#i am flawed as a human being and their feeding routine gives me Feelings

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

i have negative feelings about feeding those fucking ants again

[creepling]

the shape of you - (smut)

pairing: din djarin x fem!reader

word count: 5.1K

summary: the mandalorian saves an intergalatic sex worker from a prison ship and brings her on board the razor crest. tensions begin to rise between the two as one night goes in a direction the other did not expect.

rating: EXPLICIT (minors dni) -- mentions of sex work/slavery, sexual dancing, oral (male receiving), masturbation (female receiving), doggystyle, begging, rough sex, breeding kink??, cursing.

a/n: this is my first time not writing in first person for a fanfic so sorry if it’s hard to read at some points!!

alternative link: ao3.

Ever since you were saved by The Mandalorian from the prison ship, for reasons that are still unknown to you, a sense of relief and freedom coursed through your body. If only The Mandalorian knew about your fate, he may sympathize with you more. All throughout your life, ever since your adolescence have you been bought and sold by many throughout the galaxy, either for entertainment or pleasure. If the authorities had not raided the trading ship you were on board upon you were to be in the hands of Jabba The Hutt; a grotesque-looking crime lord you were certainly relieved to be rid from. But alas, luck then comes with its flaws and instead you were trapped in a cell in the nowhere realms of the galaxy -- beginning to wonder if your body would wither away and die in the cell for years to come.

You had never set eyes on a Mandalorian until that day, not even as a client. You thought them more mythical than their opposing Jedi Knights. The shine of his helmet and his strong arms whisking you to safety brought a sense of optimism into your world view. It made you realise that there are some good people in the galaxy. And once you were on board his ship and encountered The Child, the sight of something so precious gave you a nurturing urge. The Mandolorian’s protectiveness over The Child was so rare to you. It made you yearn for his protectiveness, for a man like him to defend you at every corner. It made you want to be noticed.

Once arriving to a planet, The Mandalorian promised to bring back supplies, one of them included fresh clothes to replace the revealing garments you wore. You asked if the lack of fabric was distracting, showing your natural alluring nature. To which The Mandalorian replied with a bluntly logical answer, saying the clothes will not be suitable for travelling. As much as you agreed, you wished that he loosened up with you a bit more, beginning to wonder if The Mandalorian was even finding your company pleasant.

That night he returned with a sack-full of supplies. He arranged supper for the night, feeding The Child first before it grew too tired to eat, shortly after putting it to bed in its shut-off container within the ship. You had requested The Mandalorian some spotchka if he could find any, to which you looked through the sack to see an untouched bottle full of the glowing blue liquid. A smile came to your face and you immediately poured two glasses of the liquid. When the Mandalorian entered the room, you held his glass with an outreached hand, beckoning him to drink it. Then you said some words:

“I wanted to make a toast, in celebration! To thank you for saving my life yesterday. I would have gone out and gotten the beverage myself, if you hadn’t forbidden me to leave the ship.” You said, a sweet smile creeping onto your face, feeling a little bashful as you stood in front of his towering figure.

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” He said, his helmet tilting down as he glanced at the drink in his hand. “But I shouldn’t drink on the job.”

“I only ask for one drink, Mando. Just for tonight. I’ll look away when you take sips of it.” You promised, hoping he will feel more at ease with that statement.

He gave a low hum in agreement, bringing a smile to your face. You wished you could see his smile, see his face. See how he reacts to your presence. You clinked your glass against his and immediately turned around, taking a sip of your drink. Your inner voice urged you to turn, to take a glance at his complexion. Yet, another voice also commented on how the mystery of his identity fills you with arousal. You shook the feelings burning inside and whisked the rest of the blue liquid down your throat, gasping in quenched thirst. You hesitated before turning, “Can I turn around now?

“Oh um- Yes. Thank you.” He assured. Oh my, he was so polite. Possibly the only gentlemen you have encountered with such manners. You turned around, pouring yourself another glass of spotchka to go with your supper. To save Mando some rest you prepared the food and served him by a small table in the corner of the ship’s small room, taking a seat next to him.

Once you cleared up for supper, The Mandalorian willingly sat with you for a few more minutes. He seemed to be curious about you, asking questions that you were obliged to answer, if you wanted him to trust you. You wanted to reassure him that you were not a threat.

“How did you end up in the prison ship?” The Mandalorian asked, trying not to allude to your clothes giving away that information.

“I have been a slave ever since I was an adolescence. When I came of age, I began to do dancing and sexual service for whoever bought me. I was on a trading ship to Tatooine when the New Republic raided and took prisoners. I lost count of the days, but I was roughly in there for over a month.” Telling your story felt hesitant. You wondered how he would take to you being a sex slave, as a lot of people frown upon it. You wondered if he was disgusted or sympathetic, it was hard to tell his reaction with his helmet on.

“Why did you save me? I am internally grateful, of course. But what made you do it? You seemed to be in a rush to escape.” You asked, your eyebrows furrowing in question.

“I have seen many women like you.” The Mandalorian said, “I have done bounties for crime lords who keep their own sex slaves. As much as I needed the credits, it always pained me to leave with those women trapped with that life forever. I recognised your clothes; it was the ones they wore too. I thought, if I save someone like you once in my life, I would feel less guilty.”

His words moved you. It is very rare to see someone talk to you as a human. Many treated you and other sex slaves like objects, like droids without feeling. They did not care what you liked or adored, they only cared about their gain. The work has taken an emotional toll on you as much as it was hard to admit. Every day you wished you could be free, live in a home on a peaceful planet, fall in love, raise a family. That is not hard to ask for, is it?

“Well, you have made one more slave happy.” You said, reaching your hand to place it on top of his. He stared into your eyes, entranced for a moment, before nodding his helmet and giving your hand a gentle squeeze before retrieving it back onto his lap. After a few seconds of content silence, admiring him for a moment, you spoke up.

“Want to see some of my dancing?” You said, trying to lighten up the mood. “Don’t worry! I won’t touch you or anything!”

“I um- I dunno . . .” Hesitation dominated his voice, the first time you detected emotion from him. He leaned back on his chair and rubbed the back of his clothed neck.

“Honestly, it’s not as raunchy as you think it would be. I know how to be graceful when I need to be.” You said with a hint of light-heartedness. Once your words convinced him, he let out a low sigh and nodded his head.

“Go on then. Show me what you’ve got.”

A smile erupted on your face and you rose to your feet, positioning yourself from a comfortable distance in front of Mando. You raised your delicate arms outward to begin your routine. A routine that you have memorized for years, one that showcases your grace and beauty for audiences. Counting mentally in your head, you begin to move your arms softly either side of you. Your hips began to sway, your head held high to show your face. You moved your feet to slowly turn around, showing all the lines and bends of your body. The fabric of your dress swayed with the motions and complimented your skin. You stepped from side to side, giving graceful twirls, lifting your leg in a cursive shape like a ballerina. Your arms still moved like a dignified snake, going from up other your head to around your waist and along the small of your back. A content smile lay upon your face and your eyes peaked towards The Mandalorian through your winking eyelashes; a habit you took up to intrigue watchers and make them bashful. Even without music, you fell into your element and became lost in your movements. When being a slave is a horrible life to live, the dancing made you have a passion.

The Mandalorian could not take his eyes off you. He sat content at first, until your movements made him shift in his chair as he watched how your body moved with such beauty. Under his helmet, he bit the inside of his cheek. Yet, his eyes stayed traced on you, knowing you would have no idea where his eyes lay from the blockage of his helmet. He could not stop the thoughts that flowed through his mind, thoughts relating to your body. How you were posed so perfectly from the core of your body to the ends of your fingertips. You never slouched or tripped over your feet; every movement was without failure. And your hips, God, he could not take his eyes off your hips. And when you would turn and expose your backside; your rich-colour underwear cloaked under the sheer fabric of your dress revealing your smooth skin. The deeper he got into his thoughts, the more he became out of tune with his surroundings. And when you stopped dancing, his eyes were still fixated on you.

“Sorry if that wasn’t the best, I’ve did better before.” You humbly said, oblivious to the state you have put The Mandalorian under. Your voice knocked him out of his trance and out of shock, he shot up from his seat so quickly it startled you. His armour clanked against the table clumsily and his body grew stiff to keep himself steady. The bewilderment in your eyes lingered as you observed his tall body towering over you. You looked so petite next to his stature.

“Mando- Is everything okay?” You asked, a shiver running down your spine as your eyes trailed down his body. Only now did you realise how tense he was, noticing the fabric of his uniform clenching to his toned body. You could see how strong his arms were, your eyes darting from either side. If only you could just reach out and touch them, fall into his embrace. Your legs grew weak at the thought of being so close to him. Yearning for the proximity between you to come to a close.

The Mandalorian feared to move, until a sensation ran through his body like moments before. His face grew worrisome under his disguise and he slowly looked down. That is when he noticed the tent formed between his groins. A rush of fluster grew on his face and down his neck.

“I-I’m uh- I’m going to bed.” He called, rushing towards the door of his small chambers, leaving you dumbfounded by the dining area. His sudden goodbyes made you frown, and your head turned abruptly towards his door, only capturing the wisp of his cloak and the door closing shut. Suddenly a wave of anxiety flew over you, convinced that you offended him. As you were desperate to state an apology, still naive to his situation, you marched towards his chamber door.

The Mandalorian marched in panic up and down his small chamber. A situation like this has never happened in a long time, at least not in front of another individual. He unbuttoned his trouser bottoms in a panic, peaking the front of his boxers down to make sure the worst never happened. As he did so, he released his hardened cock as it popped out the removed fabric. Witnessing his erection made him sigh in frustration. He prayed that you would go off to your bunk and call it a night so he could deal with the matter. However, as you appeared in his mind once more, his erection pulsed and twitched and Mando let out a low moan from his lips.

“Mando- please open the door. I’m sorry if I offended you, it wasn’t my intention.” You called, loud enough in hopes he could hear your voice. You knocked gently on the door, getting a clank of metal in response. As the silence deafened you and left you impatient, you looked to the control panel and pressed all the buttons in hopes one opened the door. Once the metal door came flying open, you were greeted with The Mandalorian once more but in a position, you thought you would never see him in.

He stood there with his head flung back and his gloved hands stroking his member. Once he heard the door open, he flinched and attempted to hide his erection. It was already too late; you had seen what you needed to see. Your mouth lay gaped in shock, your hands grew tense beside you and a wave of embarrassment engulfed you. Mando began shaking his head, backing himself up against the wall, his massive, gloved hands guarding your eyes from his exposure.

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry-” Mando kept repeating. “Why did you open the door? Why didn’t you knock?”

“I did knock!” You exclaimed, “I wouldn’t have opened the door if I knew you were doing that!”

“Okay, okay. I am really really sorry. Let’s just pretend this never happened!” Mando said, looking anywhere in the room that was not you. As your breath became heavy, the sight of The Mandalorian became your focus. He looked so vulnerable in that moment, seeing him in an act so sexual caused a wave of arousal upon you. You wondered; did I do that? Was your dancing so mesmerising to him that it excited him to this point? Is this why he left the room? My stars, you felt guilty for being so turned on in this moment.

Your feet began to take steps and approach him, your movement making him tense once more. He beckoned you to not get away closer, but you could not hear his words. You were drawn to his arms again, the ones that looked so defined-- even under his clothes. This time, you had the courage to touch them.

The Mandalorian fell short at protesting against you. He observed your small, soft hands gliding against his arms. Your touch bewitched him, making him bite his lip to contain noises of pleasure. Your eyes drew up to his gaze, his helmet blocking the intimacy. He was so mysterious, the thought of whatever facial features being under that helmet creating a sense of sensual excitement within. As your eyes left his gaze and looked downward to his hardened cock, you felt the burning sensation muster in between your legs.

“Won’t you need help with that?” You asked, the glint in your eyes growing promiscuous as you looked back up into his gaze. The Mandalorian was shocked, even if you were probably an expert in all things sexual matter. As much as he tried to protest his thoughts, he could not help making an image within his head of your lips wrapped around his cock. 

“Are you sure that is a good idea?” He asked, a hint of taunting in his voice. A smirk came upon your face and you shrugged your shoulders, your hands trailing up his arms, across his shoulders and slowly down his chest.

“I’m willing to do it if you want me to.” You beckoned. Not only were you willing, but you were also begging. The dirty thoughts running through your mind became fuel for your desire. Imagining his large cock pressed into your mouth, blocking your throat; his fingers entangled in your hair. As the Mandalorian gazed down at you, he gave a sign of approval by nodding his head timidly.

Instinct caved in and you began lowering yourself to your knees, your hands trailing down his abdomen. Slowly, Mando shifted his hands away from his cock, the release of pressure causing his member to spring up once more. Your eyes fixated on his length, gulping back excess saliva as you wondered if you could take his length without feeling any pain. You bit your bottom lip in thought, looking up towards Mando for reassurance. You observed him slipping off his gloves to reveal the skin of his hands. His olive-skinned tone becoming the first exposure to you. His fingers crawled under your chin, cusping your face, admiring the position you were in. Stars, you were so beautiful.

Your fingers curved over his cock, your sudden touch letting a shuddered moan escape The Mandolorian’s mouth. His free hand pressed against the wall to keep himself balanced, the other one continuing to cradle your face as your hand began to move up and down his cock, peeling back the foreskin to reveal the tip of his cock lubbed with precum. You caught the precum that fell underneath with your tongue and entered the head of his cock into your mouth, wanting every ounce of his seed in your mouth. The Mandalorian let out a ragged moan, the feeling of your warm saturated mouth upon his member sending shoots of fulfilment up his body. His strong hand motioned along your jawline and his fingers combed through your hair, resting at the nip of your neck. You began to close your eyes in satisfaction and slowly easing his cock into your mouth, every inch deeper causing him to tighten his grip on your hair. As you opened your eyes The Mandalorian could not help but notice the lust in your eyes, your stare becoming vacant. Your left hand guided itself upwards to his abdomen as the other had a grasp on his thigh, your fingers massaging into the fabric of his clothes. The softness of your touch soothed The Mandalorian into submission, his hips slowly bucking towards your face as he longed for the feeling of your warm tongue running along his shaft. Feeling his desire, you closed your eyes once more to indulge more into his length, cockwarming him as your nose reached near his lower stomach and stayed in place. A gasp left Mando’s mouth, his other hand reaching towards your face as he gained more grip of you, holding your head in place to have his cock bathe more into your warmth. When he heard a light choke conjure up your throat, he quickly released his cock from your mouth to give you access to air. The sudden release made him look down to admire your face, clocking the string of spit connecting the tip of his cock to your bottom lip. My stars, that image was now burned into his mind and sending his instincts into overdrive.

“What name should I moan while you pleasure me, Mandalorian?” You asked, your voice airy and deep with lust. You motion your hand to his cock once more and pleasured him. The Mandalorian hesitated, still drunk with your touch, his mind becoming cloudy and unresponsive.

“Din -- my name is Din.” He managed to conjure up. This new information was so subtle, but you cherished it. Having his name roll off your tongue while feeling extreme waves of pleasure, the thought of it gave nurture to your pulsing heat.

“Nice to meet you -- Din.” You hummed. Vocalizing his name made his breaths much heavier, the sound of your soft tones interwoven into his name giving him even more ideas of what he could do to you. As primitive instincts commenced, you suddenly felt his strong arm wrap around your waist and lift you off your knees. He held you at such a great height that you were able to wrap your legs around him, your arms clasping around his neck for support. Din suddenly pressed you against the wall and held you in place, his hands grasping onto the back of your thighs. He now had the high ground, lifting you as if you were as light as a feather. The tip of his cock was perfectly aligned at your entrance, feeling the friction between you as he grinded his hips towards you. Your skimpy underwear was soaked with arousal. In all your years of sex work have you never been as titillated as you were now. No credits in all the galaxy could satisfy you as this moment did. Your legs wrapped tighter around Din as you beckoned his body closer to yours, your hips grinding against him -- begging for his cock. You noticed Din’s fingers inching closer to your heat, his fingers shifting your underwear to one side and exposing your swollen clit and dripping walls. Then, his fingers nudged at your entrance. His sudden cold touch made you gasp for air and cling tighter to him, your head pressing back onto the wall. Din rested his bulky helmet onto your shoulder as he motioned his fingers towards your clit, drawing light circles around. The stimulated sensation shot up your stomach, your legs lightly quivering. The tip of his cock still poked at your entrance in a teasing manner, and you could not help but grind against Din’s touch.

“Oh my God . . . Din.” The sound of you gasping his name sent tingles down his back, encouraging his fingers to put more pressure onto your sensitive clit, his moves hitting all the right spots. The sensation began building within you, convincing you were near your climax. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.” Your words encouraged, sending Din’s actions into overdrive as he pinned you closer to the wall and his body. His rhythm picked up pace and low grunts escaped his mouth. As he your legs secured around him, he let his free hand grasp onto your breast. His touch stimulated you further, a giggle leaving your lips at the sheer pleasure.

Suddenly your climax began, and an uncontrollable moan escaped from you, your legs turning to mush as you clung onto his body. Din admired your reaction, seeing your eyes turn vacant, his fingers roaming your vulva before taking his hands to hold your delicate thighs, sensing you grow weak from overstimulation. Your eyes trailed across him, leaning your forehead on the cold shine of his Baskar helmet. A subtle smirk drew across Din’s face as he exalted your complexion, noticing an ardour glow come upon your face. 

It did not end there. At this point, Din felt edged on. Basking in your presence, he also bucked his hips closer to you. One hand clasped your warm cheek softly, a sense of gentleness soothing you into submission. You could sense his eyes staring at yours and at the intimacy, you had a sudden urge to kiss him. However, you knew there was no type of charming in the galaxy that would convince him to remove it. Until you got an idea.

