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denimbex1986 · 4 months

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'Cillian Murphy had just spent the day filming what felt like 30 scenes on “Oppenheimer” with the desert sand kicking up and blasting into his eyes when his co-star Robert Downey Jr. greeted him, trying to boost his spirits. And — this is how Downey remembers it, and when the legend becomes fact, print the legend — Murphy launched into a lament about how, when he had returned to his “18-dollar-a-night hotel room” the previous evening, he found his bags in the hallway and thought, “F—! I haven’t checked out yet. I have to sleep!”

“Every indignity that could befall someone who’s trying to do something .... It was like the tears of Job,” Downey related after a recent screening of the Christopher Nolan blockbuster. “Forget the call sheet and the job. It was everything else. It was the most Irish experience I’ve ever witnessed.”

Nearly two years later, Murphy and I are talking on a late-autumn day in L.A. He’s removing his coat and pulling his chair into the sun because, yes, he’s Irish, and part of the Irish experience is to soak up as much sun as possible when the opportunity presents itself. As to what Downey is ascribing to his native land, Murphy can do nothing but laugh.

“I don’t know if that means that Irish people are more predisposed to suffering,” Murphy says, smiling. “I think he’s being very sweet and saying we were like a troupe, moving at quite a pace. We were just staying at motels by the freeway and moving around. It was not glamorous. The way Chris works is that everything is equitable. No one has trailers or personal makeup. Everyone gets in a bus. It feels like independent filmmaking, but on a f—ing grand scale. And that’s the way I enjoy working.”

Murphy, 47, also enjoys not working, and he’s had a successful enough career in the two decades since his film breakthrough in Danny Boyle’s 2002 classic zombie film “28 Days Later” that he can describe such periods as being “happily unemployed.” That was where he was at a couple of years ago. He’d finished shooting the sixth (and final) season of the entertaining BBC crime drama “Peaky Blinders” and was in the midst of a glorious six months enjoying the company of his wife, Irish visual artist Yvonne McGuinness, and their two teenage sons. Then Nolan called out of the blue.

Actually, it wasn’t Nolan, but his wife and producing partner, Emma Thomas. It couldn’t be Nolan, because Nolan doesn’t have a phone, an eccentricity that’s either endearing or infuriating depending on the context. Thomas handed the phone to her husband, who told Murphy — in what the actor calls an “unbelievably understated British way” — “I’m making a film about Oppenheimer.” Pause. “I’d like you to play Oppenheimer.”

And just like that, Murphy was no longer happily unemployed. He was playing the title character in Nolan’s sprawling drama about the physicist known as the “father of the atomic bomb.”

“A big moment,” Murphy calls it, no stranger to restraint himself. Pause. “A biggie.”

In conversation, Murphy is pleasant and reflective when talking about his native country (he could and should write a book on the Ring of Kerry or at least narrate a self-guided tour) and the arts. I’d read that Nolan sent him photos of David Bowie wearing high-waisted, voluminous trousers from the singer’s Thin White Duke era as a visual reference for the gaunt silhouette he imagined for Oppenheimer, a man who possessed such a manic work ethic that he forgot to eat, subsisting on martinis and Chesterfield cigarettes. I pull up a photo of Bowie taken shortly before his death, wearing a sharp suit, black fedora and beaming smile.

“He looks a little alien, which is what we were going for with Oppenheimer, I think,” Murphy says. He holds onto my phone, looking at Bowie. “One of the greats. That last album [“Blackstar”] was f—ing extraordinary. What a gift to leave us with. Nobody else could have gone out like that.”

Murphy’s most striking feature — his piercing blue eyes — have been noted at length, for good reason. “Oppenheimer” co-star Matt Damon notes how he’d find himself distracted working with Murphy. “It’s a real problem when you’re doing scene work with Cillian [because] sometimes you find yourself just swimming in his eyes,” he told People.

Those eyes are what first attracted Nolan to him. The filmmaker was leafing through a newspaper while writing “Batman Begins” and came across a photo of Murphy from “28 Days Later.” He couldn’t shake the image of this actor with a shaved head and “crazy eyes” and made a note to meet with Murphy for Batman, a role that eventually went to Christian Bale.

They’ve now made six movies together, with Murphy playing the menacing Scarecrow in the “Dark Knight” trilogy, a petulant business heir in “Inception” and a character known simply — and quite accurately — as “Shivering Soldier” in “Dunkirk.” They share a mutual interest in conveying a character’s emotional conflict through close-ups that linger on an actor’s face and allow the audience to feel inner turmoil. In Oppenheimer’s case, it was the searing anguish of a man a bit late to realize and appreciate the consequences of what he’d created.

“To me, great screen acting is all about ‘show, don’t tell,’” Murphy says, “and being able to transmit emotion and energy just by force or presence or charisma.”

I ask him about influences in that regard, but Murphy demurs, saying that if he starts listing actors, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night, thinking, “F—, I left that person out.” He reiterates that his favorite movie moments aren’t big set pieces but watching actors in reflection, inactive, doing nothing, but revealing everything. “I find that compelling in the highest order,” he says.

Murphy had ample opportunity to do just that in “Oppenheimer,” portraying a character caught in a moral dilemma of his own making.

“I knew it would have to be a quiet, small performance, because the themes are f—ing huge,” Murphy says. “What’s happening inside his heart and his mind can’t be painted big, particularly when it’s captured on an Imax camera and it’s going to be shown on a f—ing 80-foot screen. I knew it would have to be delicate and tiny, most of it.”

