms, and the white, soft fabric stretches tight along his chest. Oh God, his tits, Daniel thinks guiltily before trying and failing to think about the design aspect of all this and not how Max's soft stomach pulls the pullover's fabric taught. His fuller belly peeks over the top of the shorts. His hips, always seemingly begging to be held, curve and slope down to full thighs. Max shaved. His normally fuzzy legs smooth as he shifts his weight on one bare foot to the other.

"I know," Max says, voice nervy. "It happens every year. I'm on holiday, but I'll get better."

"Don't say that," Daniel gets up. He feels the line veering closer, like pushing too hard on a circuit he knows by heart. He stops just an inch beyond appropriateness. "You look great."

"Daniel." He can't parse the pleading note in Max's voice, something shaky.

"You always look so good this way," Daniel goes on, watching Max's big blue gaze get thrown in starker contrast as his cheeks flush again. Max even shaved his face. He looks so young, like when he was his teamma-

"Daniel," Max says again. "I just feel too big."

"You're perfect, Max. You normally don't wear these things zipped all the way up, though. More like this,"

The line. Daniel crosses it, fingers gently pulling the pull-over's zipper down at an agonizingly slow rate. He didn't realize Max was holding his breath until he shudders a shaky exhale.

"Does it feel good?" Daniel asks, hands trailing up the sleeves, feeling the soft fabric casing Max's biceps.

"Yes. It's good."

"And not too tight here?" Daniel lets his hands draw inwards along Max's chest. Seeing he's already blown past the point of no return, he lets his palms rest over Max's full breasts. "Is it okay?"

Max nods, fast. Through parted reddened lips, Daniel sees Max's perfect, glistening tongue against his straight teeth.

Daniel squeezes. Max keens, a note Daniel has never heard from the other man. He rubs, making gentle circles over hardening nipples.

"Oh, Daniel," Max whispers.

"Maxy," Daniel returns, hands trailing lower, feeling the full rise of his belly. "Breathe."

Max acquiesces, belly shuddering. Daniel relishes the soft, pliable skin below the warm fabric.

"You look so good like this, Max," he says, stepping even closer. He lets his gaze dip, feeling Max's head lower to rest their foreheads together as Daniel stares at his soft belly. He rubs gentle lines around it, dick hardening as Max lets his body go even softer. He could even look three months pregnant, how round and full he fills out the top.

Max whispers his name again and then again as Daniel pulls up the fabric and finally touches smooth skin and then once more as Daniel's fingers dip into the waistband of the shorts, exploring back as Daniel presses flush to squeeze his hands into Max's full, soft ass.

"You deserve to feel good," Daniel says into Max's ear, words falling on the red nape of his neck. "At every weight, you deserve to be so fucking worshiped, Max."

"Oh my God, Daniel."

Daniel squeezes again, more firmly this time as he traces up to hold his pillowy hips. They always look so bitable in his fireproofs, and now they're filling out even more in the too-tight shorts, begging to be gripped. To be used for everything Daniel has wanted for years.

"I know," Daniel says, suddenly self-conscious, "this is, uh, a lot."

"It's good," Max asserts, his own hands flying to Daniel's back as if to keep him in place. "If it's good for you."

Daniel snorts a laugh, letting his hips rut forwards. His stiff cock meets Max's soft thigh. Max whines.

"More than good, Maxy." He presses his lips into heated, soft skin at Max's shoulder. "You're perfect like this. So fucking perfect." He reels at Max pressing his own hard length into Daniel's hips. It's bliss. Max's body, warm and eager and full and, for now, his.

"Alright, so, should I try on the others?" Max asks, a gentle mirth in his tone.

"Yeah, let me help you take these off first."

[girlsdads]

#ok it’s giving girl dad wearing his daughter’s handmade necklace special for him into work 🥺🥺😩😩

couldn’t stop thinking about this tag of mine, wrote a little smth about it 🥰

The stomping footfalls racing down the hall behind him could only be those of a toddler. Daniel turns and squats just in time for his tiny blonde projectile of a child to come barreling into his chest. The force sends Daniel falling back onto his butt with a surprised oof, his daughter giggling delightedly in his lap.

“Hey, Ellie-bug,” Daniel smiles. “Daddy’s gotta go to work, remember how we talked about it and you promised to be a big girl?” He brushes a strand of hair away from her mouth where it’s gotten stuck in a little smear of jam leftover from her breakfast. Daniel had shown Max how to make it just the way she likes—the pancake batter shaped in the silicone star mold, the silly faces drawn in jelly and jam.

Ellie’s head bobs up and down dutifully, but she makes no move to get up.

Max appears from the kitchen then, looking like a man who’s been fighting a losing battle with the second pancake. There’s a splatter of thick batter on his white t-shirt. He’s holding the spatula like it’s offended him somehow. Daniel looks at him over their daughter’s head, and loves him fiercely.

“She is of course the biggest girl,” Max says. Ellie grins proudly. “Why don’t you give Daddy your present now, then we will finish your pancakes.”

Daniel watches her grey-blue eyes light up like she’s just now remembering why she came running at him in the first place. She reaches a chubby hand into the bib pocket on her overalls, embroidered Enchanté script stretching as she roots around and produces a string of brightly-colored plastic beads. She holds it out to him expectantly.

Daniel takes the strand delicately in hand, wraps it around the backs of his fingers and rotates his wrist to get a good look. It’s a necklace, probably more of a choker given its relatively small circumference, the fat pony beads the only real indication it was made by a child. The powder pink and fuchsia beads are separated by interspersed pearlescent white orbs and clear sparkly stars. Smack in the center is a single number bead, a glittery pink three.

“Jeepers, did you make this for me? It’s beautiful!” Daniel says, and means it. He’s already been wanting to talk to his team about adding a jewelry collection to a future drop, and what better inspiration?

Ellie nods excitedly. “Papa helped me do a…,” she pauses, squints and tilts her little head, searching for the word, “…a pattern!”

“We made it the other day, while you were out with Blake,” Max chimes in. “For good luck.” He sounds almost bashful, like maybe it wasn’t their daughter’s idea in the first place. Daniel’s heart is so swollen it’s threatening to leak out through the gaps in his ribcage.

“How’d I get so lucky, huh?” Daniel muses, softly, mostly to himself. He stretches the elastic over his head, feels the smooth plastic three settle in the hollow of his throat. His pulse thrums evenly against it, grounding.

He flashes his biggest smile at his family. “How do I look?”

“Pretty, Daddy!” Ellie throws herself forward again, wrapping her arms around Daniel’s neck. It leaves him locking eyes with Max, who’s gazing down at the two of them like nothing else in the universe exists. Daniel can never quite get used to that look—still feels butterflies dancing up the back of his throat, his stomach dropped into a glorious freefall.

“Beautiful, Daniel,” Max says, reverent. “Always.”

[mystery-pixels]

Was building a house for some sims I was planning to play and I wasn't even necessarily going to post but this bedroom looked so nice with the lighting and my reshade that I had to share!