“If I promise to close my eyes, will you kiss me?” You asked through heavy breaths, your fingers resting either side of his neck. Din thought of your offer, hesitating for a while. No living being should be able to see his face, not even in the heat of desire. Yet, if you close your eyes like promised, his oath would technically not be broken. Even if he just lifted the helmet up a little bit . . .

“You promise?” Din asked, grasping onto both your hands, interlinking his fingers into yours. You vigorously nodded your head, a smile on your face.

“I swear by all the stars in the galaxy.” You promised, pressing a little kiss on the tips of his fingers. You began to close your eyes shut, giving Din the clear to proceed and guide you to his lips.

Din slowly raised his helmet to expose his lips, guiding your legs to fall to the ground. Your feet landed on the floor, hands grasping his shoulders for stability. You never opened your eyes, keeping your word. Din slowly leaned down, pressing his lips against yours. The surprise to his touch inched you closer into him, deepening the kiss. Hesitantly, your fingers reached up to the nip of his neck and played with his hair. Din stiffed up, but softened just was quickly, tasting the flavour of his cock in your mouth. He grabbed your ass and you moaned into his lips. Your hands then reached back down his cock, stroking his member that was still hard as before. A growl left Din’s mouth, vibrating against your lips and he leaned off the kiss. Quickly dropping his helmet back into place, he lifted you back into his arms. The sudden movement made you flash open your eyes, noticing the helmet back on and Din carrying you to his bed. 

As the bunker bed was too small for the both of you, Din took your hands and placed them on the bar between the two bunk beds. Keeping you in place, he began to expose your backside by rapidly pulling off your dress and underwear. Din’s sudden dominant actions formed a flutter in your mind, putting your thoughts into what was to come. My Stars, you wanted him to fuck you hard. So hard that it knocks all common sense out of your brain. The sudden fleeting shift of how he handled you said so.

That is when he began to enter your cunt, stretching your walls as they tightly pressed back against his cock. The feeling of him filled you up instantly, a light whimper fleeing your mouth as you handled his length. Din had a similar reaction, his grip tightening on your waist as he felt drowned by the feeling of your insides. The tightness of your cunt encouraged him to get into motion, pumping his cock out and back inside.

“Din -- fuck me.” You breathed out, your grip tightening around the bars. You prompted one leg up onto the edge of the bed, so he had more gateway into you, which aided his full length to fill your pussy. Din leaned forward, pressing his stomach into your lower back so the entirety of his cock was inside you. In measurement, you knew that once he started moving, he was big enough to hit your g-spot without a doubt. Excitement engulfed your senses, and you began to beckon him.

“Fuck me, Din -- fuck me hard.” You granted permission. His name mixed into your vulgar language made him flustered from arousal but smirk mischievously.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” He groaned into your ear. And with that, Din did not hesitate to begin fucking you. Just like you wanted it, hard. His unrefined thrusts in and out of you sent your thoughts into hyperdrive. Your vision unfocused, basking in the pleasure. Just like you anticipated, the tip of Din’s cock knocked your G-spot with every thrust. Din watched as your ass jiggled from the friction, encouraging his hand to fall and smack against your backside. You gasped at the pinch of pleasure, biting your lip hard to contain yourself from screaming. Din detected your muffled sounds and was displeased. He wanted to hear you from for him. Beg for more. Say his name and plead for more pleasure. So, his hand gripped the front of your neck and seized you back, pressing your body against his. His thrust never stopping.

“Fucking beg for it.” Din demanded, “Tell me how much you want this.” He did not know what came over him in this moment, and you did not either. But you would be lying if you said you did not like this side of him.

“I- I want this so bad, Din. I need you to fuck me like this.” You choked up, feeling intoxicated as his grip around your neck lightly tightened.

“You want me to fill you with my cum, huh? Or should I cum all over your pretty little face?” Din taunted, another hand crashing down against your ass cheek which made you whimper again.

“Oh God -- come inside me. Please.” You begged, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes as all your feelings conjoined into one overall feeling of complete smut. Your mind felt like a mess, like you could pass out from enjoyment. Never in all your life of service have you felt so much pleasure.

When Din’s primitive instincts deemed you pleads redeemable, his thrusts became faster as he felt his climax coming. The sound of his skins slapping against yours became a dominant sound in the room. He still held your body close to his, his hands roaming over your body, gripping your breasts, smacking your ass, wrapping his fingers around the small of your waist. God, the way he held you was stimulating enough, every touch completely possessive of your body. Din was engrossed in the shape of you, how every inch of your body fit perfectly against him. How tight your walls clenched around his cock, enchanting him to fuck you harder with each thrust.

“I’m gonna come.” Din exclaimed, “I’m gonna cum in your pretty little cunt. Got it?”

His words excited you. “Yes -- please fill me with your cum. Please, please, please.”

Din could not hold it any longer. When he felt his release, he held your hips in place and deepened his cock into you, letting your slit cockwarm him until his climax came to a close. His body collapsed onto yours, causing him to shift your body on top and sit on the edge of the bunk, placing you gently on his lap. You rested your exhausted head on his shoulder, a smile of approval appearing on your face. Din wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a gentle embrace.

“Um -- Sorry I was so rough. I dunno what came over me.” Din apologised, his tone a little bashful.

“Don’t apologise. I’m sorry I enjoyed it so much.” You teasingly said, reaching your hand under his helmet to cusp his scruffy jawline. Din leaned into your touch, pressing a small kiss on your thumb.

“Now’s a good time for you to change into those clothes, huh?” Din light-heartedly said, causing you to chuckle and playfully nudge his side.

JOIN MY TAGLIST !

[dumbdancemomssideblog]

S1E1: The Competition Begins

okie dokie first ever episode of dance moms rewatch starts now :0 i actually remember watching this the very first time it aired on lifetime because i was channel surfing and saw a commercial for it earlier that day. that was the summer between 8th and 9th grade. ah memories... i didnt know what to expect because i did dance when i was a kid but not on a competition team and it was mostly ballet so i was pretty unfamiliar with this whole world. 

anyway lets begin. this is probably gonna be a longer post than what i’ll end up writing for the other episodes in season 1 bc the first episode introduces so much info, just a heads up

Act 1: (aside: yes its insufferable to divide this into “acts” when its really just like “segments separated by commercial breaks” but thats how they’re called in actual tv scripts so im just going with that cuz i cant think of a better/easier way uwu)

god this is so fucking early 2010s lmao

i miss these days where they were just talented nobodies from pittsburgh on a low budget reality tv show that nobody even knew would be successful. and the bad hair and makeup but idk if that was also just a 2011 thing lol

THE REAL HOUSEWIVES GREEN SCREEN INTROS IM DYING

the chalkboard !!!! they werent doing the pyramid on the mirror yet 

(apparently abby never did anything similar to the pyramid thing but the producers made her and it became a whole Thing on the show and thats why the moms were like wtf is this bullshit the first week)

mackenzie looks like a toddler. chloe is so tiny. theyre the 2 who changed the most physically over the course of the show

i remember watching this for the first time being used to ballet lyrical and jazz but never having done or really seen acro/gymnastics in dance choreo and being SO flabbergasted. i was thinking “a chin stand is not dancing what the actual hell” and yknow what? i was right

melissa: “my boyfriend knows how much i spend on dance because he signs the checks...............hermehhemrherrmehermh” (the most awkward laugh omg)

maddie is wearing a fucking bumpit in her hair i cannot

melissa deadass just said out loud “im here for my daughter im not here to make friends” ok everybody mark that one off on your catty women’s reality tv show bingo card!

camera man accidentally getting in the shot filming right in front of the huge wall-mirror.... what is this, amateur hour? i’ll let it slide since its the first day of filming rehearsal but step it up, boys

aw i forgot about maddie getting sick and crying :/ poor kid

melissa saying “i cant stand a chid that’s sick” sounds so edited like the intonation made it seem to me like they just cut her off mid-sentence i love lifetime

oh this was still when they were wearing normal stuff to class/rehearsal like black leotards bc they werent getting sent a trillion crazy 2-piece dancewear outfits for free yet bc they werent famous, man those were the days

Act 2:

[obligatory b-roll footage of downtown pittsburgh] 

the maddie chloe paige trio !!!! this is making me feel so nostalgic

“knees together, paige. you’re bow-legged, you need to fix that”

“you’re tall, you’re skinny, you’re a beautiful girl, you can do better than this. FOCUS” shes like 10 abby what the hell

“people think im tough and i guess i am but i would rather be the one to make your kid cry in the privacy of my studio than at an open-call audition in front of hundreds of people”

okay unpopular opinion alert: i agree with a lot of what abby says about stuff like this but her delivery is flawed, to but it euphemistically, that being said i think the production team of the show and the fame inflating her ego changed all of this somewhere over the course of the second season and its really sad to see :/ i can expand on that thought later tho

aw paige crying bc abby correcting her (but not saying anything personal or out of line, just technique corrections (at based on what we were shown, we dont know everything she said oop)) shes a sensitive kid she never should have been put on this show :( 

paige looks exactly like her mom i didnt realize that before

nia and holly were done so dirty throughout the whole series in terms of the narrative the producers set up about nia being the weakest link :/ 

Act 3:

cathy’s entire involvement in the show from the very beginning was so painfully obviously scripted (or at least heavily staged) 

vivi was also done dirty by the show’s narrative and she was only 6 and they presented her as like the butt of the joke bc her mom’s “character” was crazy and also she wasnt good at dance. i wonder how she feels about the show now that shes a teenager hmm. she really seemed not to give a fuck about dance for better or for worse when she was a kid tho so maybe she doesnt care ?

in what universe would an owner of another competitive dance studio bring her own kid to another studio more than an hour’s drive away, AND be under the impression that she could compete with them in a week, especially when they showed the kids’ and moms’ shocked reaction at the start of the episode to having to learn a dance in a week and compete it? like really what is the point of cathy and vivi being a part of this show im so ????

Act 4: 

THE MINISTER DAWN OUTBURST HOW DID I FORGET ABOUT THIS

this fight is about 50% of what got them a full season 1 and then things took off from there tbh. the other 50% was the electricity dance but thats a point for next episode..... :)

“you’re a minister act like one” “YOU’RE RIGHT I AM A MINISTER! LET’S PLAY THE BIBLE GAME ABBY, WHEN JESUS SAW THINGS THAT WERE WRONG HE WENT AFTER THEM, AND YOU’RE NOT GOING TO DO THIS TO MY KID” ma’am i think the wrongs jesus addressed were of slightly more importance than a preteen being told she cant take a dance class if shes violating the studio’s dress code

this is so good bc it wasnt staged afaik and there are regular students all throughout the building just STARING at them like lmao what even is going on, so im pretty sure this is real???

regardless, yeah dont wear socks and a tshirt to an acrobatics class, thats common fucking sense

another cameraman-in-mirror sighting, but its hard to think about angles when filming spontaneous drama like this, so i wont count it against them

“you called me fat” (i remember that being in the episode but thats not on the episode available through lifetime on demand that im watching from my moms tv hmmmmmm) “i told you to close and tuck in your two-piece costume, theres a big difference. HOW CAN YOU REMEMBER THAT BUT YOU CAN’T REMEMBER TO TURN YOUR FEET OUT” uh scream

she really called the police on this woman i cannot handle this. can you imagine being a police officer responding to this call? 

“we have a parent thats out of control. pardon? no shes doesnt have weapons, just her mouth” iconic

im sorry im still not over the hair and makeup. the flat hair with the side bangs. the black pencil eyeliner applied all the way around the eye. why did any of us think this was a look :( why did we do this :(

Act 5:

they went all the way to phoenix to compete 3 numbers, only 2 of which are shown in the episode.

i think this is the only time they ever went to west coast dance explosion because its an actual competition and they wouldnt allow filming after this lol i think they did go to wcde one weekend in addition to a competition where they were filming but it wasnt shown or mentioned at all

abby not wanting brooke and paige to have a french manicure on stage if theyre the only ones in the group with the french tips is perfectly valid idk why it was framed as some crazy micromanaging shit

i also am really not a fan of the whole “high functioning alcoholic wine mom/crazy stage mom” schtick they were pushing for the first few episodes of this show

in retrospect i feel like so many of the quips in this episode were intentionally fucking crazy just to get the audience engaged enough to want to watch more episodes...

“see those girls down there, those girls with the legs? thats who you’re up against, so step it up”

abby warning them that its dangerous for their little party hats to slip when they’re doing aerials and pirouettes and stuff: “what if you were at radio city music hall and they had the ice rink out and you were doing a side aerial and fell 13 stories down and died, huh?” fantastic point abby thank you for saying that to 5 girls ages 8-12 less than 5 minutes before they went on stage. perfect time for a teaching moment like that :)

i forgot how bad the camera work was in the first few episodes for footage of their performances. like they really didnt think the show’s audience would actually want to watch the kids dance, the producers and editors thought we just wanted to see stage mothers yelling at each other lol

also the mic feed over the music of abby talking to herself giving them corrections while watching them dance on stage.... im so glad they quit doing that. i dont remember them doing it like that for any other episode, i hope im right

this choreo is very basic and its a cute dance i guess but its very cringe in some places and for the first episode this is such a forgettable group routine

their scandalized reaction to placing third and the sad piano music is so funny honestly

and maddies reaction in the interview which was almost definitely fed to her by the producers where shes like “i win all the time i dont really know what its like to LOSE i always win or get runner up” so many of maddies lines from season 1 interviews sound so fake and she was probably too naive to know they were getting her to say that stuff so they could paint her as a conceited brat (she was EIGHT)

the trio costume was so ugly im sorry (is it supposed to be like a 50s pinup bathing suit?) (and the headband thing looks so bad) and also the music is bad but they had no real authority over that bc of copyright stuff

chloe’s headpiece coming forward and the ensuing drama was another moment in the episode that really solidified public interest in the show imho.... 

“YOU’RE IN THE BAR HAVING A DRINK AND YOUR KID’S HEADPIECE IS FALLING OFF” “it did not FALL OFF it CAME FORWARD it was FINE!!!”

“mistakes happen, we’re human.” “YOU are. mistakes like that dont happen to me”

and then the “next time on dance moms” with the WILDLY INAPPROPRIATE electricity dance, of course. genuinely that was really smart of the producers in terms of structuring things to generate intrigue lol. and obviously it ended up working....

[margridarnauds]

Feel free to ignore this message, but I've got a question regarding the Mythological Cycle; top 10 characters, rated best to worst. Let's go.

WHY WOULD I IGNORE THIS? THIS IS GREAT. 

So, as a warning, since this is a very, very subjective list, I am not going to be............as academic as I could potentially be. I’m willing to chat any of this, since....I’m always down for any asks, specifically re: THIS most niche of niche topics, but in this particular list, I’m not rolling out all the sources I probably could, I’m not doing any massive Old Irish parsing, though I am trying to reference at least where I’m getting this from for the most part. Also, just because a character ends up on one end or the other doesn’t mean that I don’t ACKNOWLEDGE their complexity, it’s just that one end of it kind of sticks out to me. As we’re going to see. 

[rape mention tw]

1. Bres- Best boi. Next question. (I mean, come on, my #1 location to visit here since the first day I got off the plane has been Mizenhead, because that’s where the Dindsenchas say he died.) 

2. Sreng- Look. Sreng gets ONE text where he has a prominent role (that would be the Early Modern text Cath Muige Tuired Cunga, for anyone following), but my GOD does he make it count. Brother and son to a slaughtered king of Ireland, the warrior who didn’t want to go to war, the man who made the gods bleed and held out an entire ass battle by himself, the boyfriend of Bres. He’s definitely a figure who tends to go beneath the radar, and when he is brought up, it’s generally to present him in an unfavorable light compared to the TDD, but like. He deserves the world and I love him. 

3. Lugh - This is going to be an absolute SHOCKER for people, because I think that people tend to think that, because I rip him routinely and my nickname for him is “The Bitch”, that means I HATE him. And I don’t. Not really. I don’t think he’s a straightforwardly HEROIC character, at least not all the time. I get slightly annoyed when people gloss over his flaws in order to paint him as a perfect figure even in texts where that is BLATANTLY not the case. But Lugh is FASCINATINGLY complex, and I love the texts that show that. The Early Modern edition of Cath Maige Tuired, Cath Muighe Tuireadh, shows a complex Lugh, as does Oidheadh Chloinne Tuireann and the Dinsenchas poem Carn húi Néit. Hell, even in the Táin, is Lugh really a GOOD guy, or is he just a “good guy” because he tends to Cú Chulainn? He doesn’t really give a damn if anyone else dies, so long as his own son is taken care of. He loves his father, and is willing to do anything to avenge his death even if it means that the innocent family members of his father’s killers get caught up in it as well. Lugh is a GREAT hero, he’s one of the pre-eminent figures of Irish Mythology, with some fairly strong evidence to indicate that an equivalent figure to him was the most widely revered deity in Gaul. But he is also, depending on the text, absolutely RUTHLESS in attaining what he feels is a greater good. He IS “dutiful/pious Lugh”, but what does that duty mean? How does he interpret that? He kills his own family members quite routinely (the Sons of Tuireann, Bres, Balor, Cermait, off the top of my head), and basically gets himself killed because of a marital dispute, and that’s an element of him that I think that people are afraid of, but I ADORE.  It makes him HUMAN. 