Murphy doesn’t like to dwell on what he did once call the “monastic experience” of the film’s 57-day shoot or on the months it took to decompress afterward. Such talk would be a little too close to the “Irish experience” Downey had mentioned. But all of these efforts did make me think about something that Emily Blunt, who plays Oppenheimer’s wife, Kitty, in the film and worked with Murphy in “A Quiet Place Part II,” noted about him.

“She said that off set, you’re a hoot,” I tell him, fishing for an example or two. Murphy does not oblige, but he does express how his friendship with Blunt created a trust that informed their portrayal of lifelong partners.

“She’s also one of the funniest people, and I have a rule that I can’t work unless there’s a lightness around the set,” Murphy says. “There has to be some levity. A lot of the films I do are quite heavy and go to some dark, challenging places, and you have to be relaxed to do that. So I don’t walk around in a state of f—ing angst. I need to feel at ease. I can’t be in that dark place all the time. I don’t have the stamina for it.”

Murphy saw “Oppenheimer” at the film’s July world premiere in Paris. Two days later, he and the rest of the cast left the London premiere to show their support for the impending SAG-AFTRA strike. By the time he returned home to Dublin, his wife and sons had already seen “Barbie,” so Murphy went to the cinema by himself to complete the “Barbenheimer” experience.

How do you go incognito to the multiplex, I ask.

“I time going to movies very well now,” Murphy says. “With the ads and trailers, I always arrive a half hour late, slip in and then slip out.”

I grouse how that half hour feels like it’s getting longer by the year. Murphy agrees. And yet ...

“The greatest democratic collective art form is sitting in a darkened space with strangers,” he says. “To be part of a movie that people went to see multiple times and part of a great moment for cinema, that frenzy for those two films, was just lovely. I don’t know if we’ll ever see it again, but I’d like to hope so.”

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windwardstar · 1 year

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It won't be too late to transition.

Today marks my one year of being on t and with the current political climate, I'll celebrate somewhere, but that's not really where my mind is at right now. So instead I'm writing this. Don't give up hope. It won't be too late for you to transition.

You can do any of it at any age. And until recently it was usually done as an adult once you were financially independent and could afford to transition and restart your life compeltely over. You don't have to be a child or a teenager to start and see results and eventually find a body you're happy in. Until recently, transitioning that young wasn't even seen as possible for most people. There is no time limit. No countdown to when it won't help.

I know how much it hurts to have to wait. And with all of the attacks on trans right and trans existence and bans on our healthcare, it's making access to hrt and surgeries and other gender affirming care and changing names and genders on documents so much harder or impossible to get. But. I promise you, there's always still time even if you have to wait.

One day exists. One day will come. And when you get there, hormones and surgeries and changing your name and clothes and hair will still be possible just because you're not 15, 18, 25, 30...

I know how much it hurts to wait. How painful it is to have to exist in a body that is wrong and be called a name that isn't yours and have others constantly misgender you. And there is so much to grieve over the years where you want to get to be your true self but can't. And please, grieve those years. But don't give up hope and grieve your future ones prematurely.

I was 21 by the time I had vocabulary to name my experiences properly. I spent my childhood and teen years existing in unnamed discomfort because trans people weren't even a concept in the popular conciousness, much less being nonbinary. And I spent my twenties slowly trying to carve out places for myself to exist while living with family who I had to remain closeted around for my safety and unable to access care because of cost.

I'm turning 30 this summer. I moved into my own place and it took me two years to get my name and gender changed on my birth certificate and ID. I'm finally getting top surgery this summer. My first attempt at getting on t lasted three months before the pandemic hit and I lost access. I moved again to a safer place and eventually got back on hormones. My one year anniversary for being on t is today. I've seen so many changes and things are still changing and for the first time it really does feel like I have my entire life ahead of me. My life wasn't over because I couldn't transition earlier.

But also, hormones and surgery and legally changing your name and gender marker aren't the only ways to transition. They're just the ones that are the hardest to acess. Whether it's finances or safety or governments making it illegal, there are still other ways you can carve out a space for yourself to exist.

You can find a name for yourself. And whether it's something other people use, a select few, or just yourself in your head, that is still your name. (You can also try and find nicknames that are less painful to hear. Make an email address and sign up for mailing lists with your name so even if it's just automated advertisements your name is still spoken. Use the name with store rewards tied to your phone number and say it belongs to a relative if anyone asks. Online isn't real life, but you can use whatever name and pronouns you want when nobody really knows who you are.)

You can change your hair and clothes and the products you use. It might not be to the extent you want to, but pieces here or there can help. (Socks and underwear that nobody sees. Soaps and shampoo and deodorants that you can say work better or irritate your skin less if asked why you use it (usually the only difference in formula is which fragrance is added). Wearing hand-me-downs of your chosen type with the claim of saving money. Cut your own hair short and say you messed up but it will grow out or let it grow and say you're planning on donating it. Brushing or styling it differently.) Anything you have a plausibly non-trans reason for can be a small less risky way to affirm your gender.

And it's ok if you can't do any of those safely. You're not any less trans because you have to be in the closest or you're not ready to come out of it regardless of the reason.

It may suck to wait for the bigger things. The ones that will make the most difference. But it doesn't matter what age you finally get to them, they'll still help. Your life isn't over and your chances of being able to transition in a way that is happy and fulfilling don't go away because you can't do it yet. There's no age limit.

It won't be too late to transition.

(Keep your negativity off this post. If you need to vent, make your own. If this post doesn't vibe with you, just ignore it. Leave it a space for people who need the message.)

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beastenraged · 4 months

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The AUTISM (my experience)

I’ve spent more of my life aware of my autism than not aware of it, at this point.

I got my diagnosis the winter before my freshman year of high school and it was extremely exciting for myself.

For the first time in my life, I knew why it was so hard to talk to people, why I loved reading so much, why various objects were so noisy and loud and bad to touch at times. (Why no one wanted to be my friend.)

As part of that experience, I was on the high of self-awareness. I wanted to tell my friends and for a few, I did. I wanted EVERYONE to know, I am autistic!

Only for that to not...go so great.

People said stuff like “You don’t seem autistic.” Every bit of their tone and words implied that autism was a Bad Thing, even to an individual less than savvy about social interaction such as me.

I tried to explain. I tried to say, “Well, that’s not true, I’ve just been working very hard to fit in.” “Don’t you know what it means to have autism, this is what it means-”

But no one wanted to listen. People have their own ideas of what autism is, you see. A teenage girl that read all the time in the back of the class, getting good grades on everything, and didn’t keep up on the latest gossip, doesn’t fit into those ideas.

Ideas I’m going to touch on, just you wait.

I’ve spent a heavy amount of my time in school, before and after my Revelation, being jealous of Autistic Boys TM.

The ‘boys’ is the important part, you see. They fit in every autistic stereotype almost perfectly. They talk nonstop about topics most people don’t even care about, like trains and planes and bugs and elevators. They’re louder than usual. They fall into very noticeable meltdowns when it’s too loud, too bright. They punch people, even, in the more extreme cases.

But people smiled at them in school. Nodded and pretended to listen in ways they never did with me. Never told them they were wrong for existing. And I envied these boys for that.

Because they’re allowed, you see. They’re allowed to be obnoxious and unable to fit in, because they have autism, you got it? How terrible that these boys have autism, they’ll never be able to have normal lives!

They’re allowed to exist as they are, because they’re pitied for it.

The first thing to learn, having autism: that you’re only allowed to be autistic if you’re pitiable.

That’s what people assume, if you learn later than usual that you’re autistic, that you’re looking for pity.

When in reality you’re looking for understanding. For a reason, no matter how terrible, your life has been the way it has up to this point. And beyond.

Only children have autism, don’t you get it? Small pitiable creatures that have no control over their lives. Autistic children never grow up, in the minds of the public.

But where does that leave the rest of us?

Where does that leave me?

Well. Getting angry, I guess. Anger burning through my veins and heart.

I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to figure out how to function in a world that isn't made for me. Done things like studying how social interactions work, take in as much nerd culture as possible so I could talk to said nerds about anything they wanted to, practiced work interviewing over and over. So many small pieces for the mask the world wants to see.

Only for it not to matter. Not really.

There’s always going to be a person that just gets it, understands the interviewers down to the base level, in a way that I would have to study for years to comprehend. Who gets picked because of that, nevermind how hard I worked for the same.

Sometimes I ask for help, and it only ends up in being treated like an infant.

So much of my life makes me angry at its unfairness. At how I feel like I have to lie about who I am for anyone to accept me, for me to do anything.

And lying, as they say, is a thing autistics hate.

But it’s not always like that. There are people that want me to work as I am, who are very happy at my neurodivergent ability to just do the same thing over and over without getting extremely bored with it.

People who tell me that they’re happy that I’m sharing my experiences, that there’s someone else out there who’s autistic like they are.

People who fight to get more studies on how autism works in the brain, how it shows up in people outside those Autistic Boys TM.

The world’s already better when it comes to information on autism than it was when I was younger, and it was better then than it was for my dad before me.

So.

I am Autistic and proud of it.

I hope you can be proud too.

#long post #ableism #autism #personal #i ain't giving up #not any time soon #and i don't want any other neurodivergents to either

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angorwhosebabyisthis · 1 year

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honestly like. the more i take it apart and examine it, while going into it entirely is going to be A Post or Three of Its Own and will probably get its own thread: i think one of the reasons nine in canon upsets me so much is that i genuinely related to the version of him that made sense to me, when i tried to apply some continuity to his character from before his imprisonment vs after. he's actually the muse i wrote for the most prose for in this fandom, even more than five--which is saying something!--and he came to me pretty easily.

[longpost and Decidedly Harsh toward canon's depiction of him, but less ARGFMSKDKDKFK HATE than usual so much as 'man the awful way these people handled him was a waste.' believe it or not i'm actually pretty attached to him, but as the secret Better Version that lives in my head lmao]

the arc of his character could have been such a good one about how men and boys and the people around them are harmed by toxic masculinity, and examining the ways in which that's held up by other cis men, every other configuration of gender and AGAB, and both. he came through loud and clear to me as an example of a poorly socialized, abused, isolated homeschooler with very little life experience, who is throwing bits and pieces at the wall that he's cobbled together from the outside without understanding the experiences behind that kind of thing, to see what sticks. all this while having suppressed and sublimated his emotions so much that he doesn't actually recognize what he's feeling, and goes 'well, i guess this trauma reaction to killing people means i like killing people. let's go then!'

like... in canon, you can kind of see how the seeds of his trauma, and baseline personality, from before his capture might have gone septic in the process the way it does in canon. if he was already the kind of person who would spit that result out on the other side. the writers used his Acute Trauma as an excuse to go 'anyway his cêpan was a sexist dickhead under the guise of ~respecting women,~ and he got captured by pursuing a normal teenage crush and blames himself for it, and then he went through solitary for a year. so now he's a gleeful sexual predator who harasses john and thinks women are meat!'

and this becomes even more glaringly obvious when you set it next to how the aftereffects of his trauma are (not) depicted. this kid spent a year in solitary confinement--broken up by the intermission of mercy-killing his adopted dad after watching his torture--while not being fed enough and hurting himself on the forcefield on the regular. he's not going to immediately come out of that Ripped and an Incredible Polished Fighter; he's not going to come out of that a ~charming edgy debonair lovable asshole.~ this kid knows what the fuckin hat man looks like, dude. that's shit you come out of an emotional, physical, and psychological wreck, and not in a 'haha look how rude and boundary-pushing and violent and sleazy i am uwu' way.