4. Ériu - The only person in the myths to love Bres as much as I do. Down to lose her virginity to a random stranger on the beach. The Sons of Míl come in and she’s like “Yeah, okay, just make sure to name the island after me, okay?” I love her. (Okay, but talk to me about how Bres is her ONLY CHILD across the various myths, about how it’s HER who gives him land, it’s HER who goes with him to Elatha and negotiates for his sake. She was willing to put aside her own people, travel to a foreign country filled with people who have been raiding her own people for years, and she did it for love of her son. You can argue over whether she indulged him too much, but you can’t argue that she’s possibly one of the single most devoted mothers in the Mythological Cycle.)

5. Carmun - Only gets one Dindsenchas poem to her name, but WHAT a showstopper it is. “One fierce, marauding woman” indeed. An Athenian witch who tries to invade Ireland with her three sons, only to be captured by the Tuatha dé and kept as a hostage. Longing (for her children? For freedom? For her old home of Athens?) eventually kills her, and she, like Tailtiu, another foreign woman who has a meeting space named after her, dies in an oak grove. An interesting example of a female villain in a myth, with the text obviously having quite a bit of respect for her, and her obviously genuinely caring for her sons and vice versa. There’s really not all that much more ON her, but I’m not sure that there really needs to be all that more because her story isn’t REALLY an epic. It’s very neatly contained as it is. 

6.  Bríg - It isn’t that I don’t LIKE Bríg, it’s that. Well. I get tired of talking about Bríg when there are a dozen characters more who actually DO things in the saga literature. You know. Like her husband. Who is almost never brought up in discussions on Bríg as if he’s not there. NOT THAT I’M BITTER.I just.....don’t really CARE for her. At all. And the way that people tend to discuss Bres in conjunction with Bríg has given me a certain level of resentment, so I just............ignore her whenever it’s at all possible. She gets points for the scene where she keens for Ruadan, since that’s a wonderfully human scene in a text that tends to be rather inhuman and detached in the amounts of blood, gore, and sex that saturate it, but like....I just don’t CARE. I don’t believe, at this point, that there is any way to really make me invested in Bríg, as a character. But I can’t really rate her lower because like. Below this, we start getting into the “Hall of Dicks” territory so I’m just putting her here. 

7. Tethra - Interesting figure. Not an awful lot about him, so I can’t really say all that much. But I do think that he tends to get under-discussed, in general, and put kind of in a generic “Evil Fomorian” category when he is, and...he DOES invade Ireland, along with Elatha and Indech (Indech is not on this list mainly because it is hard to properly quantify my “You are a total trashbag, but also you’re very interesting to me, but also I want to light you on fire and feed you to the dogs” feelings re: him.) But also he is the great uncle of Emer, he is described in a positive light in a few other texts, including IN CMT ITSELF. He seems to be married to Badb, which is....someone just GIVE ME THE ENEMIES TO LOVERS POST-CMT STORY, FT. A FOMORIAN WARLORD FALLING OVER HIMSELF FOR A TERRIFYING SCALD CROW WAR GODDESS. 

Anyway, only reason he isn’t ranked higher is because we don’t really know all that much about him and I thought it would be a little unfair to, say, Bríg to rank him higher when I used her lack of personality/overall narrative to place her lower out of spite. He doesn’t have any actual APPEARANCES, no lines, etc. So like. I love him, I’m endlessly interested in him, but he’s gotta be near the end. 

8. The Dagda - “Now, Rachel, the Dagda is a very important figure, with a variety of appearances-” and like. You would be RIGHT. He IS very important. And, actually, I’m INTERESTED in him, which is why he’s not at the bottom. He’s a very interesting figure, and I’d be lying if I said he doesn’t make anything he appears in more colorful. 

He is also a DICK. 

So, like, he fucks a married woman (I WILL say, Boann enthusiastically consented so....props? You were NOT as much of a dick as you could have been), he sends the husband out on a trip to his weird half-Fomorian brother (Bres deserved sainthood for that one ALONE), and then....oh wait.....when it comes time to provide for the partitioning of Ireland he just GIVES AENGUS ELCMAR’S HOUSE? Like. Come on dude. That’s a way to just add insult to injury. That’s a dick move. (Thomas Charles-Edwards DID write an article that discusses how the Dagda is not as much in the wrong as you would think, but like. Still a dick move, I’m sorry.) 

How the Dagda Got His Magic Staff? He gets these three brothers to lend him their magical staff so he can resurrect his fuckboy son, then KILLS THEM? Then his son is like “Dad, that’s a dick move” and he brings them back, on the condition that he KEEPS THEIR STAFF? AND THEN HE RAISES AN ENTIRE ZOMBIE ARMY IN ORDER TO ASSUME THE HIGH KINGSHIP OF IRELAND? 

I just. I just. 

In the Intoxication of the Ulstermen (Mesca Ulad), we learn about what the Dagda DID with his Necromancy Staff: He created a corpse xylophone where he keeps nine people in front of him, hits them with one end of the staff in order to bring them back to life, and then hits them with the other in order to kill them, on and on. 

AND SPEAKING OF MORALLY DUBIOUS SHIT: Tell me that there is another way to interpret this Dindsenchas tale than....the one that seems most obvious. 

“Let come of it what may.” 

And of course CMT, where he does totally kill Cridenbél with the whole “PSYCH you asked for the best three bits now EAT GOLD” Thing, even if it isn’t the way that Bres thought AND Bres did overreact. The Dagda should have paid the proper honor price for Cridenbel, Bres should NOT have tried putting him to death. It was a STUPID move, since it led to Bres’ ruling being called into question. And.....the porridge incident in that same text. Which. I can. Discuss. If asked to specifically. But will leave for now in case anyone should instead want to search for it on their lonesome. 

His relationship with the Morrigan is interesting to me, in that you have these really rather amoral forces being married to one another, having a relationship of long-standing, even though they have no issues getting sex elsewhere. And it is my pure scholarly opinion that she pegs him.

Basically, the Dagda is interesting to me, I think that there are two principal things that motivate him in any given tale: His own id and his loved ones, in exactly that order. He’s a rather disgusting figure, but you kind of keep wanting to peer in to see how far the muck goes. And, if it isn’t obvious, I definitely prefer, say, Lugh to him, because I feel like, of the two of them, at least Lugh DOES believe that he’s doing the right thing. It’s just not always in any way that anyone, not even in medieval Ireland, would really think about “doing the right thing.” There’s this complexity to Lugh, even at his absolute worst. The Dagda just doesn’t care. The Dagda is more a God in the way of Zeus or Poseidon where it’s like “I’ll do what I want and damn the consequences.” Interesting to see, but not my favorite as far as character. 

He kind of reminds me of Cú Chulainn, actually, where it’s like. He’s interesting. But also there’s this sort of rank misogyny and brutality that tends to be drenched in the texts that he’s featured in, even by Medieval Irish standards (and I’d argue that those standards are MUCH more flexible than we give them credit for), so I can never really enjoy him. And I’m saying this as someone who deeply loves some VERY VERY MISOGYNISTIC TEXTS. 

9. Balor - You would not THINK that Balor would be near the top of ANY lists on Mythological Cycle figures, but he’s actually very interesting to me, in terms of his evolution. In folklore, he is very much a straightforward villain, kind of adjusting to fit whoever the invaders of the time were. I am NOT saying there is no basis for a villainous Balor, or even that a villainous Balor is an INNOVATION like it is for Bres. I am DEFINITELY not saying that, especially since those folklore stories tend to include Proto-Indo European elements that indicate that they could be VERY old, possibly older than the saga material. But I am saying the man is interesting. Something that tends to be totally overlooked in discussions on him is that he was a BOY when, in Cath Maige Tuired, he peered in on his father’s druids performing magic and it seeped into his eye, giving him his Evil Eye. He was a KID. Of COURSE he would be curious and want to explore. And because of that, he was turned into a monster. How would you go about it, as a kid, learning that you had to keep one eye closed forever because you could kill everyone nearby? How would you cope, really, seeing everyone turning away from you in fear? And, in Cath Maige Tuired, he doesn’t even KNOW that Lugh is his grandson when Lugh kills him. He knew he gave his daughter away in marriage to a young man of the Tuatha dé, he would probably guess that he had a grandson there, or at least the possibility of one, but like. He didn’t realize it was Lugh SPECIFICALLY then. And then Lugh killed him. Lugh was, for once, RIGHT to kill him, but. Still. There’s something a little tragic about Balor’s death, even if it’s 100% not what the redactor intended. I have to have a little sympathy for him, despite it all. Also his wife, Cethlenn of the Crooked Teeth, is very interesting to me, as a figure. I’m really curious what kind of marriage they had. I kind of like to think, regardless of what evidence there really is for it, that they had that type of Bad Guy Relationship where they were absolutely ruthless and awful, but fairly devoted to one another. That’s outside the realm of scholarly observation, but I like to think it. She’s the one who kills the Dagda, btw. Absolute underrated BADASS. 

Also like he did try to kill Lugh in the Early Modern Cath Maige Tuired with the whole “Put my head on yours” thing so like, props for trying Balor. Props for trying. 

The main reason Balor is rated so lowly despite everything else is......folkloric Balor. Because fuck folkloric Balor. He still isn’t my LEAST FAVORITE of the Fomorian lords, because we have #10 and Indech, but like. I can’t REALLY put him so high up in my favorites list. 

10. Elatha - I hate him. I actually hate this man. I know he gets a few sentences, really, but God. I hate him. The only good thing that he, as a character, did is to give us Bres, the Dagda, Ogma, and Lir. (NOT including Delbaeth. For Reasons.) I could discuss how, like Bres, he was not always a villainous character, how his image was molded to suit the Scandinavian setting for the Fomoire in Cath Maige Tuired, but consider: I hate him. 

Actually, let’s go more in-depth here. “WHY do you hate Elatha more than Balor, Rachel, he only has small appearance in one text? And you already said you like Balor-” Which is a GOOD question. Very good. So, let’s go into the Elatha Call Out Mode. 

So, first of all. 

He has sex with Ériu, gets her with a kid, and then leaves. He KNEW she was pregnant. But no, he doesn’t give a damn, he just drops a ring into her hand, gives him his name + a name for the kid (GOOD THING ÉRIU DIDN’T HAVE ANY OTHER NAMES SHE WANTED TO GIVE THAT KID) and fucks off to his own people. Now, I will say, he didn’t deceive her, in the sense that she was never PROMISED marriage, but. God. She was a virgin, she was presumably quite young at the time. He was a king of the Fomoire, and she sure as Hell didn’t know THAT when she slept with him. And she obviously didn’t have his certainty that a kid would result from it. I don’t think there was straight-up DECEPTION involved, per se, I don’t believe that we’re looking at a case of rape, in either the modern or the medieval understanding of it (he isn’t Cú Chulainn, after all), but Elatha sure as Hell didn’t give Ériu ALL the information that he had until it was too late. 

Okay, okay, dickish, Bres was forced to rely on his maternal kin-group all of his life and Ériu was basically fucked (though aristocratic enough that she obviously had land to give him in the first place, so not MASSIVELY inconvenienced), but like. Not really UNUSUAL for an Irish “hero”. 

So, let’s go into this further. 

He raids Ireland, alongside the rest of the Fomorian lords. “Now, Rachel, that is unreasonable, as you’ve already said you like Balor and Tethra, who also-” But consider: Tethra didn’t KNOW he had a son on the other side. (Balor didn’t raid Ireland until the battle itself, so he gets a few Brownie points. A few.) Elatha DID. Elatha knew damn well where his son was, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had at least some idea that his son was king of the Tuatha dé, given how much he ALREADY knew about Bres’ birth. I can’t prove it with the information given in-text, so I can’t argue it in a scholarly setting, but like. He fucking knew. If Bres had been an average warrior, he could have DIED because of Elatha being a massive dickwad, because like. Even if we ASSUME that Elatha gave a damn about what happened to his son and wouldn’t attack him directly, he couldn’t exactly control ALL of his men during a raid. People are going everywhere, weapons are flying. 

BUT ELATHA IS THE ONLY GOOD FOMORIAN, AM I RIGHT? 

ANYWAY, next we see him, Bres is going to him for help. He’s at his most vulnerable, his most humble after being yeeted off the throne by the Tuatha dé. He SAYS exactly what he did, that it was wrong, with a level of humility that’s honestly rare in anti-heroes even today. What does Elatha say? 

‘That is bad,’ said his father. ‘Better their prosperity than their kingship. Better their requests than their curses. Why then have you come?’ asked his father.

‘I have come to ask you for warriors,’ he said. ‘I intend to take that land by force.’

‘You ought not to gain it by injustice if you do not gain it by justice,’ he said.

“But Rachel,” you might say, “This makes perfect sense, this is GOOD advice.” But consider: Bres had ALREADY admitted his wrongs. He doesn’t need a lecture. Elatha’s advice gives him absolutely NOTHING, while conveniently absolving him of ANY accountability for Bres’ actions. (And keep in mind, under Medieval Irish law, the kin-group WAS deemed as at least partially responsible for the actions of its members, so like. I’m NOT just putting modern ideas onto Elatha here.) Also: THIS IS LITERALLY BRES’ FIRST TIME MEETING HIS FATHER. He has traveled SO far to see this man, and what is Elatha’s reaction? THAT. Treating him as essentially a flea to be swatted away with platitudes while absolving himself, even though he was the one who set Bres up to be in that position from the get-go.

I’m not saying that Bres is flawless here, given that he ADMITS HE ISN’T HIMSELF, but Elatha? Is a douche. And then, to compound his douchiness, he doesn’t keep Bres in line. He doesn’t bother to deal with him, he just sets him up with an army and goes back to invade Ireland again. I know that some scholars (chiefly Elizabeth Gray) have read it as paternal indulgence, but personally? I don’t think his moral qualm was EVER with invading it. I don’t think he had a single issue with invading Ireland, given that he’d already done it before. He just wanted to hammer it in hard to Bres how utterly he’d failed. If he had REALLY given a damn about him, he could have spent time getting to know him, trying to tone him down, be more of a proper FATHER to him, but he doesn’t. And, if Bres’ actions during Cath Maige Tuired cause thousands of people on both sides to die, then Elatha set everything in place so he could. The only difference is that Bres almost never gets a trace of sympathy for it, while Elatha is presented as a tragic figure whose son is an unfortunate accident. 

Also like. Bres is the only one of his kids he’s even involved with to begin with, for better or worse. Like, this is 100% a scribal error, but I’m using it to further my “Elatha is a dick” agenda: Ogma, in Cath Maige Tuired (so I’m not even using outside genealogies that the scribe of CMT might not have been aware of), is described as a son of Elatha. So, not only did Elatha fuck over ONE SON, but he did this type of shit repeatedly. He didn’t give a damn about any of his kids. 

Anyway: THE ONLY GOOD FOMORIAN. AM I RIGHT? 

[multi-fandom-fanfiction]

Hi! Can I please have a male TVD/to ship?? I’m short with brown hair and blue eyes, and I’m currently in college for neuroscience 🤗I love to dance, and I was dance captain for my high school (ThePac Walden grove- watch the avengers! I’m Stephen strange). I’m competitive and I play football. I’m a very direct person, and I speak my mind no matter what. I’m a romantic, but I usually only show it in private. I have a tendency to act kinda crazy, mainly cause I go off my add meds haha. Thank you!!

The vampire diaries or the originals Nah you get both 

The Vampire Diaries

Damon Salvatore

Damon always said that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen

Damon wasn’t too into college unless it was something to do with a party or at least he wasn’t until you went to college

He loves to cuddle with you after a long day or go to the grill and drink with you while you rant about your day or tell him cool neuroscience facts

Damon wouldn’t admit it but he loves to dance

He could dance for hours with you

When you were captain of the dance team Damon went to every competition

He would bring water and power raid  saying you needed to stay hydrated

Damon had a humongous ego so your egos sometimes clash

It causes some powerful arguments and sometimes heartbreaking breakups but you always make up and both you and Damon apologize

Damon is a vampire very little can kill him so he is very careless and lacks regard for his safety

You are also reckless and just wanna have fun but your human and can get hurt very easily

Damon enjoys having a partner in crime 

even though he is very protective and concerned for your safety

He lets you have fun but he also hovers just in case

The older Salvatore also forces you to drink a little bit of his blood daily so if you were to die you would become a vamp and he wouldn’t lose you

Damon and you are both arrogant

You both believe the only person better than yourselves is the other person

Damon is used to getting what he wants or was until you can around

Now Damon doesn’t even try to argue with you he just gives in and gives you what you want 

because you are the most stubborn person he knows 

and he knows he will lose

Your stubbornness isn’t the only thing that stops your boyfriend from arguing with you

your determination was definitely the biggest reason

When you set your mind on something you didn’t stop until you got it or did it

Damon tried to stop you in the beginning but he soon realized it was a lost cause 

Damon was always competitive 

He always wanted to be number 1

You both believed in healthy competition in your relationship

Everything was a competition

(who could eat breakfast faster, who could down a bottle of bourbon quicker, Who was the better dancer, Who could get through there morning routine quicker)

It was a long time since Damon had played Football when he met you

He dabbled in it when it was first created but it wasn’t his thing back then

He tried it again because you wanted to play one quiet Sunday morning when you and your friends' group were bored and he fell in love

Now you guys made it a tradition to play it every Saturday

Damon appreciates that you are direct

Everyone in his life hides things and lies so it was refreshing you were honest

Damon loves that you speak your mind

He feels more people need to do that 

Damon is a secret romantic

He enjoys taking you to extravagant or fun dates

He showers you in compliments and gifts

He has to appear hard because he doesn’t want to show people he has feelings so they could hurt him again

He is damaged and has trust issues 

But with you, he feels comfortable and safe to be vulnerable and wants to show that

Damon can be a bit crazy so he understands when you miss a dose and goes off the handle

He calms you and gives you your medication when you forget them

He does try to avoid that though by constantly trying to make sure you are okay and you take you meds

The Originals

Klaus Mikaelson

Klaus’s eyes found you at the Mikaelson masquerade ball and he was hooked since

The original hybrid had seen and been with many beautiful women but you were by far the best

He found your body and soul perfection

Klaus loves to listen to you talk about your passions which included neuroscience

He thought you were the smartest woman he had ever met

He liked to drive you to school and walk you to class

While you did your homework he painted or sketched listening to you spur random facts

When it stressed you out too much he made sure to make you pause and relax

speaking of him painting you were his muse he had tons of sketchbooks filled with sketches of you as well as hundreds of paintings of you

Klaus wasn’t big on dancing but he loves to watch you dance

He even occasionally puts the big bad hybrid persona away and takes you out dancing for date night

When you were captain of your dance team he went to every competition

He tried to compel the judges a few times to make you win 

but after you yelled at him he never did it again

He just loved how happy you looked when your team won

when your team lost he took you all out for ice cream

He made sure you had an excessive amount of water and Gatorade to keep you hydrated

Klaus’s lifestyle demanded a certain amount of carelessness and disregard for life but he still wished you were less reckless

Klaus loved you and considered you one of the only people that he trusted so he didn’t want to lose you

Klaus feeds you vampire blood daily in case you were hurt

He makes sure you are protected as much as he can anyways

Klaus was the most arrogant person you ever met and he had an ego to rival yours but that didn’t stop the love that had blossomed between the both of you

Your egos clashed and caused so terrible fights and crushing breakups

The both of you couldn’t live without one another though and always reunited

Klaus always got what he wanted

He was used to stubborn Rebecca’s biggest flaw was she was stubborn but you put his sister to shame

You weren’t afraid to fight him

And you didn’t stop until you got what you wanted

The Mikaelson was always determined first to break his curse, to create hybrids, to protect his family especially you and hope

He always thought he was the most determined person/thing on the planet that was until he met you

You put your mind to it or you wanted something you got it no matter what stood in your way

It was one of the many attributes that Klaus fell in love with

You both competed about everything

(Who could plan the better date, who could paint a better picture, or could sketch the most sketches in the amount of time, who could cook better etc.)