he is barely going to be able to walk out of there on his own two feet. he is going to be hallucinating and not remember how to tell faces apart. he is going to freak out at anything like an enclosed space. he is going to be food-insecure. he is going to be constantly finding ways to self-harm when he feels at all out of control, and once again not in a 'haha i'm so quirky and edgy' way. he is going to have obsessive rituals and get stuck on repetitive thought patterns because you run out of shit to think about after a year with nothing to do but pushups, even before you add in the shiny new PTSD events to obsess over. which tend to take up all of your brain space even when you aren't isolated with them for long periods. he is going to be doing weird fucking shit after he gets out, bizarre and frightening shit that's not just 'being violent and a dick,' and other people will probably notice.

and all of this is before you factor in his backstory! (which, by the way, is not conducive to him coming out of his imprisonment an Unstoppable Highly Trained Killing Machine. he was taught how to actually fight opponents for Three Whole Ass Weeks before he got captured, and none of that was training against human-shaped opponents. i don't care how many pushups he does over how long, he still has had zero practice fighting Other People and that's immediately going to fuck him over in a fight. it's one thing to have him be dangerous because he makes up for lack of skill with being completely fucking berserk with zero regard for his own safety or anyone else's, but he's not going to be an unstoppable whirlwind of death. and you're not going to build muscle while you're being starved.)

and like. i could go on for a long time about how they fucked up his character to the point where seeing him onscreen anywhere outside his novella makes me instantly want to flip a table. but i think so much of what it comes down to--and i don't say this casually, i mean after laying out and examining all his scenes in the first series--is that he doesn't actually have an arc. he doesn't grow. the entire point of his character's existence is to be an awful person and never be held accountable, self-examine, or allowed to face any kind of real consequences for it.

it's genuinely fascinating to examine all the different methods they use to do this (which is for a whole post of its own), but he's not an exploration of culpability or responsibility--for past, current, and future actions--the way five's arc is. he's just a parade of all the abuse tactics and rhetoric the authors could think of, both direct and via enablement by people around him, to pour into one guy. nine is literally The Missing Stair: The Character.

contrast this with five getting nailed to the fuckin wall for things that are often, arguably, much less horrific or unhinged than what nine does. he's treated like a ~broken, irreparably insane monster~ by characters and narrative both. he's punished brutally and endlessly over and over and over and over no matter how much he tries to grow, or make amends, or even lay down and take everything that might be done to him as punishment because he Deserves It for, [checks notes] repeatedly having been groomed and manipulated for years. If You Can't Tell I am a Little Bitter

and it's not just other characters who suffer for it. the creators are SO invested in nine never being accountable, by himself or anyone else, that he is PUNISHED FOR IT when he makes even the slightest effort to unpack. when he has a moment of vulnerability during a breakdown over fucking up, he is restrained in exactly the same way as when he had to watch eight die. this so that he can have his self-blame literally beaten out of him to make him 'stop moping.' the writers don't care about his trauma, or being compassionate or fair in their portrayal of it, or letting him heal. the only thing they care about here is getting to write a Missing Stair as a good thing, and trying to get you, the reader, in on it by forcing you to like him.

anyway just. man. they did nine so fuckin dirty and their version of him brings down every other narrative around it. i know i rant about nine a lot but justice for my boy

#lorien legacies #LL number nine #LL number five #LL crit tag #the crit files #nine is a platter of sushi the writers put in the microwave and [horse staring out over the ocean meme] man #also if you fix this SO MUCH about his parallels and foils with five snap right into place and it is CHEF'S KISS UGH #also lifts up john's arc in the process to 'kid with some pretty ugly qualities buried under Nice Guy surface; who has to grow past them'#'and does'#instead of 'oh gross wtf'#dyn: lost boys #like frankly i feel like it's pretty shitty to both neglected/abused homeschoolers and survivors of solitary confinement #to go 'ya that's what made this guy a sadistic bullying bigoted creep uwu'#instead of you know. establishing the traits of /his/ that would be brought out by that #there's also just. so much to be said here about how in the process of giving nine a pass for his cruelty and toxic masculinity #the writers also give a pass for perpetuating the cruelty of toxic masculinity toward men and boys against /him/#also like this kid self-harms in a variety of ways when he needs control and it's a pattern that starts from his very first scene #Writers Address Literally Any of This Instead of Portraying Men Self-Harming as Quirky Badass Peak of Masculinity Shit Challenge #LL tag

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halfseoulco · 1 year

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“Black Eye” — VERNON: A review

Published Friday, December 23rd, 2022 — Hello. If you are reading this right now, I am writing this review from the afterlife.

Introduction

Vernon is the latest member of SEVENTEEN to release a solo record this year, following Woozi, The 8, Hoshi (although they still won’t put “Tiger” on Spotify for reasons I cannot fathom), and Jun—and boy, does he know how to make a statement.

Prior to its release, Vernon revealed that “Black Eye” leans more towards the pop punk genre. Now, genre is very fluid in the current landscape of the music industry—especially in KPOP, where producers and composers are constantly blending different genres together and experimenting with sound to create something totally unique. However, pop punk as most people in my age group who maybe grew up going to Warped Tour and all-ages shows in small, packed venues with mosh pits know it has a very strong sonic identity as a genre. As a matter of fact, the first artist that came to mind when I heard the overall sound of this song was The Story So Far, whom I was actively listening to circa 2013-2017—alongside other well-known pop punk groups such as Knuckle Puck, Neck Deep, and Real Friends, just to name a few. Although Vernon has lived most of his life in South Korea, his collaboration with fellow Korean-American member, Joshua, “2 MINUS 1″, proves that he is still very much in touch with genres that are considered more Western—including pop punk. “2 MINUS 1″ was a beautiful deviation from what SEVENTEEN is known for and it is so thrilling to see Vernon continue to pursue those veins of sound in his own work.

The Sound of “Black Eye”

“Black Eye” has the kind of the sound that can only be described with certain words and phrases: “summer break”, “driving on empty streets with the windows rolled all the way down at midnight”—you know the kind of vibe. It also screams teenage angst, which is relatable and dare I say tangible, even to those who have long since left their teenage years. The music video itself is relatively simple conceptually—and too short for my liking—but it invokes the kind of nostalgia that I think most twenty-somethings are still holding onto. Personally, my favorite thing about “Black Eye” is that Vernon is singing. As a member of SEVENTEEN’s hip-hop unit, he’s largely considered a rapper—but Carats know that the unit doesn’t define or limit the individual member’s capabilities—and we also know that Vernon is a fantastic singer. I’ve always liked his singing voice—and his voice in general. It’s deep but not too deep, a nice, even timbre that feels warm and a little husky—which helps him lean into the genre very easily. Honestly, if I had no idea who he was, you could tell me that he was the lead singer of a band and I would ask when they’re touring.

Looking at the Lyrics

I’ve spent a lot of time talking about the soundscape of “Black Eye” but let’s talk about the lyrics. Carats know Vernon to be the kind of person who speaks his mind; and he has admitted that he speaks rather bluntly. He doesn’t let other people define him—he does what he thinks is right and doesn’t care what others think of him. This approach to life is embodied in the chorus, in which Vernon sings, “I’m on my worst behavior. How you like me now? Put a muzzle on me, I’ll spit in your mouth. Wake me up from this nightmare, please. A scar and bruise with a black-eyed face.” He is also considered one of the more reserved members of the group, keeping to himself at times and getting lost in his own world, as illustrated by the lyrics “I got a couple friends, just me, myself, and I. We play with fireworks all night. I’m okay.” There’s a certain layer of self-deprecation here, if you will, that is prevalent in many songs of this genre—the belief that one is self-destructive and will destroy anyone or anything who gets too close. Keeping people at arm’s length is a form of self-preservation and as much for one’s own protection as it is for others, which is an interesting idea to consider, since Vernon is so full of love for the other members of SEVENTEEN and for Carats.

Conclusion

Anyway, please excuse me while I try to wrap my head around this gift that we’ve been given.

GENIUS LAB USA RATING: Let’s dance all night long.

#GeniusLabListens #VERNON #SEVENTEEN #Black Eye #KPOP #Korean Music #Album Review #Choi Hansol #Chwe Vernon #Choi Vernon

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lovemesomesurveys · 2 years

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What is a long song that you enjoy? (over 5 minutes long): Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

If you have a sibling, what is a memory you have with them that you'll never forget?: Aw, there’s too many. Our family vacations, our inside jokes, staying up all night during the summer, hanging out, watching him grow up and seeing him now and what he’s accomplished already at just 22… we’ve had a lot of good times.

Do you cry over small things?: Yes. Anything can set it off it seems. I’m so moody, sensitive, irritable, and easily frustrated now.

Are you organized?: Mostly. I used to be more organized, but I didn’t have the energy or motivation for much of anything the past few years so things became a little disorganized.

Who is someone you adore?: My loved ones.

Rock, paper, or scissors? : Rock.

What do you do whenever you're nervous?: Squirm, pick at my nails, mess with my hair, twiddle around with my hands…

Black or Green?: I like black and I like various shades of green so I’m saying both.

Is your favorite color currently in the outfit you're wearing?: I mean, I do like blue.

Do you vape?: Nope.

Do you sleep with any stuffed animals?: They’re nap pillows (mrs marvel reference lol) and there are a few that sit on my bed.

Do you have a motto?: Not really.

What is a scary experience you have had?: I’ve experienced several just the past month.

What shoes do you wear the most?: Black Adidas.

Have you ever met a famous person?: Yes.

If you could travel anywhere right now, where would you go?: Another country to a beautiful and relaxing beach resort.

What were you like as a teenager?: Shy, awkward, introverted… the same as now, ha. I was a homebody who spent all my time online and fangirled over stuff, also still stuff I do.

When did you last get lab work done?: Every single day. They come every morning to take s blood sample.

Whose baby did you last hold?: One of my cousin several years ago.

What genre does your favorite TV show fall into?: I have a lot of favorites and the list has and continues to grow during my time here.

Have you ever been on a cruise?: No.

Do you know what average rent is in your area?: Expensive and way overpriced.

When did you last turn on a fan?: Earlier.

What is something you are proud of?: My brother’s recent job promotion and just in general.

What did you last purchase at the grocery store?: Food.

How long are your showers?: Like 30 ish minutes.

What is an unhealthy habit you have?: It was irresponsibility and self-neglect regarding myself and my health.

Do you tend to lose your TV remote often?: No.

What would be most beneficial to your life right now?: Things that help me get better.

Are you a good story teller?: No, I’m the worst.

Would you ever have a wild animal as a pet if possible?: No.

Are there any words that annoy you when people use them out of context?: I can’t think of one at the moment.

What popular foods do you dislike?: Sushi. All seafood, actually. But it seems like everyone loves sushi but me. And bacon.

Do you ask or answer questions more?: Ask, mainly Mr. Google.

Do you prefer indoor or outdoor concerts?: Indoor.

Have you ever tried deep fried oreos?: Yessss. Yum.

What's your typical Chinese food order?: Chow mien, potstickers, egg rolls, crab rangoon, chicken in foil.