Klaus was alive long before football but he never tried it he was too busy

but one day you were all celebrating and decided to play a game

He watched you laugh and smile

That alone made him love it 

but he also loved the game

now the family plays it all the time

Klaus has trust issues

He hates people lieing to him and keeping things a secret from him

So he definitely appreciates your honesty and how direct you were

Klaus pretends to be a monster but for you, he shows just how much of a helpless romantic he is

He loves to cuddle and spend time with you

He showers you inexpensive or creative gifts 

He takes you on extravagant and special dates

Klaus does everything for you

He can’t show this side to just anyone so it is special that he shows you

The original hybrid had a tendency to be insane and snap 

Klaus didn’t blame you or shame you when you forgot your dosage and became a little mad

He would just calmly take care of you

He would make you a nice meal wrap his arms and a weighted blanket around you give you your meds and lay with you until you were calm

He did try to avoid that because he didn’t want you to hurt

So he tried to remind you to take your medication

(A/n Sorry about the description I watched both Doctor Strange and the avengers but googled his personality. It said he has a massive ego and that he was careless and had little regard for his life. The website also calls him Arrogant, stubborn and determined. So I am sorry if this doesn't want you meant by being like him. On the other note thanks for requesting a ship I hope you enjoy it if not let me know and I can take another crack at it)

(Remember everyone my asks box is always open for ship and imagine request or just to talk and answer questions the same goes for my inbox. I would love to talk and befriend all you lovely people)

[alittledizzy]

stray puppy appeal rating: pg word count: 2.5k Summary: There's a stranger sleeping in Dan's bed, and he's not sure how to feel about it. Notes: Written for @velvetnautilus for my thirty minute fics for charity fundraiser to benefit PhandomGives.

[read on ao3]

There's a stranger sleeping in Dan's bed, and he's not sure how to feel about it.

*

Most of the time people checking into the hotel during Dan's ten pm to four am shift aren't really looking for conversation. They're looking for a bed to sleep in or a bed to fuck in and either way they're not going to stand around making small talk with the guy behind the counter who is doing his level best to project a disinterest in any interaction outside the structure of doing his job. He finds reservations, activates key cards, and sends them on their way.

But Dan's got a sixth sense about people who are going to need something from him, and because he's the only one working the front desk during the graveyard shift he's got no way to avoid it.

That sense starts to tingle the minute the door opens and a man walks in wearing a very respectable suit and tie with a stain on the front and no luggage at all. The man looks around with a slightly wild expression that means he's either drunk or exhausted. If he's drunk, at least Dan can ring security.

"Can I help you, mate?" Dan asks. His voice carries across the small lobby.

The man looks at him like he's only just realized someone else was there. "I think my driver stole my wallet," he says. "And my mobile's dead, and the airline lost my luggage."

Okay. Not drunk. Damn. And it's so close to his shift ending.

"Do you have a reservation here?" Dan asks.

"I'm with the conference," Phil says.

"... conference?" Dan repeats.

There is no conference.

"Yeah," Phil says again. "The conference. We're supposed to have rooms booked out."

"There's no conference here," Dan says. "Are you sure you're at the right hotel?"

The man looks slightly queasy now. "No," he admits. "Is this the City Centre hotel?"

"... mate." Dan barely manages not to laugh. "No. It is not. You're about thirty minutes in the wrong direction."

The man rubs his forehead and lets out a very quiet, passionate. "Fuck."

*

It’s painful watching Phil sit in the straight back chair in the lobby. It’s not comfortable. Dan knows that, because he knows the furniture was chosen with the intent of keeping people from wanting to linger too long using the free lobby wifi.

He’s only got ten minutes left until shift change. He knows who comes in after him, and he knows Phil won’t be allowed to loiter without a reservation and looking as he does. He’ll be told politely but firmly to leave, and Dan has a vivid mental image of Phil Lester walking down the street helpless and lost and broke.

There’s a chance of rain, too.

Dan sighs. He had plans. Those plans involved going home, eating something horrible for him in front of the television, playing Guild Wars for a couple hours, then crashing until time for the routine to start again.

“Hey,” Dan says, voice cutting through the quiet of the small lobby. “If you need somewhere to crash for a few hours, you can come home with me.”

Phil looks startled. “I can’t do that.”

Dan shrugs. “Fine.” Thirty seconds later. “Not like I’m trying to rob you or anything, though. Doesn’t sound like the last guy left much anyway.”

Phil almost appears affronted, but the expression fades into something more miserable almost right away. “I’ve still got organs. You could harvest those.”

“If I were in the organ harvesting trade, you think I’d still be working this shit job?” Dan asks. “I could probably pay my rent on one good spleen. Unfortunately I’m chronically undermotivated, so your spleen is safe.”

“Good,” Phil says. “I’ve only got the one. I think. Do humans have two spleens?”

“Just one,” Dan says. He sounds confident even though he’s not sure. He’ll google it later.

“But I really can’t.” Phil has polite-voice on.

“Suit yourself.” Dan goes back to looking at his phone. Eight more minutes, and he’s free.

*

There are a lot of things Dan would list about himself under the column of personality flaws. He's sullen and quiet, anxious, prone to depressive spells, lacks the ability to follow through on commitments, and frequently isolates himself from the people in his life that care about him.

But he's not a bad person. So when his shift ends at four in the morning he looks at Phil and says, “Come on.” and leaves work with a stray following close on his heels.

Phil a consultant for an editing software firm, and he's clearly having a worse day than Dan is but that doesn’t stop him from being chatty.

"I'll just charge my phone for a bit," Phil promises. "Then I'll be able to ring someone and figure out money.”

Dan doesn't really have money to give him. All of his meager paycheck goes towards rent for an overpriced one bedroom flat in one of the shittier London neighborhoods.

"Figure it out tomorrow," Dan says, waving a hand. If nothing else he'll be a nice person and put Phil into a car.

"It's already tomorrow, isn't it?" Phil says. "I'm all messed up with times. I flew here from California."

"Yeah?" Dan asks. He’s knows he sounds disinterested, but he’s really just… tired. He’s always tired.

"I'm actually from Manchester. But they flew me out to California to train me on the software, and I'm supposed to present it at this conference. At least it doesn't start until tomorrow, right?" Phil laughs a tepid laugh. He seems aware that he's mostly talking to himself. "Right. Where are we going?"

Dan gives him an amused look. "Would you know even if I told you? It's only five more minutes."

Walking to and from work is the only exercise Dan gets most of the time. There are days when he'd probably skive off work altogether if not for how much he enjoys his early morning walks.

"Right," Phil says a third time. "Okay."

*

In the bright light of Dan's kitchen, Phil looks even worse for wear.

"When's the last time you slept?" Dan asks. He'd really just planned on making some coffee while Phil's phone charged enough to make do and then sending him on his way, but now safe within his own territory Dan feels a strange stirring to do something more.

It's not often he's the one that can help other people. It's not often he feels like he can offer something that makes a difference to someone else.

Phil shrugs. "I can't sleep on planes, and the flight was twelve hours. And the night before they took me out for dinner and kept buying me drinks and then I had to go back to the hotel room and pack..."

"So, it's been a while." Dan abandons the coffee idea and heads into his bedroom.

Phil follows after him, but stops in the doorway. "What-"

Dan looks over his shoulder. "You want something more comfortable to wear? Maybe a shower?"

Phil looks surprised. "You're not going to harvest my organs, are you?"

"No," Dan says. "Can't be bothered cleaning up after that kind of mess today. But you look like shit, mate."

Phil looks down. "I spilled coffee on myself at the airport. I thought that would end up being the worst part of my morning. Before the airline losing my luggage, and the car driver taking my wallet."

He's already rung his bank and credit card company to cancel the cards, taking care of that from the hotel phone behind the reception desk.

Dan tosses him a t-shirt and a pair of joggers. "The shampoo in my bathroom is for curly hair, but have at it."

"Thanks," Phil says, holding the bundle of clothes. Dan looks up again when he doesn't move. "Where's the bathroom?"

*

Phil's shower is fast. Dan's not sure if he's always quick at it, or if he's just uncomfortable in Dan's space. His hair is wet and falls limply over his forehead and somehow the five o'clock shadow on his face seems a touch darker.

"Thanks," he says. "I feel more human now."

"You don't look it," Dan says bluntly.

Phil shrugs. He's at his phone already. "I'm at forty percent now. If you need me to go..."

"Didn't say I did, did I?" Dan asks. "Are you sure you're even safe to go out there? Why don't you just, I don't know, have a nap."

Dan's tired himself now, or beginning to be. He usually falls asleep around sunrise and wakes late afternoon. But Phil looks ten times worse.

"I couldn't-" Phil starts to say. "I couldn't impose."

"Fine." Dan shrugs. "I'm still offering, though."

Phil looks back down at his phone. "I could just... ring someone. To get me."

"You know people in London?" Dan asks.

Phil shakes his head. "But I could call the convention organizers..."

"At-" He looks at the time. "Five seventeen in the morning."

Phil winces. "I guess not."

"Just sleep," Dan says. "I still won't harvest your organs."

Phil gives him a grateful look. "Thank you."

*

Dan's a nice guy, but also a bit of a creep sometimes.

He definitely watches Phil sleep. He stands in the doorway of his bedroom and stares, because now that the buzz of a weird new situation has faded a bit he's able to recognize that Phil is quite fit.

There haven't been any fit guys in Dan's bed in a while. No fit girls, either. No one at all, except Dan and his laptop and his left hand.

Not that he's thinking of having sex with a random businessman that wandered into his workplace. He's not that hard up. Sex isn't even the first thing on his mind most of the time. He's got too much other shit to get together.

Dan stares just a bit longer, then turns and walks away. He'll nap on the sofa for a while.

*

He doesn't really sleep, but awareness fades in and out in stretches of five and ten minutes at a time until the sun is beaming down too directly on his face. He squints and rubs a hand over his eyes. He's tired, bone deep weary, and there's a stranger in his bed.

He opens the fridge and there's not much there. He takes his lunch around two am most days, and doesn't eat again until late afternoon. There's a lot of takeaway in his life, a lot of freezer meals.

Can't feed a freezer meal to a stranger. His nana would drive all the way from Reading just to slap him for it.

He doesn't even know what Phil likes to eat. Is he vegetarian? Vegan? Gluten free? Does he watch his carbs?

Indecision is paralyzing, but Dan's hungry and he needs something to do. He orders a pizza, but he orders what he'd normally get for himself. It's not a date, he tells himself. No need to try all that hard.

*

Tall, dark, and handsome-if-you-like-that-type stumbles bleary eyed from the depths of Dan's sleep cave at half two.

"Oh my god," he says, sounding mildly horrified. "I can't believe I slept so long."

Dan's on his laptop. He barely glances up. "Must have needed it."

"My phone's charged," Phil says. "If you need me to go."

Dan ignores the comment and says, "There's pizza."

"Pizza?" Phil's interest is definitely piqued.

"You must be hungry, right?" Dan asks.

"Starved," Phil says. He opens the box. The pizza's gone cold by now but he doesn't seem to mind. He takes a bite and moans slightly. "This is amazing."

"It's Dominoes," Dan says, "But it's good to know that's where your taste level is at."

"Nothing wrong with a Dominoes," Phil says.

Dan does happen to agree.

Phil eats his pizza standing. Dan pretends to be doing work on his laptop, when in reality he's refreshing twitter and watching Phil out of the corner of his eye.

When Phil's done eating, he wipes his hands on his (Dan's) joggers and then walks back into the bedroom.

Dan has a sinking feeling in his gut, and he's not sure what put it there. All he knows is that this day stands out from every other day already, and he's reluctant to let that go.

But then there's Phil, this person Dan barely knows, with whom Dan has barely even had a real conversation, and he's walking out of Dan's bedroom dressed again and regret for that unknown reason blooms even brighter.

"Guess you'll be going then?" Dan asks.

He can tell his voice sounds clipped. Phil can too, apparently. "If that's alright? Or did you change your mind on the organ harvesting?"

"Still can't be bothered," Dan says, shutting the laptop. Phil's wearing his own trousers and a button up.

"I need to get to my hotel," Phil says. "And then ring the airport about my luggage, and have someone wire me some money."

Dan can see the discarded tie making an unsightly lump in his trouser pocket, and he's got his jacket over one shoulder. The coffee stain looks even worse in the light of day. He's got Dan's hoodie clutched in his other hand.

"You can take that if you want to."

Dan's not sure where the offer comes from. He likes that hoodie.

Phil looks down at it. "Really?" He asks. "We could... we could meet up. For me to give it back to you. And pay you back."

"Pay me back?" Dan asks.

"For the money I'm about to ask to borrow so I can get the tube to where I need to be." Phil says meekly.

"Oh," Dan says. "Yeah, right."

"But I want to make it up to you." Phil takes a breath and then looks at Dan almost imploringly. "Dinner? When's your night off work?"

"Don't worry about it," Dan says. He grabs his wallet and pulls out the only cash he has. He doesn't even count it. "You don't need to pay me back. If you want to return the hoodie, drop it by the hotel."

Phil looks down at where Dan's offering it out to him. He's frowning, and Dan's starting to wonder exactly what's wrong when Phil says, "What if I just want to take you out?"

"What?" Dan stares at him.

"You're - am I wrong?" Phil asks. "I just.. I saw your quilt. And the sticker on your mirror.”

The warm, heavy quilt his friend made him in the colors of a rainbow flag. The equality sticker. "Are you asking me out? Are you even gay?"

The moment feels like a step beyond surreal.

Phil lifts up his trouser leg. His socks have little rainbows on them. Phil shrugs. "A bit?"

"You're a bit gay, or you're a bit asking me out?"

"Both?" Phil says.

"Okay I get how you can be a bit gay, but - how do you just ask someone out a bit?" Dan asks.

Phil begins to look uncomfortable. "If you don't want to, that's fine. I'll have your hoodie sent-"

"I don't work Sunday night," Dan interrupts him.

"Sunday," Phil repeats, smiling. "Alright. I'll bring the hoodie then. And buy you dinner."

*

Sunday comes, and Sunday goes. Dinner turns into a drink after and then a slow stumble through Dan's doorway with hands and mouths exploring. Monday morning dawns bright and early.

There's a stranger in Dan's bed again, and this time he knows exactly how to feel about it.

[incrediblestudy]

Weight loss thoughts and fat acceptance

Fat acceptance is such an odd thing for me. The reason why I endorse it and have still chosen to lose weight is because it's important to love yourself enough to make the right choices. It's hard to say, for me I've been bigger my whole life. I'm abnormally tall for my sex and have always struggled with weight. For so long still I am made to feel like I do not have the same opportunities and/or worth than people like me that fit conventional ideals. I've struggled (as many have and as excepted in our society) with feeling hideous, monstrous, sub-human and worthless since I was a young child. From my father calling me an ogre to my mother's worried disposition regarding my ability to find a partner. I'm not saying I have it worst or trying to get pity but I'm trying to make clear that this shaped my mentality, my behaviors, my coping skills and the voice inside my head from the moment I first heard someone tell me "you're fat and here's why that makes your life different".

Anyway I don't believe fat is an insult anymore but I find it troublesome how much our society devalues an individual for being overweight or obese. I know and understand firsthand that excessive weight gain has a detrimental effect on health but I believe that the perception of "skinny" is often time enculturally misinterpreted as a picture of health. Anyway that's another thing to go on about at a later time.