What made you smile today?: Something I was watching.

What would you like to buy most right now?: Nothing at the moment.

Do you own any exercise equipment?: No.

What would you do is you found a large sum of money?: Depends on the situation. Is there identification? Did I see who dropped it or is there an ad or something about it? Where did I find it? If it was outside a store in a parking lot with places nearby I could see if anyone came looking for it.

Are you in any amount of physical or mental pain?: Both.

What time is it currently?: 1:18pm.

Is there a garage or car port at your place of residence?: We have a garage.

What are your plans for the rest of the day?: Lying here doing my usual things in between the nurses coming in doing the routine stuff, try to sleep, repeat. My mom is coming soon, though, so that’ll be nice. The only good part of my days are when the fam visits. My mom and I watch our shows and my brother and I have our shows we watch as well. I’ve started, finished, and caught up on several shows while here.

What did you last have a conversation about?: Texting with my mom about what she was doing and when she was coming,

What color is your toothbrush?: Blue.

Have you ever stayed at a hotel alone?: No, but I’ve stayed in the room alone for awhile if I wanted to just chill or rest instead of doing something.

Who were you last in a vehicle with?: My mom and brother.

What can you currently hear?: A commercial and hospital noises.

Do you find having to find meals daily to be a nuisance?: I often did and that’s something I took for granted now that I haven’t been able to eat actual food or drink anything for over a month. I miss food and coffee and soda and milkshakes 🙁 Pretty much everything looks and sounds good to me. And damnit, you never realize how many food commercials there are that air constantly and all the ads and recipes posted online everywhere.

Would you rather go a week without showering or brushing your teeth?: Showering because I could freshen up other ways.

What does your last text message say?: “Ha, busted!”

Do you listen to screamo?: Some.

You can have any 3 things in the world, what would you choose?: Good health, financial stability, happiness.

Last thing you won?: Uhhh.

Have you ever considered becoming a vlogger?: No.

Do you take any daily medicines or vitamins?: Yes. Especially now, I’ve had all kinds of stuff.

Do you carry pepper spray?: Yes.

Are you easily distracted?: Yes.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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sreidisms · 2 months

Text

Let Me Ease Your Worries

Spencer Reid × Midsize!Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer finds it hard to understand when you need reassurance. When you tackle the topic, he wants to show you just how much he loves your body (smut with plot).

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: negative self talk, body dysmorphia (may be sensitive for people with ED experiences), swearing, kissing, nudity, oral sex (f!receiving), intimate touching (Spencer and reader touch each other's genitalia briefly), unprotected penetrative sex, creampie.

A/N: This is the first smut fic I've posted in literal years, so be patient as I edited this super quickly 🙏 there's no real sub/dom dynamic although there are moments where Spencer is on the subbier side. Although this is listed as midsize!reader, plusize!readers are also welcome, I just thought certain descriptions wouldn't fit the exact experience of a plus-size person.

Spencer was the smartest person you had ever met. IQ of 187 with 3 PHDs and 2 BAs under his arm deemed him an academic weapon. He was an expert when it came to statistics and basically everything else that piqued the genius’ interest. Literature and texts were no match for him as he whizzed through them at lightning speed, each glyph sticking to his brain in a lifelong bond.

With all his knowledge, it wouldn’t be unrealistic to assume there was nothing Doctor Spencer Reid could not achieve - except being able to comprehend the fact you needed constant reassurance, that is.

You had been dating the boy wonder for two years and it was safe to say you had never felt happier or luckier. He was sweet and caring, yet timid; but that didn’t stop him from worshipping the ground you walked on. Spencer thought he was subtle about it, but he clung to you like a lost puppy - he was hopelessly in love.

Thus, it was near impossible for the young man to think that there was ever a doubt in your mind that you weren’t the most beautiful girl to him.

Self-confidence was never your forte. Your childhood and teenage years were spent focusing on school rather than boyfriends and first kisses. Not that you wouldn’t have liked to. The opportunity just never revealed itself before Spencer - and you blamed that on your body. A soft, friendly face had no effect when paired with your round stomach and filled-in hips and thighs.

Spencer hadn’t actually realised you were insecure about yourself, because why would you be? All he saw was a natural beauty and happiness gleaming off of you.

So when the time came where your insecurities got the best of you, your boyfriend wasn’t the exact blueprint of awareness. Ever the oblivious boy, he couldn’t figure out why there were days when you went quiet or didn’t reciprocate his affection as much. Being a profiler at the BAU should have made him better at this, you thought.

That was until you had a particularly harsh day after work. With long shifts at the bookshop and days spent apart from Spencer because of his job, you were mentally exhausted. At 5.30pm, you shoved the key into your front door and sighed, happy at last to be home. A tired Spencer clad in red checkered pyjama pants and a Caltech t-shirt was sprawled on the sofa. He had messaged you a few hours before that the case had closed and he was returning home for the rest of the weekend.

He flashed you his signature toothy grin and got up from his comfortable place amongst the cushions and blanket, padding across the wooden floor in his cute purple and red socks.

“Hi,” he spoke softly as he leaned down to give you peck on your cheek. “I missed you.”

You smiled and nodded, reaching for his hand and rubbing your thumb across his knuckles. “Missed you too.”

Despite knowing each other for five years, you were both still shy in the other’s presence. You had had the occasional make out session and even managed to share a few nights tangled amidst the sheets after mustering up the courage. Nonetheless, you acted as if you had only been dating for a month.

After kicking off your shoes and throwing your bag on the floor, you plopped on the sofa in your usual corner, resting your head on the back.