I'm talking about the journey of loving yourself enough to pull yourself out of bad coping mechanisms (that is if you're weight is a result of variables that have derived from routine rather than ability). As someone who has gone through the ehm...#weightlossjourney and am still on it -50ish lbs later, a pivotal change in my life was exploring the dysmorphia that came with detaching my mind from my body because I did not want to feel stamped with an identity of gluttony. That didn't feel like me and fat or not most of us struggle with excess in some form, some thing we don't need but find ourselves with due to external factors or just lack of insight.

From looking at myself and listening to that voice created by my classmates, my healthcare providers, extended family, my mother, my father, family friends etc etc and understanding the correct intentions behind them and letting go of shallow nonsense comments that are an inevitable part of the human existence helped me put my head back on my body so to speak.

I began trying to decorate myself, invest in myself, make myself feel good through methods that weren't connected to impulsivity but rather careful, controlled and intentional thoughts. I had to care about myself to make such stark changes. I had to value myself when I felt like the people around me weren't, simply because I was a certain size. I could no longer narrate my everyday with a "who cares you look like shit anyway", a "they won't see anything but your size" the classic "they'll just think you're lazy and stupid" and of course the instantaneous "no one's really gonna love someone like me." It HAD to stop to evoke postive changes and quit feeding into the negative cycle of pure self hatred.

And I did. And...I started to think. I started to love myself enough to change all the things I was doing that wete detrimental to my health. I still have trouble understanding how any of it happened but just slowly but surely, one day I made small changes and set small goals.

I had to accept myself, my body, my fat parts, my height, anything I shot down beforehand had to be celebrated as the vessel that carried me through my days and not to my death. And it didn't come from the people and the products that said I was a problem..it came from caring enough about myself and learning enough about my health to become healthy.

I have to keep reminding myself where I started, how it all began, what I did and where I am now to keep going in the right direction.

Sometime I believe fatness wouldn't be this tough for me if I didn't live in a society that despised the sight of me from a young age. Again I understand obesity is a real health crisis and many times the causes of it is from a fundamentally flawed system of resources, instability and advertisement...but I learned that I needed to feel mentally fit, rid of the searing self hate, to make the changes I did. If you don't love yourself, if you can't look at yourself, if you can't find a fuck to give because society has casted you aside, it's SO DAMN HARD to change yourself.

(Oh and an add on: your healthy may not be the definition of someone's elses. Just talk to your health care provider and establish your baselines. The rest is noise.)

So yeah..love every part and every inch. Invest in yourself and improve yourself but you gotta start with basic self respect.

[alexwinfield-blog1]

ASOS: A Surveillance Of Size

ASOS (AsSeenOnScreen). Where do we begin?

If you were like me, it may have just been brought to your attention that ASOS can be translated into this acronym. In fact, many customers of the brand are not aware of this.

ASOS is an online British fashion and cosmetic retailer, which was founded in 2000. Selling around 850 brands and shipping to over 200 countries worldwide.

For me, ASOS is my holy grail online shopping outlet. If I’m bored? You’ll find me scrolling through ASOS. Distracted in a lecture? (shameful, I know). I’ll probably be weeping at the expense of all the items in my ‘saved items’ list. In desperate need of something to wear for a night out? ASOS will sort me out, for sure.  And the wedding I haven’t been invited to yet? You’ll always find me admiring the pretty dresses. 

What I love about ASOS is that they have such a broad range of clothing, from swimwear to fancy dress inspiration, and even HOMEWARE. You can’t go wrong.

I suppose I could be described as a ‘serial scroller’ when it comes to online shopping. An innocent addiction which quite frankly my bank account takes the hit from. Time. And. Time. Again.

It is almost like ASOS knows how much I want that new summer co-ord with pretty flowery detailing from the latest “summer range drop”, saved in a size 8. And I suppose they also know how many times I’ve put that sparkly pink jumpsuit into my basket, and how long I spend staring at the total before coming to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, £150 is too much to spend on one item of clothing that I’ll probably only wear once, and then Depop later in the year.

You mean they do know?

Damn right! Your edit is where we have put together a collage of your top pics.

You mean they purposefully target my Instagram and Facebook feed with my saved items (or similar) in order to entice me to go back and purchase them?

Oh yes. Subtle, right?

What about my sizing? Surely they haven’t got that figured out too?

Correct! We know you usually fit into a size 8 in tops, an 8 in trousers/skirts and well, jumpers? 12-14. We know you love them oversized!

So, what you’re saying is, I just need to enter my details of my preferred payment method and that’s it?

No way! We aren’t time wasters. We’ve remembered your card details from before (and your boyfriend’s, just in case he ever feels like being extra generous again). No faffing around here.

If you think you’re that smart, what about my delivery address? This girl travels…

No problem. So, you’re normally in Reading, right? We mainly deliver there, but it seems your impulsive purchasing isn’t just restricted to Reading. Because of this, we’ve saved your home address for these occasions. Oh, and when you’re desperate and no one is home. Your mum’s work isn’t shy of a few parcels every now and again, is it?

As demonstrated in the narrative above, ASOS are well and truly the experts at keeping check of our online shopping activity. However, it is important to use the phrase “keeping check” loosely, as the proper term for this type of behaviour analysis can be defined as “surveillance capitalism”. By storing information such as our addresses, card details and most frequently searched items, ASOS is able to create a more efficient process of online shopping for its consumers, meaning that online shopping can be as easy as 1 (finding the items you like), 2 (purchasing these items), 3 (having them delivered to your doorstep).

Lehtiniemi (2017) outlines that “surveillance capitalism encompasses mass dataveillance”, which aims to “regulate and govern” behaviour of individuals engaging in a specific platform, such as the likes of ASOS. Within this platform, technology developers have the power to turn people from “data sources” into “active data subjects”, however at the same time promise to “empower people to take control of processing of personal data”. Here, it could be argued that it perhaps isn’t the case that customers of ASOS are in control of their personal information, in the way that this information is extracted in order to manipulate the routine behaviour of its customers through “targeting” and “personalisation”. Despite ASOS encouraging its customers to give their personal information away in order to receive a better service, ultimately, this is a “profit-turning” exchange which benefits the back pockets of the technology developers within ASOS. This digital economy therefore extracts any personification of these individuals, essentially transforming them into “quantified data”.

So, when we receive emails such as “happy birthday! Here’s a 10% off code” or advertisements on our Facebook feeds, could it be argued that at this point we are no longer viewed as human beings behind a screen? Or a respected customer of ASOS? Are we just contributing to the database of numbers? Numbers which contribute to the “datafication” as well as their profit margins?

When ASOS revamped their website in late 2018, personally, it came as a shock to me that out of nowhere, ASOS seemed to know my sizing, and this fluctuated for different types of clothes, so I was impressed that it could recommend all these different sizes. However, what baffled me the most about this concept was that I had never given ASOS any of my measurements. But this was the thing. It was then that I realised that ASOS was pretty much guessing my size on each occasion, and it just happened to be that 9 times out of 10, they matched the size I would most likely buy. UNTIL… when writing this, I checked again.

So, you want to buy this dress?

Let’s say you’re a new customer to ASOS. You haven’t ordered from there before and you average around sizes 8-10 in most items of clothing. You aren’t aware that in order for this sizing match feature to be most effective, you need to enter not only your ‘tummy’ measurements, but your bust, waist and lower hip (whatever that’s supposed to mean). However, you are often very conscious of your body shape, regularly feeling like summer clothes like this will look silly on you. Nevertheless, feeling confident that you can definitely rock this look, you click ‘add to basket’. But not too fast! Before ASOS holds this in your basket for you, you are faced with a size recommendation. Oh, a size 12. You’ve never bought a dress in a size 12 before and you feel slightly bemused. You love things to be oversized, but not a DRESS? This knocks you back even further, resulting in you feeling even more body conscious than you did before.

This can be deceiving until you enter your personal details. As someone who doesn’t keep track of their weight, when entering my details to demonstrate this feature, I was surprised to feel extremely vulnerable. Who is seeing this information? And how will it be used? 

And this was the outcome...

The point I am trying to make here is that this feature can either make online shopping a hassle-free, more efficient process, or alternatively in some cases, a very daunting and humiliating procedure. Here’s why. In today’s society where women and men often find themselves being defined by their appearance, I was left feeling what I can only describe as frustratingly stunned when Victoria Secret welcomed Barbara Palvin as their new ‘plus sized’ model to their ‘Angel’ community.

You can make a judgement for yourself about whether you agree to this label of ‘plus sized’.

Although an extreme link, which may only apply to very few of ASOS’ customers, it is estimated that 1.7% to 2.4% of the world’s population suffers with Body Dysmorphic Disorder (BDD). That’s 1 in nearly every 50 people. This disorder is characterised by negative thoughts about one’s perceived flaws, which burdens them every day. These thoughts have potential to interfere with the daily functioning of one’s life, leaving them feeling extremely distressed, often resulting in isolation from friends and family in fear that people around them may notice these ‘flaws’. However, the reality of this disorder is that no amount of convincing or reassuring can encourage someone to believe that these thoughts are irrational, and that no one else is thinking the same as them.

So, despite ASOS asking for your age, your height and your weight, with the innocent intention of improving your online shopping experience through a more personal approach, why can shopping online now feel as though we are having a routine check up at the doctors every time we sign in? Is it essential that ASOS withholds all of this information about us? It is unearthly that a computer calculates these numbers every time we want to do some shopping?

I took to Twitter to see what people thought about this new size recommendation feature, and this is what I found:

What do you think?

Has this sizing feature hindered or enhanced your shopping experience with ASOS?

References:

Lehtiniemi, T. (2017). Personal data spaces: An intervention in surveillance capitalism. Surveillance and Society, 15 (5), 626-639.

Cherrington, R. (2017). ASOS Is Guessing What Size Its Customers Are, And They're Not Happy About It. Retrieved from: https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/asos-size-recommendation_uk_58871c69e4b02085409924c3

[fadedstarlight]

the stars will sing for you, one day. hope is what dreamers rely upon, so don’t lose it. even if it means the end of everything you know.

a crumpled tee shirt, plastered directly to her face. an exhausted arm brushes it aside with a disgruntled moan, the moan of someone who was having a terribly nice dream and was woken up by the most inconsiderate rays of morning grace. thanks, morning, she mutters to herself. comforter pushed aside, beads of sweat rolling off the bangs matted to her temples, may allows her body the respite of cool floorboards, chilling her aching body. wait, why is my body aching? where is my home? where am i? startled eyes, dizzy from the relentless waves of heat, burst open with fervor known only to the insane and the driven. there were a lot of questions, of course. that’s human nature. staring up at the ceiling, a small fan twirls daintily. this isn’t right, she keeps saying to herself. this can’t be right.

no answers can be fulfilled lying face-up on the floor, so in a flurry of movement, may was upright at last. tenatively, she made out the visage of fate that lay before her:

a half-eaten pizza. thrown lazily over a laptop.

why is there a pizza here?! i don’t even like pizza!

may took this opportunity of pure speculative confusion to observe the furnishings around her– a bed with no frame, laid at the end of the room with pastel flowers adorning the comforter; a small, yet thoughtful rug that looked incredibly soft if layed upon, if there weren’t a black cat sitting directly in the center of it, enjoying the sun; a desk with the aforementioned pizza laptop at the other end of the room; and a communist flag pinned to the wall with two small knives.

cool.

i need to find a fan.

PROLOGUE

1 maybe this is the beginning of something new.

maybe this is the end of something ancient.

maybe this simply is.

2 she can’t do it alone.

be strong, may. be strong. run fast, head high, legs pumping– as long as you are going away from what you once were. that, dear, was a fate worse than death.

i don’t think death itself envies you, to be honest.

3 if you keep walking, maybe eventually possibly you can wake up from this and it will all be better.

but you know, you can’t outrun fate.

fate has its own tendrils that operate on their own terms and own laws and own everything and it doesn’t give a shit if it hurts you. because it has a job. and it’s doing a pretty great job at that job, and it probably doesn’t like that job but it doesn’t have a choice because its fate bosses tell it to do that job or else it’ll lose its fate job in its fate cubicle making a fate wage so it can feed its fate family. and they have their own fates, too, forcing them into this fate paradox that never seems to pause or contemplate why it does that, as if that too has a fate that it was predestined for.

my head hurts,

i really need some coffee. when was the last time i had something to drink? it was a day ago, probably. it’s not like, out here, i have much to go off of in terms of resources. if the winter chill nipping at my fingertips could be as filling as they are annoying, i’d never have to eat or drink anything again. now i’m hungry too. i am kind of wandering the wilderness, so i suppose i’m not too surprised. but i still am. in an apathetic kind of way. like, i will be conscious of what is happening, think to myself, oh, well i should do something about this, and never actually act upon it. even now i feel like im just watching a movie of someone else who just so happens to be traversing the alaskan landscape in search of something that isn’t there, wondering what their motivations are. gnawing on popcorn, sucking down heaven’s nectar and in the calming embrace of separate souls, lapping up the emotional buffet such a connection offers to one so malnourished. certainly sounds good right about now.

but i’ve accepted that, after about the nineteenth mile of uninterrupted walking, i understood that my entire existence was to never be ‘good’. good is the term that people never meant for anything say to quantify their meaningless lives by trying to find purpose in purposeless things. they have to do something for 80 years before they kick the bucket, right? grass doesn’t have things to look forward to, to aspire to be, to discuss, yet here it is, frozen and pale in the face of winter’s countenance, tenderly caressing its neck with its white-hot temptation. and grass doesn’t hurt anybody, either. all grass ever did was be green and be eaten by things who like hurting other things. grass has feelings, too, but no one cares. because it’s grass. and we are people, but honestly, we’re so much worse than grass. grass deserves more good its life than we have ever had. grass hasn’t killed other grasses. grass just wants to be the best grass it can be and it tries so fucking hard to be that. its grass parents must be so proud of it.

i wish i were grass.

4 stars wink at me sometimes. their flirtatious personalities are intoxicating, which makes it all the more heartbreaking when i realize the distance between them and i. i wish i could be up there with them, and succumb to their allure, be subject to the countless stories and thoughts, their transcendental banter, their flaws and fears and fate all lined up for me to gorge upon with all senses in wide-eyed stupor. the stars have their qualms about the universe too, i’m sure. but to be a celestial body must have its perks, too. for one, you never have to worry about not having enough time. you’re the largest measurer of time, only trumped in its universal dominance by the ones who set them there at all. also, you’re friends with other stars, whether they like it or not. your galaxy would be, essentially, a set of unbreakable friendships. you’re all orbiting each other, invariably destined to meet in a cataclysmic reuniting. it’s poetic: tragic and moving and short-lived yet unmistakably important to those involved, for they are foreverchanged with unmistakablelove. those were books i was writing on before i began this wandering journey into eternal oblivion. i doubt they’ll get finished, but it’s the fact that i tried at all that makes it powerful.

5 now, as i wrap my cardigan around my knees and crush the life out of these frozen leaves with my weight it must bear, i contemplate the purpose of my existence as an individual among individuals. is it true that some are destined to live in the solitary confinement of their shadow, as a mere instrument of mimicry? that is all i have become. to serve the whims of another, willing to destroy the whole of my being just to catch another glimpse of him, to prove i have life worth living, pulsing throughout my chest. but now i sit, cracked, with my split soul, breathing life into these leaves, similarly cracked, and similarly dead, and similarly subservient to me. this is hope leaving my body. i can feel its warmth pour in drops at first, yet slowly collecting into a technicolor pool, paled slightly by my tears added to the mixture. i like pastels anyway.

it has been pouring since the encounter. whatever it touches lives again. my goal is to find the man. and hug him. and let the torrent of tears stain his jacket, and my soul to drench him in his ignorance, to heal him, for he is the broken one, not i. i am not cruel. i am not beyond help. neither is he. no one is evil. he is confused. i am confused. we are confused. i will heal him.

6 you ever have those dreams that seemingly go on for decades, that build their own narratives and relationships and struggles that become all the more important than your own as you reside within them for those few brief hours of rest? where you remember every detail of your fictional love’s morning routine, as it was your favorite part of waking up, watching them dance while brushing their teeth, and sing in the shower way too loud letting yourself join in and not caring about the fact that both sound like a duet of cats dying in the rhythm of california gurls? where you remember the pain of losing imaginary loved ones, those ones whom your entire being was poured into, that made you the best fictional person you could possibly be. where you wake up in tears because you died crying, in a hospital bed, not sure what would be on the other side, and it just so happens to be that this actual, tangible life was the alternative, even though you would probably prefer a legitimate death without this purposeless, lifeless existence you actually inhabit being a purgatory for the next 60 years. those dreams have been appearing to me more and more recently, and i’m sure there’s a reason for their occurrences. maybe its because of this crisp wilderness air constantly barraging me with endless strokes of its mighty wind, or the fact that i haven’t seen another person in three days, or eaten in almost two, or the fact that i’m kind of disintegrating before my very eyes. the puddle my heart has left keeps a nice warm patch on the ground where the grass has been reborn, but aside from that i am cold. very cold. i can see some lights in the distance, kind of like a hazy sea of distant fireflies, gracefully following their own solo lines while maintaining the integrity of the whole symphony simultaneously. it’s rather pretty. if it weren’t for this hypnotic flurry of flickering, i would pass it. but i am intrigued. what stories will lie here, who knows. i can only pray they will leave me more answers than questions.