Spencer remained by the front door, standing awkwardly and playing with the fingertips of his right hand. He looked utterly adorable with his pyjama bottoms loose at his hips and his t-shirt sliding off a shoulder - but his eyes hid something flickering behind them.

The sound of him clearing his throat resonated around the room and you looked upwards. Spencer opened his mouth to say something and then quickly shut it.

“What’s wrong? You’re gaping like a fish.”

You giggled and he smiled in return, letting out a light-hearted sigh.

“Is something up? You … you didn’t kiss me like you usually do when I’ve been away on a case.”

And he was right. It was like a routine to jump into his arms and cover him with kisses every time you were apart. But today you couldn’t shake the heavy feeling looming over you: that you were less than he deserved, both in actions and looks.

You didn’t want to display your worries so openly, so you beckoned him to come over with a stretch of your arm and a weak smile, holding his face between your palms once he neared. You craned your neck and placed a soft kiss on his cracked lips.

“I’m sorry, Spence - nothing’s up, just tired.”

Spencer quirked his head to the side as he looked down at you, the profiling cogs in his brain turning to read the expression on your sullen face.

“On average, women tell three lies to their partners and co-workers daily - and I can tell you’re lying.”

You rolled your eyes, avoiding his gaze to escape the intimidating and unblinking look he sported when trying to guess what was going on in your head.

“You’re annoying when you’re smart, do you know that?”

He knew you were teasing him and he chuckled, shaking his head before sitting down next to you. He hovered his hand over your thigh before setting it back down in his lap; outright displays of affection were still a guessing game for Spencer, never knowing if you wanted his touch or not, or if it was the right course of action.

“It comes in handy when I know you’re worried about something. You gave a vague answer, you avoided eye contact, and you scratched your neck before answering. All of those factors, especially self-grooming and self-soothing behaviours, are signs that one is lying.”

Although often a blessing, Spencer’s intellect was a curse when you tried to hide your anxieties.

“Just a bad self-image day, darling.”

Only confusion spread across your boyfriend’s face.

“What do you mean? You’ve never mentioned this before.”

“Because I didn’t need to before. I just …” You paused. “Not feeling very good about myself. About how I look.”

It should’ve been easy for him to understand what you were getting at, but he looked completely lost.

“I don’t follow.”

You shifted to better look at him and crossed your legs underneath you, Spencer mirroring your position. Somehow, you had to explain what insecurity felt and looked like to this supposed all-knower of things.

“Sometimes Spence, I don’t feel very confident in how I look. In how I am perceived.”

Spencer looked at his hands for a few moments before looking up and saying, “61% of adults express negative thoughts regarding their physique, but I wouldn’t think you’d showcase that. Did something trigger this?”

You shrugged, wrapping your arms around your torso in an attempt to shield your body from his strong stare.

“I feel like maybe … I don’t deserve you, like I should look better for you, be prettier.”

Spencer’s mouth fell slightly agape, the first time he had been rendered speechless all evening. His eyes seemed empty, searching for the next thing to say to an answer he never expected leaving your mouth.

“What do you mean prettier? You’re my girlfriend, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he said this with a slight tremble in his voice which indicated disbelief.

“You just say that because you have to.”

If he was puzzled before, now he was completely dumbfounded.

“I don’t understand where you’re going with this. No one forced me to say that.” He went silent for a second. “Covering one’s body with their arms is an attempt at shielding oneself, thus indicating fear and insecurity.”

Spencer wasn’t sure if he gave you a reason to feel insecure about yourself. Sure, he wasn’t the best person at expressing his love through words and physical affections, but to him it was undeniable that he adored you.

“Why do you feel insecure about yourself? Did I say something or imply that I don’t want you?”

The opportunity to speak up about the deep-rooted hatred you had for your physique had never surfaced until now. It was a situation you weren’t too keen on taking, even though you wished he’d asked about it earlier.

“No, no at all, you didn’t say anything! You’re nothing but kind to me.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows, urging you to continue.

“I feel like my body shape isn’t ideal and one day you’re going to realise that and leave me.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out all at once: a breath, a tumble of words, two years’ worth of worries and unsaid thoughts out in a matter of four seconds.

A tense silence blanketed the room, the small distance between you feeling larger than ever. It was difficult to decipher the expression on the boy’s face: his eyebrows furrowed deeply as he often did when he couldn’t grasp something and his mouth shaped itself into a sad pout. Spencer stuttered before speaking.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean I’d leave you? I- I- “

“Spencer, I’m fat.”

That was it, that’s what you had been implying all this time, what you ached to confess. His eyebrows went back into place, straight as a line.

“Actually, when it comes to measuring one’s weight in accordance to their height, you’re at a healthy weight. Although the BMI scale was used as a way to calculate this in the past, it has been deemed inaccurate because-”

“Spencer, stop! I don’t care about facts, I feel ugly and I’m scared you’re going to realise that!”

You huffed, the strand of hair which had fallen across your face flying out of the way. You rubbed your hands across the expanse of your thighs, squeezing your knees. Spencer’s erratic hand movements and scientific explanation were halted.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout,” you said more calmly.

It was clear he didn’t know what to say. You had never interrupted him mid-rant, you always reassured him you were more than happy to listen. He made a scratching sound at the back of his throat, shifting his eyes down before meeting yours again, his cheeks now flushed in embarrassment.

“I think you’re beautiful. I always have.”

The comment hit a sore point in yourself. Beautiful. A word only your boyfriend had ever told you; and well, your parents, but that was a different scenario. It felt foreign, like you were taking something that didn’t belong to you.

“Spence, please, you don’t have to say that-”

“I mean it. I truly mean it.” You could tell he was being honest because of his gentle voice and wide eyes. “I don’t lie about these things. I look at you and I see someone I love, and that someone happens to be beautiful in my eyes. Nothing about you could push me away, I’d be crazy to do so. You’re stuck with me forever.” He smiled softly, trying to ease the tension in the air.