7 as my eyelids rush to meet each other as soon as those faint, flickering lights form distinct rectangles, i find myself feeling oddly at peace with everything. as i give in to gravity and the earth whispers my name, may, may, lay your weary head upon my shoulder and allow me to bear your burden, all things become so very obvious. alike the situation that placed me here, skull against skin against upturned earth, i succumb to alluring temptation once more, with the knowledge that my limbs, although leaden, have lead me farther in this time alone than they ever had in the life i lead before, and that was a comforting thought. maybe this all was a worthwhile endeavor, as the crash of footstep berates my sensitive ears with their screeching calls.

if i had known he would be the stars, and the grass, and the earth, and all other things, maybe i wouldn’t have come here. it’s all intertwined, there’s no escaping this or that or anything or nothing because even absence leaves a gaping hole in my chest that leaks out like a starving child begging for sustenance, as tears flow and fears grow and lives are snuffed out, one by one. i would rather take their place, there. some of those starving people who will never have a chance could have a chance if i allowed them to have it. i’ve wasted my life, on things that never really mattered or cared, but they could have done something amazing, gone on to change the world forever, instead of having the soul sucked out of them as life pours out of their eyes like tears so similar. i wonder if anyone feels the same way about me, that i could be something great if i were only capable of and given the chance. i think about that a lot. the possibility of something else, of renewal, of happiness. it’s simply a thought, but it’s a thought worth thinking of.

8 i was asleep for a day, i was asleep for a thousand days. time is a petty quandary anyhow.

what was true was the tears – millions upon millions of tears begotten by the tortures of millions upon millions of demons locked away in one solitary skull. sleep was never my friend; sleep never attended birthday parties or called late at night to make sure arteries were intact or laughed at dumb jokes or anything like that. sleep was the listless vixen that cloyed at my mind, always tempting me to the brink of exhaustion but ever allowing me to partake, never allowing me anything but the utter agony of lack of control. but this was especially horrid, as the role had been reversed. now lady list had her tendrils firmly secured, her jaw relentlessly locked on my consciousness. left to her mercy once more, the agony poured from my eyes in steamy globs one after another as the pain throbbed in my temples because the temple of solitude within my mind had been breached ad neverendum. i was forced to play out the pain of my past as her poison passed through my porous brain, a catalyst for the horrors of the may that once experienced them to be rejuvenated with enthralled vigor once more. i was worse than dead. it should have left me there, to die in my own pity, convulsing and confused and scared. but that would be too convenient. eventually, her poison drained from the wounds i had inflicted myself, numerous and agonizing in their own right. i had to. it was required. i couldn’t stand the thought of it all anymore. you can only handle so much.

we’re only human.

well, most of us.

9 my eyes, shrouded with glistening stars that swirled around nauseously as i took in my surroundings, danced across this unfamiliar environment. scuttling feet enveloping my senses, in all senses but sight: no matter how hard i tried to focus on the brittle tile that sent shivers cascading through my body, no clarity ever emerged. i was left with a vague sense of the location i was residing within: the floor of a tavern. freezing, filthy. i was apparently dragged inside with no real thought as to my condition or situation: for if these fumbling buffoons were to realize the seriousness of my predicament they would surely be healing my every wound and bowing their head to the bobbing of mine, attempting to raise my upper body. neither of these conclusions were to be fully realized, though i thought myself a queen for a time: to control all things with but a mere breath, to flaunt one’s ability and status with crooning grace and fullness; capable of destroying the lives of those around me but being empathetic enough to allow their lives sustenance for another day, and letting the reaper grow thin and his scythe rusty due to my own diligence. i would be the master of mortality, able to move any single, simple soul to accomplish this countenance’s humble requests. one could actually compare these actions to those of

UP. AWAKE,. I, I FEEL, COLD. . WHERE IS MY HEART? ? IT’S BEEN BLEEDING ALL OVER THIS DAMNED FLOOR. MUDDYING UP THE BOOTS OF THOSE UNACCUSTOMED TO SUCH LOWLY TRIBULATIONS THAT ONE OF MY OWN STATURE MUST ENDURE. SO SORRY, , MADAME, MISTER, I SHALL ALL AT ONCE CLEAN MY PLACE AND PERSON AS TO BE AS TRIFLING OF A INCONVENIENCE AS POSSIBLE, I MOST WHOLEHEARTEDLY ASSURE YOU THIS IS COMMONPLACE FOR PEOPLE WITH ISSUES SUCH AS MINE OH YES PLEASE DONT TOUCH IT YOU’LL BURN YOURSELF. YOU’LL BE DAMAGED. WHYA RE YOU STARING/? AT ME LIKE HTAT? OH I MUST HAVE BEEN INTRUSIVE MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES I SHALL PACK MY BELONGINGS AND GO PLEASE SIR FINE SIR MOVE ASIDE, ,,, WHY ARE YOU STANDING THERE, UNMOVING AND UNBLINKING AS IF THE WORLD HAS NEVER GRACED YOU WITH AN IMMOVABLE BEAUTY SUCH AS I? HOW RUDE OF YOU, I SHALL

run run run. run. run run? run, yes, yet my legs waver and mind shakes at the onset of actuality. this is not good. i must change course, find solace in the upstairs rooms, where i will surely pay for my intrusion into somehow. these awestruck peoples have been stagnant since my arousal, how peculiar– and this is coming from me! each step is as if my whole soul is to be thrust into the heat of a battle, and each cell inside my body are the unwavering yet unwilling soldiers who understand their demise is necessary and inevitable in order to protect those who admonish them on home soil as their greed stockpiles as quickly as complacency grows. i have been here for hours, it seems, attacking these cursed slopes that haunt my every movement, as i clamor up their taunting, unnervingly pearl-white faces. my chest heaves and my screams are apparent, but they are wholly necessary for the process at work here: yet still oblivious onlookers seem more interested in the past than present. the solid oak door moans as loudly as i: please, come inside me, come in and never leave, you are mine and always was. i was always one to give into temptation. the door swings with greased hinges, carrying me as momentum forces me to land on the bed directly in front of m-

ow. now i’m unconscious again, aren’t i? who knows how long i’ll be trapped in here. it’s pretty rank, too. i never much cared for it. i’d trade it out for a new one in a moment if i were able to, but those sorts of things are only what can come true in fantasy, and not reality, this reality of cracked and flowing hearts and polished white floors and hungry doors waiting to consume their next meal. this is reality. and i try so hard to convince myself that yes, reality is something worth fighting for, and here i am, at its mercy once again.

at least the floor is warm now.

[paganchristian]

The Blue Angels, we saw one day at a park, practicing their routine.  Routine.  For show.  Dangerous, well I don’t know how dangerous it is, for them who have practiced and trained and are experts at it, but of course it would scare me if I could ride in one, along for the ride.  Zooming by at racing speeds.  Blue angel.  Sad angel.  It makes me think.  

(Note: After I wrote all of this, I thought, maybe this sounds overly-negative and stereotyping of religion, and I know that certain religions and denominations are different, but for the religious group I am drawn to, these things seem common, based on my observations.  I know that not all religious people are like this,... And in the group I’m drawn to, as well, they do not all fall into all of these stereotypes,..  anymore than humans in general and culture and morals in human society, regardless of religion, fall for the same traps,..  

But in order to make sense of what I so commonly see, I have to air the dirty laundry and see what I so often see, in detail.  Even though many religious teachings actually warn and condemn the things that I speak of below, still, the truth is hypocrisy is rampant.  It’s like the whole, “Might makes right”, again, because maybe people in power do promote some good things, but they say how and when they have to be done in certain ways, and they say what you can and can’t say about it all.  Some go against the whole might makes right and think outside the box, see through some negative or contradictory messages in religions, and choose to lay them aside, and focus on the more positive and logical things in it, and the things that work within their own experiences.  That is what I want to do.  To make my own experiential, personal Jesus (ah yes, thank you, Depeche Mode, for that phrase).  The one who gives me messages, and signs and ideas that oftentimes go outside of religious rules and criticize them and promote things that are taboo in religion.  So that is what I want to talk about here...  Anyway, so that being said, here are the thoughts stirred up with the thoughts of the Blue Angels. 

It makes me think of more associations for me, feeding my mind’s intuitions and connections of ideas to express what I can’t say, that’s repressed. Suppressed, maybe a better word, yet to me it doesn’t contain the extent of stifling and unconscious dissociative forgetfulness that the trauma does to me when I try to think of certain things.  They bubble up to the surface, they sit there, halfway visible through the murky water, but then if I try to get closer, see them more clearly, they vanish again.  

Hmm,...  so let’s see,...  We are supposed to be angelic, to be fast, that is to say always busy, to do a lot, stay purposeful, never aimless, don’t be idle,...  and we’re for show.  We have to show the world our beliefs, show God we believe and are willing to do what he wants, and serve him, amply serve him, we have to spread our beliefs all around, and prove our loyalty in action so we know it’s not just words and thoughts, but “the real thing”.  

Religious things are for show, to prove we measure up, to correct our not measuring up and failing, the prescription for that, that they give, that we’re supposed to follow, if we believe what they say.  That is one association.  We are blue, we are sad,...  We are supposed to be sad, solemn, humble, serious, ever thinking of Heaven (and of Hell, and what to do to save ourselves and others so we go to Heaven and not Hell,...  And, so we don’t waste our lives with idleness and fun but always do somber, serious, good deeds, religious rituals, to prove our worthiness and show it, to ourselves, so we can know that we’re going to Heaven, and to others, so they can agree, yes, we’re going to Heaven, we’re safe, we’re good, not evil,... And so we can be  good example to save others too so that they can be helped with our example and likewise hopefully go to Heaven and not Hell.  And so they can be changed and transformed by our prayers too, so they can go to Heaven and not Hell, hopefully, because bit by bit the energy of our prayers an the grace we have obtained through God and the saints will influence them, maybe so slowly and outside of our external actions and awareness, working in their hearts.  So we have to perform by praying, praying, all the time.  ).   And the funny thing is I think some of this is really somewhat true, but not all the way.  There are holes and flaws in this simple, pared down paradigm. 

We are supposed to be for others, if the “others” here includes God, who can include and thus transcend all others, as for those who live lives of religious isolation ...  live for others, be selfless, giving, loving, whether by prayer or by action, but both are valid, even if we spend our time doing nothing but praying, not spending time with them, or nothing but trying to be a moral example to them and teach them, rather than interacting with their real feelings, ideas, and thoughts.  The grace of God can change them by our mystical energy and influence, that way.   And it seems like it’s really all for show for others, flashing by and performing feats for others, (or for our religious authorities as in the case of monastic life, and then, for the internalized God figure in our minds...  Which we have imbibed so thoroughly we believe totally in the God we made in our own image, because I do believe in God, but not the one they depict, in some ways).  

We are always trying, or thinking we should try, ...  to spend all our time just rushing to perform feats for others, or slaving away in religious rituals, either way working so hard, doing so much, never rest, idleness is the devil’s plaything.  Work of the soul, or of the body, or both, but work, work, never rest.  Or if you get to rest, you rest only in God’s presence, once again the rest is found inside of the work of worship, which starts to feel like joy and not work, once you are spiritually advanced enough,... And, so again, if you dare to say you’re not finding rest in the worship of God, then you have to repent and work hard, till you are given grace from God so that you can do better, because a good soul will find rest in God.  All the rest and all the joy they need they will find in either God and/or in serving others. 

We train hard our whole lives through but it makes it look so easy because we practiced our lives away to get so good at it you can’t see any strain in our actions and our behavior and our demeanor.  We look at peace, confident, and it all seems totally fitting and right. 

And with all this training, there is no time for just living, without an agenda and moral judgment for every action we take, ...  And we can’t just be spontaneous, ...  we have to make it look easy, though it’s rehearsed.  But we make it look easy, instead, like our whole life is authentically nothing but this performance, a sincere, willing, heartfelt performance.  If we fail we have to redirect our efforts not towards understanding why we failed or if we are allowed to fail but towards groveling for forgiveness and seeking to perfect our act, training, training, or if we know it’s actually an act, we hide that as much as we can because we keep trying till we can make the act real, and we’re too scared and ashamed to do anything but hide it from those who would attack us. We are too scared of Hell or of just being a bad person altogether, according to the ideas we’ve been taught,...  So we hide from our own minds the fact that we cannot even do this, that it’s not sincere, that it’s fake.  

The working hard, the training and striving and performing...  Is supposed to be our purpose in life.  It’s taught to us that this struggle is the only real, true way to be good, ...  It’s the only real authentic way of caring for what is in our hearts and souls, so it’s not really supposed to be a performance or just for show.  At least, that is what they say.  If you can make yourself believe it.  

And we humans and our minds are not that logical beyond a certain point, quite unconscious oftentimes, despite our illusions to the contrary,...  So because of that, if you tell yourself something enough times over and over every day and have it forced on you by your whole social environment too,... Well, you’ll believe it in time.  And if you have a whole set of rituals, books, and so on, prayers, fear-based ideas and belief and it all comes together and you believe.  The belief can last your whole life through.  Especially for the authorities you’re supposed to follow and to defer all your power and thought to their better judgment, supposedly better judgment.  And your friends, your family, all in social solidarity, uphold the illusion. For those in authority, they also sign away their freedom.  Everyone is in a hierarchy, and Everyone enforces the standards of behavior, belief and performance and the whole lifestyle, so very tight-knit and so very blanketing everything in your whole world you can’t see though this thick veil that distorts and outright blocks and alternative way of seeing or being.  The authorities aren’t free from pressure and being controlled.  They’re controlled by the need to measure up and be respected... the role they’ve been trained into from the time they were little beginner people aspiring on the path to being one of them, one of the ones who serve, who submit to the values they’ve been shaped and wrapped around with their whole lives growing up till at maybe their 20s they choose to do what is right, what they’ve been taught and compelled to believe is right their whole lives. 

[maheklxul]

Final Project

The year is 2022. It has been two years since the coronavirus pandemic hit America. Half the global population has been wiped out, mainly depleting Africa first, then Asia and Europe. There is no semblance of a normal life left. Schools are closed indefinitely, with remote learning losing traction as well. People have no hope for the future. Suicide rates are higher than ever. Any semblance of a cure that scientists develop fails to be a global solution. The virus is mutating and changing drastically at an unprecedented rate; scientists cannot keep up. Some companies have given up trying to find a cure calling it an impossible task. Other scientists have devoted their time to figuring out what is causing the virus to behave like this. There seems to be no valid explanation.

Zyler lives in a small apartment tucked into a corner of New York City. He graduated high school during the pandemic, and college is not in his prospect. He works at a gas station down the road from his home. He lives with his cat, Menchie who is the only semblance of family he has left. He walks home and begins his nightly routine of feeding himself and his cat. “Menchie!” he calls. She doesn’t appear which is unusual; feeding time is Menchie’s favorite time of day. He searches around his tiny apartment with no luck. He noticed the window was open to the fire escape and hears screeching coming from the roof. There is a small flying vehicle parked on the roof. A dark figure stands in front of it holding Menchie. He feels a hand on his back, and then loses consciousness.  

Zyler awakes in a room that looks like a laboratory made entirely stainless steel. “Have I been kidnapped?” he thinks to himself. Something about the scene does not make sense. He has been abducted but kept alive. He can walk freely around the room but cannot get out. He begins to examine the machinery he is surrounded with. ‘RPISRC’ is written on pretty much everything.

“Ah, the final subject has awoken,” says an eerie voice standing at the door. Startled, Zyler whips around and then freezes. Whatever he is staring at is definitely not a human being. The creature looks like something straight out of a science fiction show. In a desperate attempt to escape, Zyler ran towards the door, but the alien swiftly stopped him. “Call me Maldovar. You have questions, I know. Normally we don’t give into human curiosity. In fact, you’re one of the few humans that has even gotten the chance to see us in the flesh. You are our final subject and we decided to give you all the answers before ridding of your race for good,” Maldovar says while smiling at Zyler. The alien looks proud, Zyler is numb. He doesn’t know if he’s dreaming or if this is really the end. “What do these aliens want? What does it mean by ‘subject’? Where are we?” These thoughts and more flew through Zyler’s mind at a million miles an hour.

“Stop thinking so much Zyler, I can hear all your thoughts. It’s incredibly distracting. Our species is called Maldovarians. We discovered your planet long before humans came into existence. We have watched your planet grow and be destroyed over millions of years. Up until now, your moon was our home. You idiots ignored the conspirators that told you the moon was hollow, but that only played to our advantage. We have been able to peacefully conduct our research on the universe and develop our plan to take over the Milky Way,” Maldovar begins his explanation. 

“What are you researching?” Zyler questions. 

“Immortality. The nitrogen in your atmosphere is essential for us. We have depleted our sources of nitrogen in this area, including your very own Pluto. Eventually, it came time for us to find a bigger and better home. We always knew this home would be Earth. When humans started evolving, we weren’t yet ready to move. We considered stopping your evolution immediately, but decided watching Earth grow would be our source of entertainment,” Zyler cuts off Maldovar.

“Entertainment?! Humans are the most intelligent species, not a source of entertainment!” Zyler exclaimed. 

“Hah! Intelligent?! Look around, we have had this technology for millions of years, you can’t even begin to imagine what else there is in the universe. We knew that no matter how quickly humans evolved, they would never catch up to the level of intellectual and technological advancement that we have. We will become immortal and the universe is infinite. It is a perfect match. You don’t belong here. We created the coronavirus 25 years ago as we began preparing to rid of the human population. We did our first trial run in 2002, but it was a major failure. You may remember it as SARS coronavirus. Luckily, we knew we had until 2020 to perfect the virus. We plucked you out one by one to test our virus. Do you know how we choose? Do you know why you were chosen?”

Zyler is stunned. “Because I’m alone,” he responds.

The alien continues, “Precisely. We take the orphans, the elderly, the homeless, the starved people in third world countries. People who will not be missed. In a way, we reduced the suffering of these lonely humans. After thinking that we perfected the deadliest virus, we released it in Wuhan, China fully knowing about the xenophobia this would cause. We needed to give the humans something or someone to blame. China was an easy victim. Humans are always ready to turn on each other. That’s your biggest flaw. You could never be as successful as some other alien species because you cannot even work together to run one planet. Anyways,the success of the virus is unquestionable, but the death rates began to slow. We needed something that was completely foreign to your bodies, but we could not give any evidence of extraterrestrial interference. We could not risk the integrity of our plan. I wish we had realized sooner that the best way to destroy you was in your own solar system. We extracted samples from Mars until we found significant amounts of microbial creatures. You’ve seen the machines around you. We use these to infuse the virus with microbial DNA that is completely foreign to your species. The new virus is made to target all the important microorganisms in human bodies and shut down their most important DNA sequences. Once we release this, it’s only a matter of days before the rest of the population is wiped out.”

“So what do you need from me? Am I the last test before you release the virus on Earth?”

“It’s more complicated than that. You need to be the one to begin the spread. If you don’t do this, you will be used for future non-fatal testing at our lab on Earth. You cat will be used to spread the virus instead. We have nothing against the domestic pets of your kind, we do not plan on killing them or the animals of your planet. In fact, we are quite fond of cats and would care for them just as you do. We do need to keep a select group of humans around to help us through unexpected earthly problems. You could be one of them if you choose not to spread the virus, but then you will have to watch the rest of your species go extinct,” explains Maldovar.

Zyler has to choose between singlehandedly being the direct cause of the end of humanity or being a lab rat for the rest of his life. Staying alive is what human instinct always calls for, but that instinct is gone. Zyler does not want to live in a world that he watched get destroyed. Life is not worth it if he’s going to be in alien captive for the rest of his life. There is no way out of this. Humanity needs to end. The virus wins. Maldovarians win. 

 Austin, J. (2017, February 23). 'Hollow Moon that rings like a bell put into orbit by ancient ALIENS', shock theory claims. Retrieved May 7, 2020, from https://www.express.co.uk/news/weird/771246/Hollow-Moon-theory-aliens

-         The hollow moon theory is something I heard about a few weeks ago. It basically says that the moon is hollow and different conspiracists have different theories about what is inside. Some say it is a satellite and some believe there is actual life inside of it. The ‘evidence’ people cite includes the moon ringing like a bell when it is struck (the hollowness of a bell is what makes the sound reverberate). There is actually scientific evidence of this happening. Seismic equipment shows that the moon has had tremors lasting between 55 minutes and over 3 hours after being struck. Of course, the data collected by NASA is not suggesting that the moon is hollow, but it feeds the fire of conspiracy theorists.

-         I wanted to use this popular theory as a setting for the aliens because it is something that at least some Earthlings will get behind as they read the story. I don’t believe there is any truth to this but I am never opposed to entertaining bizarre ideas.

Boston, P. J., Ivanov, M. V., & McKay, C. P. (1922, February). On the possibility of chemosynthetic ecosystems in subsurface habitats on Mars. Retrieved May 7, 2020, from https://www-sciencedirect-com.proxy.library.nyu.edu/science/article/pii/0019103592900459

-         This publication by Boston, Ivanov, and McKay explores the possibility of microbial life on Mars. Although it is now well known that water has been found on Mars, the search for organisms is still ongoing. I recently learned that NASA is launching a mission to Mars in July despite being amidst of the coronavirus pandemic. I am citing this article because it gives insight as to what kind of life could be found on Mars.

-         Photosynthetic life has essentially been ruled out due to the conditions on Mars, so life that relies on inorganic materials such as carbon dioxide is the remaining most practical possibility. From basic biology, we know that human exposure to any foreign substance causes a reaction. With coronavirus, we see just how damaging foreign bodies can be. If a terrestrial virus can cause such a global upheaval, then I cannot help but wonder what would happen if microorganisms collected from Mars during NASA’s next mission were to accidentally be released from their labs.

-         I used this source to legitimize the idea of the aliens in my story being able to extract the organisms from Mars and expose humans to them.

MacCabe, Colin Yanacek Holly. Keywords For Today: a 21st Century Vocabulary. OXFORD UNIV Press, 2018.

-         This source is a compilation of terms that are evolving in modern times. I used this source to draw inspiration for how to include diversity in my story. Specifically, I looked at terms like diversity, European, family, and humanity. I consider people who lack any sort of family to be some of the least privileged people. Not all family is by blood, some even consider friends to be family. But still, there are people in this world who are completely alone and maybe for some that is okay, but for most this is a painful thing. I used my story to exploit the fact these people can be easily taken advantage of in the world. It is an unfortunate reality. I also exploited the fact that most people do not care what is happening in third-world countries. In my story, only their families will know that their children or parents have gone missing, but no one is going to make a fuss about it. Even in America there are so many missing person cases that go unsolved and definitely do not break news headlines. The aliens in my story took advantage of the ignorant nature of humans on Earth.

Seeger, C., & Sohn, J. A. (2014, January). Targeting Hepatitis B Virus With CRISPR/Cas9. Retrieved May 7, 2020, from https://www-sciencedirect-com.proxy.library.nyu.edu/science/article/pii/S2162253116303559

-         This publication by Seeger and Sohn talks about the technology CRISPR (clustered regularly interspaced short palindromic repeats) and how it has been used with viruses. This specific experiment was done with the hepatitis B virus. My motivation for reading this source was to make sure CRISPR could successfully target the desired gene sequence in a virus. The fictional aliens in my writing are meant to be portrayed as advanced creatures who know everything about the coronavirus since they are the ones that created it. Assuming this information, I wanted to be sure that there exists technology for them to edit the virus as they wish.

-         Traditionally, CRISPR technology is used to kill the virus, but RPISRC, the alien technology, does the exact opposite. From my knowledge of CRISPR technology and this article, I believe CRISPR makes it possible for bacteria to find specific harmful gene sequences in viruses and then sends an enzyme (Cas9) to shut down that part of the DNA from being expressed. Through the fictional alien technology, the viruses target the essential bacteria inside human bodies causing them to shut down. The goal of the aliens is to quickly remove the human population and this method is faster than releasing a traditional virus that we have seen disproportionally affect immuno-compromised people.

[silentauroriamthereal]

How Mary Morstan destroyed the moral centre of BBC Sherlock

So let me just start by saying that no one wants two-dimensional, black-and-white characters. Flawed people are normal, believable, more interesting, more relatable. That’s all fine. What the first two series of Sherlock gave us was:

1. Sherlock Holmes: A self-appointed detective, occasional (mostly past, seemingly) drug user who solves crimes as a puzzle to keep his overactive mind occupied. Rude to people, a trait born more out of impatience to get on with saving lives without being hampered by other people’s relative slowness, and possible also because he falls somewhere on the autism spectrum and struggles with social skills. Tries to believe that he is cold, emotionless, but the opposite is palpably true: his facial reaction when Moriarty destroys the old woman in The Great Game. This line: “This hospital’s full of people dying, Doctor. Why don’t you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?” (Read: wasting time wringing our hands won’t save this person’s life.) This exchange:

John: Charming. Well done.  Sherlock: Just saving her time. Isn’t that kinder? (Read: He attempts to be kind, successful or otherwise.

Sherlock’s face when he sees John wearing the bomb jacket in The Great Game. Sherlock admitting his fear in The Hound of the Baskervilles. Sherlock showing compassion by rescuing Irene in A Scandal in Belgravia. Sherlock’s tear as he was saying goodbye to John in The Reichenbach Fall. These two series are full of evidence that Sherlock absolutely does care about people, so much so that his brother reminds him to be wary of sentiment as though it’s an old refrain, routinely repeated. And the final touch: “I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.” That’s it in a nutshell: Sherlock is no angel – but he is indubitably on their side. He solves crimes. He stops criminals from their actions. He saves lives. He is, despite his surface rudeness, a good person.

2. John Watson: An ex-army captain and doctor with an appetite for adrenaline, an inability to settle into civilian life, post-traumatic shock nightmares, and a dangerous violent streak. A man with a “strong moral centre” who waits until he believes it absolutely necessary to kill, then does it cleanly, quickly, humanely when he thinks he must. John is such an interesting mix. In one way of looking at it, there’s a lot more dark in him than there is in Sherlock. Something obviously went wrong in his family, too, as not one of his immediate family attended his wedding. There’s some resentment there, some thirst to prove his worth – and a corresponding hyper-willingness to assume that people doubt it, that people place blame on him, that they find him wanting in some way. Trust issues, indeed.

And yet he’s the one who’s mindful of when Sherlock is stepping on toes and hurting feelings, the first to pull him into line, to make sure he doesn’t go too far. They’re such a good team this way: John came back from the war with a hand tremor that made it impossible for him to practise medicine and a psychosomatic limp and blasted-up shoulder that made it impossible for him to be the “war hero” Sherlock describes him as during their first cab ride. They fit each other perfectly: Sherlock gives John a safe outlet to let out his demons and channel them into being a hero again, cures him of his impediments almost just by believing him unshakably, always, without one shred of doubt, no matter what his sharp-edged humour might suggest, even giving him back the ability to practise medicine again, and in turn John provides Sherlock with equanimity: someone to come home to, eat with, be normal with, someone who will save him from going too far either verbally or into the deeps to search out a criminal there, who will follow him down and shoot the criminals off his back. They save each other. They do good work: they’re good people.

And then series 3 gave us Mary. Mary the former secret agent gone rogue, Mary who kills for the highest bidder (confirmed in The Six Thatchers), Mary who scales a building pregnant to intimidate or kill a man who is blackmailing her. Mary who shoots a friend in the heart rather than accept his help and request his secrecy, or his help in breaking the truth to John. Mary the pathological liar, who layers lie upon lie upon lie, and feels that she should never have to apologise for anything, including all of these lies. Mary, who got snippy and resentful over John’s “months of silence” after she tried to murder his best friend, as though he had no right to his anger. Mary, who denied John the right to have a say in naming his own child after she put him through all of that. Mary, who would rather drug her friend and abandon her family rather than accept help. Mary, who abandoned her team without confirming that they were beyond rescue and started a new life with a marriage and a baby and not a second thought for the people she’d left behind. Mary, who never for a second left her profession, keeping her guns and her outfits and her secret info stashed in random walls in Norway, her vast collection of wigs and offensive accents.

This might have worked if the show had seen her arc through as the villain she clearly was. Mary was decidedly NOT on the “side of the angels”. Mary was not saving lives. Mary was taking them. Mary was a person whose life choices, past and present, clearly put her on the other side from Sherlock and John – two flawed, yet ultimately good men who do good work. Mary’s work was, in a word, bad. She was the opposite, really: an inherently bad person with a cute façade, who could giggle and make little jokes (that frequently had a sting buried within), who could roll up her pants instead of just getting them hemmed, who could tease and banter, but as soon as the pressure came back on, her real self came out again. The old habits came back: drug a friend, shoot them in the heart, run away without looking back, kill anyone who gets in your way. The fact is that the show did NOT see this arc through. The writers tried to spoon-feed us the façade, and it didn’t work, because the truth was so very visible: Mary was not a good person, and trying to pretend that she was is either completely unbelievable, or else destroys the entire point of who Sherlock and John are, in their essence. To have them take Mary on board without question, without her actual redemption by having felt or demonstrated remorse of any kind at any point for any of the very many terrible things she did, does not work! This is tantamount to Sherlock and John teaming up with Moriarty! Even if they’d needed information from Moriarty or something, it would have been a necessarily temporary arrangement, because they are not on the same team and never have been!

So, tl;dr version: we want characters who are nuanced, who have grey area, who are three-dimensional: but not characters who betray their own moral code by associating themselves willingly with someone they would normally oppose with all of their combined might. Writing their acceptance of Mary Morstan destroyed their moral centre. In a way, it made them no better than she was, and we know from the first two series that this just isn’t who Sherlock and John are. They’re good people. Mary wasn’t.

[problematic-camren]

Anyone else feel Bad Things is actually the most sexually explicit song from all our girls so far? WFH is 5H's most sexually charged song but it's a female perspective being in charge of the situation and owning that flirtatious interaction. BT, perhaps because of MGK's influence, is more about innocence being taken advantage of no matter what the person does. Honestly don't know why Camila/Roger tried to criticize past 5H things regarding sexualization because Camila was 18 for WFH and BT.

Because it’s easier than saying “I simply wanted to go solo.” They needed a meaty and valid reason as to why she’s leaving a highly successful group at the peak of their careers without looking like a selfishly arrogant douchebag. (Before C stans crucify me, I actually am a firm believer that if one is not happy in any situation anymore, she has a right to leave and pursue her happiness. So I don’t fault Camila for that.)

And I think it’s really about Camila feeling suffocated about her lack of creative expression within the group, which takes away the happiness from performing, and as any human being who isn’t happy anymore, it’s natural to zoom in on every little flaws in their situation. Like the sexual innuendos in their songs which some of them are generic pop songs, which, for someone as deep and sensitive as Camila, performing it over and over would feel like an empty routine. Like her soul was choking. I guess that one resonated in her the most, especially since she started as an awkward teenager with low self esteem and anxiety.

But yeah, I wish they should have just owned up to the fact that they simply wanted her to go solo at this point of her career (go big while they’re at their peak), instead of playing the “oversexualized card” when in fact, Camila was able to put her foot down and not sing the lyrics she felt uncomfortable with, wear extra layers of cloth in her costume, wear pants etc. and then leave the group only to release songs that are also sexual in nature (and I’m aware that a woman could be sexual and not feel sexualized, so that may be the case with Bad Things, especially since she co-wrote her songs, which gives her a level of comfort, as compared to how it was with 5h).

Now she has a collab with Pitbull, because apparently, when an artist seeking creative growth and feed one’s soul, your go-to collab will be pitbull, duh.

But again, I understand that they needed to establish Camila’s name first. And that means collabing with big names. So I understand, and I’m just waiting for Camila to settle in and focus on her own brand of music.

She’s such a good songwriter, very poetic, and I love how she plays with her lyrics and melodies. I really can’t wait to hear her future songs, stuff like Only Told The Moon, and not Hey Ma with lines like “if you touched me right, I might stay the night.” (Although there’s nothing wrong with staying the night, as long as there’s consent lmao)

[cadernonutrionline]

 People don’t change their lives all in one go. It’s not how human beings work. The world around us, our friends, work, homes and personal preferences remain. What you eat and how much you move can’t be plucked out and addressed with a variety of measures that the rest of your life can’t support.

I’m not writing a dieting how-to because I think you know how to eat healthfully. This is a series about how to build a life that supports the weight you want to be.

Sustained change comes from small, step by step alterations to our routines that have a big impact over time. 

Diet and exercise are the tip of the iceberg, and the part people already know the most about. I’m covering portions never discussed but equally important to success like, how do you speak to yourself? What in your day is occupying too much time? Do you live in an area where it’s easy to walk?

One of the great joys of getting older is developing the ability to see patterns. Understanding how seemingly disparate things connect and what that connection means. I’m going to teach you that same awareness in order to create change in your life. What to pay attention to and what to discard to achieve and keep a healthy weight.

What you eat and how much you move can’t be plucked out and addressed with a variety of measures that the rest of your life can’t support.

Most importantly, prescribed diets rob you of your ability to work out for yourself what will work long-term. The struggle towards sustainable changes is an important part of the process.

I wrote this to share what I learned in a straightforward and compassionate way. For years I was at my wit’s end about my ballooning weight. Dreading weighing myself, living in denial, cringing at pictures, embarking on wacky diets, and general self-loathing were the constants in my life. 

I’ve watched friends do the same things with half-measures and strange diets that had little hope of long-term success. Each time they blamed themselves when the plan became impossible to keep up, and each time it became a little harder to see a way forward. 

If I, as a 47 year old woman with a thyroid condition (I was diagnosed as hypothyroid since my early-thirties which is a low performing thyroid that frequently makes weight loss difficult) and a lifetime of weight issues could successfully lose and manage my weight without counting calories, journaling, exercising like a maniac or starving myself, maybe I was on to something.

Should you lose weight?

A better question might be, are you so ready to lose weight that you are willing to examine your life with honesty and make uncomfortable changes?

The first step in this process is to decide, yes, you want to do the necessary life work to be able to lose weight and keep it off. It matters enough to give it space and attention, you are ready.

There are shallow pleasures like buying a tiny, red bikini from London and wearing it on the beach in Puerto Rico with absolute confidence. But, that is the least interesting thing I can tell you about losing weight. Through this process I learned how to trust and rely on myself to find the right solutions. How to be kind to myself and how to accept the person I actually am. Flaws, frailties and all.

Instead, I began to explore one, simple question: what’s possible?

If I take a walk every day, what might happen? If I stop eating now and take the rest home, how soon will I be hungry? If I get a bike and ride it for the sheer joy will I keep at it? If I eat this sugary thing what happens to my cravings? If I skip the brunch invite and go hiking with a new friend will I feel as though I missed out? If I choose to live near a trail, will I use it? How can I move more all day long?

If this all sounds unsexy, you’re right. It’s also incredibly liberating observe yourself without judgement. No more shame or recrimination, no more shoving yourself into the one size fits all plans that make no sense to who you are. Does this work for you or not? Yes, keep. No, discard.

What I found through this process was a cascade of changes that altered my life entirely for the better. To change your weight you have to change how you conduct your life. All of it. I am a more centered, grounded and confident person as a result.

Let’s talk about food.

You have to eat less to lose weight, and you have to eat less to keep it off.

I realize this statement is going win me an avalanche of hateful comments, but I am sticking by it. I was eating too much, you probably are too.

The advice to ‘move more and eat less’ has come under fire recently as being too simplistic and ineffective. That’s only because our lives often work against our ability to make that happen. The intent of this series is to address the real-world problems that keep people stuck in their bad patterns. Eating less and moving more requires forethought, planning, and redefining yourself, to yourself. This series will take on the problems, one by one.

It’s not surprising we all eat too much. The modern world is constructed to over-feed us at every occasion. Restaurant portions are enormous, every social encounter includes food, it’s all over social media. You can drive for miles down some roads filled with nothing but places to eat. All of that seeps into our consciousness.

The ratcheting up of portions is something I experience as a restaurant owner. If I actually served real portion sizes I wouldn’t have any customers. My place focuses on quality over quantity and still each entree is two to three real servings. Enormous is the new normal.

It’s not a personal failing that we eat too much. Our world is filled with food and experiences designed specifically to encourage us to sit and eat. I’m amazed anyone can stay slim without a lot of effort.

Please don’t breathlessly tell me about some diet that cuts out whole categories of food but allows you to eat all you want of others. It’s just a sneaky way of saying the same thing. You need to eat less.

The question is how to do this in a way that becomes automatic and relatively painless. A way that does not rely on your ability to never eat bread again for the rest of your life (but definitely less). Most of all it needs to be a way that isn’t an enormous shock to your body. There are serious health consequences to starvation diets, most noticeably hurting your baseline metabolism.

I’m not interested in prescribing or advocating any particular diet because what I’ve discovered in the last eight years is that clean eating is a bit of a myth. I’m not suggesting you are going to lose weight eating big plates of burgers and fries, that’s clearly ridiculous. I am saying that you are going to have to figure out what kind of daily eating will nourish and satisfy you, and keep the weight off. My principles will set you on the path to doing that.

In addition, I’ll be adding links to books and articles that focus on science-based conclusions which helped me learn how to make even better choices. Not just in food, but time of day to eat, and how to gently trick yourself into eating less.

I place food in two main categories, food that makes you over eat and food that doesn’t. What that is changes from person to person. For me it’s generally sugary things that cause problems with cravings and compulsive overeating. I’ve known people who reacted that way to salty things, some to beer, some with fried foods.

This was an important discovery because it flies in the face of ‘everything in moderation’. I can’t be moderate with some things, so I do my best not have them at all.

Consider the quote below of the 95 year old yoga instructor featured in the LA Times. She doesn’t ever eat large quantities of anything, but she eats what she likes and keeps moving. Not dissimilar to what I do right now.

I’ve never weighed more than 100 pounds, but I can eat whatever I want. I just don’t eat a lot of it. Breakfast is a slice of cinnamon raisin toast with Irish Kerrygold butter, peanut butter and sliced bananas, and an espresso. I like El Pollo Loco chicken breast or thigh, nothing else with it, and I have it with a salad. I love mashed potatoes with butter and heavy cream.

The trouble comes because we live in a hyper-capitalist economy that suggests eating nearly constantly. Once you pay attention to all the opportunities to eat and drink that are literally shoved in front of your face, you’ll get an idea of what you are really up against.

My principles will help you create a defense to the endless cues to eat and regain a sense of control over when and how much you eat.

An interesting effect of eating less is also eating better. There is more room for veggies, salads and satisfying foods when you aren’t filling up on nonsense. Good eating can happen more naturally.

Willpower isn’t a useful tool.

I mean, on some level it is. I find the strength not to put my face under chocolate fountains but I don’t rely on willpower to make good decisions and science backs me up on this. Turns out your willpower is a set amount and every time you use it it gets depleted. If you have a life with a lot of temptation to sit and eat, it won’t be too long before your day of good intentions is derailed.

Then there are the temptations you may not even be aware of. If your daily commute has you driving by several fast food restaurants and you have to resist the pull each time, that’s a depletion of the willpower bank. If you go to a coffee shop with a big display of lovely pastries and have to force yourself to glide by, yet another depletion. That’s all before 9a.

Add to the mix your own genetic predisposition for craving certain foods and it’s easy to see the futility of relying on a finite resource to maintain a healthy weight. Constantly fighting yourself is not a way to get things done.

Plus, there is something wonderfully liberating about accepting yourself as you are. I am a person who wants to eat the fucking donut. Maybe the whole box if I could stomach it. Instead of feeling like a failure for that I work to limit my exposure. Turns out you can engineer virtuousness.

Our bodies have been constructed to respond to sugary, carby foods with singular purpose. To consume it quickly and find more. Accepting that, and creating a life that makes access more difficult is a much better solution than the narrative of personal failing. You are supposed to WANT THE DONUT. There are food scientists working around the clock to get us hooked on their product based on just this premise.

I’ll be writing more about this very subject in the coming weeks, but it’s an important concept to adopting my ‘change your life to change your weight’ approach.

Your body is a miracle. As-is, right now.

I know it doesn’t feel that way when you are carrying excess weight and have to fight the daily battle of incremental consumption, but it’s true. Having a body is one of the best things about being alive. It’s a vehicle for pleasure, intimacy and expression. It’s your access to living a full life.

As frustrating as my own charge has been; obesity, two bouts of breast cancer and all the other attendant issues of getting to forty-seven (even a bad cold can make you feel dubious about the joys of a body), I’m in love with it. Swimming in the ocean, an orgasm, a deep hug from a friend, holding my boyfriend’s hand, putting on a yummy moisturizer, dancing, smelling the rain, a long hike; these are my body’s gifts. You have them too, right now.

Your body isn’t a burden, it’s an opportunity. I went from being the girl who could barely get through gym class to a woman who tried running for the first time at forty and loved it. Exercise brought me a new level of appreciation for my body, and has given me a tool to control my weight, my mood and immerse myself in nature. That could not have happened until I removed the yoke of shame and wrong-headed thinking.

The idea of finding value in the present is an important one. I’m asking you to invest in the person who already exists, not the future perfect. You aren’t good when you lose the weight, you are good right now. I tried to circumvent this step for years, each time failing to make sustained progress.

If you aren’t ready to make that leap, just keep reading. One of my principles will help you rewrite your inner dialog. A self-esteem hack that worked wonders for me, and has its roots in behavioral science.

How to use this series.

First and foremost, read this introduction carefully. The ideas I’m imparting are important to understanding the principles. How carefully you read through this is directly proportional to the time and attention you are willing to put forward on losing weight (truth bomb).

In addition, go back and read the links I’ve embedded throughout. They aren’t by accident, they are important bits of information to educate yourself about this process.

The principles are the heart and soul of my series and where you can start practicing your own changes. I’m writing one new principle each week (or so) and rolling them out in my own magazine. That should give you enough time to work with it before the next one.

Several are up already, time to get started!

Each principle may or may not resonate immediately, read it anyway and give it some thought. Try it. The idea is to teach you how to reshape your life through the actions I took to do it for myself.

You are free to modify and tweak these ideas as they apply to you. Encouraged, even. This process has to be yours alone in order to work.

The principles are a practice, much like meditation or anything that requires sustained use to be useful. Every meal, each walk, how can I best practice this principle?

You’ll notice I’m not suggesting you create goal weights or try for your dream weight. I didn’t find that helpful because I wasn’t sure when I started what a sustainable, healthy weight would be for me. After eight years I now know it’s 152 pounds. That’s the weight where my clothes fit correctly and it isn’t agony to keep it up. I would encourage you to focus on the behavior and life modifications before settling on a weight. The idea is to end up somewhere you can stay for a long time and it may take some experimentation before you know what the number will be.

I strongly encourage you to read science-based approaches to eating and exercise by authors who have a long history of giving sensible advice. Jane Brody at The New York Times is one of my favorites.

Every year January rolls around with the promise of a clean slate. In one fell swoop, we will do everything differently. I see it at the suddenly crowded gym or watch friends embark on strange diets (at least, strange to me). I cringe a little about all this because I too, have tried to fix everything in one go. It never worked.

It’s a question of the grand gesture versus incremental progress.

January, and its attendant resolutions, is about the grand gesture. The grand gesture is deliciously satisfying at the start, but incremental progress is feeling the payoff for many years to come.

This process is not a quick fix. It’s not a set plan, it’s not a boot camp, or 30-day challenge. It’s the long process of learning self-awareness, connecting the dots in your day-to-day and creating a life that supports the person you want to be.

I think you deserve better than a quick fix. If you’ve been frustrated by other approaches, or, like me, could not fulfill someone else’s made up regimen, try this with patience and space for it to work.

Starting a pre-set diet is by definition doing something temporary. My way builds more slowly and quietly, but each small change will add up to something meaningful.

I’m well aware of the seductive quality diet plans offer with their simple ideas and quick results. My principles can’t offer that same initial rush. Instead, think of where these diet ‘success’ stories will be two to five years from now. I’m eight years down the road and still making it work.

Incremental progress is not a lesser version of progress, it’s the only sane and sustainable way forward.

It is possible to change your life, and as a result your weight. I’ve done it after many years of fits and starts, feeling defeated, and never quite having all the pieces together.

You can learn, you can do better, you can fix things that have long troubled you. I am proof.

[yes-dal456]

5 Things I Learned About My Husband Since His Death 3 Weeks Ago

My life partner of decades passed away three weeks ago. And what I’ve discovered in those difficult weeks is how much I didn’t know about the man I spent the bulk of my adult life with. No, I haven’t discovered that he kept a second family in Ohio or anything along that magnitude. But what I did discover surprised me. 

1) He intentionally made turning on a TV in our house harder than it needs to be.

For real. My husband Vic was the master of the remotes. The black one for on/off. Gray one for volume. Blackish-gray one for channel changing. Or at least that’s what I think they do. Throw in a few remotes that used to control a DVR and the little basket that houses them overflows. 

Only he knew which remote did what. In a million years of marriage, he never thought it necessary to label them. Nor did I. But it wasn’t until he died that I figured out why: He liked that I needed him ― and I liked it too. When I wanted to watch something on TV, I would have to call him into the room and ask for his help. He’d come in, do it and give me a peck on the cheek or a gentle bop on the head with the remote. It always made me smile.

Being needed ― and appreciated ― is one of the things that keeps a marriage alive. And since my husband’s death, I have learned that we have a universal remote that does it all.

2) His corniness was sweetness just wrapped in different packaging.

Traditionally on the night before my birthday, Vic would wait for me to go to sleep and then scurry around the house stashing little happy birthday notes in strange places for me to discover the next day. He would stick them in my shoes, inside the coffee pot, and even inside the plastic bin we use to store the dogs’ food (that one was signed by the dogs.) One year, he taped a note inside my English Muffin that luckily I spotted before it went into the toaster.

Some years, he concocted an elaborate Note Hunt, using riddles as hints to lead me to the next note. He knew my morning routine precisely and taped the first note to the toilet paper.

Vic never gave me a birthday gift per se ― and I was fine with that. The thought and effort he put into the annual notes was gift enough. 

Marriage is a commitment to not just another person, but also to the idea of hanging in there through thick and thin, good and bad. My husband was a big goofy guy, an imperfect teddy bear with an occasional growl.  I got scrawled notes for my birthday instead of little blue Tiffany boxes and I cherish every one of them. 

3) He was a better dad than I ever knew.

Sure he went to every practice and game for every team sport either of our kids ever played. And yes, he always drove half the team home, stopping for pizzas or In-N-Out burgers or both. And of course he always carried in his trunk spare shin guards and soccer socks in multiple colors with him ― just in case. When a violin was forgotten at home, he drove it to the music class and kept his promise to “not tell Mommy.” When there was a big test coming up, he was the parent who always stayed up till midnight the night before to quiz the kids. 

But he did something else. To the very end, he was blind to their flaws. He loved us all too much to ever see anything wrong. In his eyes, our children were never at fault and I was the wife he was meant to marry. With love as unconditional as his, our kids are strong and solid people. They have experienced losing their Dad to a terrible illness and have emerged as kind, compassionate human beings. Our daughter is changing her college major to nursing.

4) His disorganization had an upside.

Not a hoarder, exactly, but Vic was definitely a pack-rat. And thank God for that. As a result of his inability to throw anything away, I am now basking in the warmth of memories spurred by what I have found in his clothing pockets. Yesterday I came upon a hotel card from a London trip we took at least 10 years ago. I also found our ticket stubs from visiting the Space Needle in Seattle, mixed in with a few old grocery store receipts and long-expired coupons for Subway. In a box in our foyer closet,  I found a car key that went missing last April and the program for our daughter’s 8th grade graduation. She is now a college freshman.

Amid the chaos of our daily lives, I would reach the clutter breaking point and stealthily toss things out when I thought he wasn’t looking. Now, each item I find feels like a cherished gem. I do wonder though why those loose almonds I found in pants he hasn’t worn in years never got moldy.

5) His car trunk could be declared a hazmat site.

My husband’s beat-up old SUV was his man cave. He used it to take the dogs to a muddy park or sandy beach every day. It was also used to transport soccer players with stinky socks and as a storage bin for half-eaten school lunches with the occasional forgotten bag of oranges rolling around until they fully rotted. His trunk was where things went to die.

How did I not know this about his car trunk? Easy. I chose not to look.

Choosing not to look may be a new widow’s best survival mechanism. When you don’t look, you can’t see what’s missing. But since today is my birthday and I had no notes to find, my heart most certainly knows what’s missing, and that it’s him.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from http://ift.tt/2kulkR0 from Blogger http://ift.tt/2jyEgtL

[imreviewblog]

5 Things I Learned About My Husband Since His Death 3 Weeks Ago

My life partner of decades passed away three weeks ago. And what I’ve discovered in those difficult weeks is how much I didn’t know about the man I spent the bulk of my adult life with. No, I haven’t discovered that he kept a second family in Ohio or anything along that magnitude. But what I did discover surprised me. 

1) He intentionally made turning on a TV in our house harder than it needs to be.

For real. My husband Vic was the master of the remotes. The black one for on/off. Gray one for volume. Blackish-gray one for channel changing. Or at least that’s what I think they do. Throw in a few remotes that used to control a DVR and the little basket that houses them overflows. 

Only he knew which remote did what. In a million years of marriage, he never thought it necessary to label them. Nor did I. But it wasn’t until he died that I figured out why: He liked that I needed him ― and I liked it too. When I wanted to watch something on TV, I would have to call him into the room and ask for his help. He’d come in, do it and give me a peck on the cheek or a gentle bop on the head with the remote. It always made me smile.

Being needed ― and appreciated ― is one of the things that keeps a marriage alive. And since my husband’s death, I have learned that we have a universal remote that does it all.

2) His corniness was sweetness just wrapped in different packaging.

Traditionally on the night before my birthday, Vic would wait for me to go to sleep and then scurry around the house stashing little happy birthday notes in strange places for me to discover the next day. He would stick them in my shoes, inside the coffee pot, and even inside the plastic bin we use to store the dogs’ food (that one was signed by the dogs.) One year, he taped a note inside my English Muffin that luckily I spotted before it went into the toaster.

Some years, he concocted an elaborate Note Hunt, using riddles as hints to lead me to the next note. He knew my morning routine precisely and taped the first note to the toilet paper.

Vic never gave me a birthday gift per se ― and I was fine with that. The thought and effort he put into the annual notes was gift enough. 

Marriage is a commitment to not just another person, but also to the idea of hanging in there through thick and thin, good and bad. My husband was a big goofy guy, an imperfect teddy bear with an occasional growl.  I got scrawled notes for my birthday instead of little blue Tiffany boxes and I cherish every one of them. 

3) He was a better dad than I ever knew.

Sure he went to every practice and game for every team sport either of our kids ever played. And yes, he always drove half the team home, stopping for pizzas or In-N-Out burgers or both. And of course he always carried in his trunk spare shin guards and soccer socks in multiple colors with him ― just in case. When a violin was forgotten at home, he drove it to the music class and kept his promise to “not tell Mommy.” When there was a big test coming up, he was the parent who always stayed up till midnight the night before to quiz the kids. 

But he did something else. To the very end, he was blind to their flaws. He loved us all too much to ever see anything wrong. In his eyes, our children were never at fault and I was the wife he was meant to marry. With love as unconditional as his, our kids are strong and solid people. They have experienced losing their Dad to a terrible illness and have emerged as kind, compassionate human beings. Our daughter is changing her college major to nursing.

4) His disorganization had an upside.

Not a hoarder, exactly, but Vic was definitely a pack-rat. And thank God for that. As a result of his inability to throw anything away, I am now basking in the warmth of memories spurred by what I have found in his clothing pockets. Yesterday I came upon a hotel card from a London trip we took at least 10 years ago. I also found our ticket stubs from visiting the Space Needle in Seattle, mixed in with a few old grocery store receipts and long-expired coupons for Subway. In a box in our foyer closet,  I found a car key that went missing last April and the program for our daughter’s 8th grade graduation. She is now a college freshman.

Amid the chaos of our daily lives, I would reach the clutter breaking point and stealthily toss things out when I thought he wasn’t looking. Now, each item I find feels like a cherished gem. I do wonder though why those loose almonds I found in pants he hasn’t worn in years never got moldy.

5) His car trunk could be declared a hazmat site.

My husband’s beat-up old SUV was his man cave. He used it to take the dogs to a muddy park or sandy beach every day. It was also used to transport soccer players with stinky socks and as a storage bin for half-eaten school lunches with the occasional forgotten bag of oranges rolling around until they fully rotted. His trunk was where things went to die.

How did I not know this about his car trunk? Easy. I chose not to look.

Choosing not to look may be a new widow’s best survival mechanism. When you don’t look, you can’t see what’s missing. But since today is my birthday and I had no notes to find, my heart most certainly knows what’s missing, and that it’s him.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from Healthy Living - The Huffington Post http://huff.to/2k1NtxV