His words were sweet, but not sweet enough to dissolve your doubts.

“But you work with women who are so much prettier than I am.” You paused and said the next part quieter. “Thinner than I am.”

“Yeah, I know that. And?” That wasn’t the response that would exactly help.

“And! And, Spence! Thinner is prettier.”

“Actually, aesthetics are subjective-” You glared at him before he could continue his next statistical lesson.

He nodded, playing with his fingertips again - a habit he had developed in order to collect his thoughts.

“The first time I saw you, I thought you were prettier than anyone else I had ever met. I liked how your clothes hugged you, the way your shirts and sweaters settled around your torso. I liked that pants and skirts looked a certain way on you, because your hips and thighs made them stretch out. I still hold those views.”

He lifted his head to utter the last part.

“If what you’re implying is that because you don’t have a flat stomach - the current beauty norm - I’m going to find you unattractive, then I’m going to have to ask you to re-evaluate your method of deduction, because I prefer your body over anyone else’s.”

That’s all you wanted to hear. “Thank you, sometimes I forget.”

Spencer took a few seconds to ponder before asking, “I’ve never told you that, have I? Like, out loud.”

You shook your head meekly, smiling at him to show that you weren’t angry. “No, not really.”

Now he understood. He had never expected that you needed to be told what he thought about you to know that he was crazy about your body, about you in general. Or that it needed to be repeated, or else you’d forget.

“Can you tell me when you’re feeling this way? I didn’t know you had these thoughts, you never told me. I assumed you just … knew that I found you attractive, always.”

Communication. This was new, but a step into the right direction.

“I’m sorry for never being open about it - I will from now on.”

The brunet placed his hand over yours, which had been resting on your knee for a while now.

“I really love you, I’m sorry I don’t say it a lot. I find the weight you’re at to be really appealing, although you don’t need my approval - weight has no correlation to the strength or amount of love one is capable of receiving.”

It was impossible not to kiss him: this perfect man sat in front of you in his home attire, messy strands and waves of hair surrounding his face, uttering the kindest words which were specifically directed towards you.

You grabbed his face between your hands once more and pressed a kinder, more loving kiss to his lips. Spencer further smooshed his face against yours, playing with the frayed ends of his pyjama bottoms to ground himself - that fluttery sensation in his chest when you kissed never went away after all this time together.

Once pulling back, you rested your forehead against his, blindly searching for his hands to take them into yours. You stayed like so for a while until your boyfriend whispered, “Can I try to show you how pretty I find you?”

You straightened your back in surprise. “Show me how?”

A faint blush tinted his cheeks as he traced the bumps of your knuckles with his forefinger. “I’m never the one to initiate this, but … I’d really like to be intimate with you. I-In bed.” His stuttering was nothing short of cute. Spencer wouldn’t be Spencer without being formal when it came to your sexual life.

“You want to have sex with me, is what you’re trying to say?” You couldn’t help but blush as well, at the fact the prettiest boy you had ever laid eyes on wanted to be intimate with you; touch your body and make you feel good.

“Y-Yes, that’s what I mean. Precisely.”

“That’s the first time you ever proposed that yourself, y’know?” you teased, knocking your fist into his shoulder lightly. He chuckled and shrugged. “I try my best.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, shifting yourself onto your knees. “You can show me. Right here.”

And that was the go-ahead he needed.

He surged towards your lips, covering them in a clumsy but loving kiss, while he held your face in his large hands. A whimper escaped your mouth at the sudden movement, letting Spencer lay his weight on top of you after pushing your legs forward by pressing his fingers on the bend of your knees. Your thighs encapsulated him, a feeling which he never admitted to enjoying so much - until now.

“I really like …” He kissed you. “The way …” Another kiss. “Your thighs feel around me.” Kiss, kiss, kiss.

Your thighs tensed around his waist, tightening the grip around his body in response. Your hands moved from behind his neck to his back, rubbing them up and down in a soothing manner.

You could already feel Spencer softly rutting into you, his body flush against yours as he ground his half-hard cock into your inner thigh. You had never seen him so eager, always hesitant and embarrassed to make the first move, or take the lead.

But this was different. Although nervous, he wanted to show you how much you meant to him, how beautiful he thought you were, how your body drove him insane.

Spencer started kissing down your neck, finding the way to the sensitive spot between your neck and jaw. “I r-really like kissing you, because your skin is so warm,” he whispered near your ear. You whined, gripping his t-shirt in your fists as your hips cant forward.

You wanted to say so much, needed to. However, you were caught in the feeling of the brunet’s lips moving downwards, carefully pushing the buttons of your shirt through the slots as his open-mouthed kisses trailed across the top of your bra.

He finished unbuttoning your blouse and knelt down between your legs, cautiously placing his large palms over your clad breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze. You could tell he was mindlessly ogling them, focusing on the way the flesh moulded into his touch, and this made your face heat up.

“I don’t t-think I need to explain how much I like your um …” He cleared his throat. “Y-Your chest.” He flicked his eyes upwards to meet yours, smiling bashfully - you bit your lip and nodded. Spencer took it as a sign to take off your bra, reaching his hands behind your back to unclasp it. The garment billowed and he quickly pulled it away before discarding it onto the floor.

His pupils dilated when he glanced at your breasts, all bare in front of him, only for him to see. You felt exposed and went to cover yourself with your arms before he grasped your wrists. “You’re beautiful, you don’t need to cover yourself.” His expression radiated warmth and comfort. I have to trust him, you told yourself. With hesitation, you set your arms aside and Spencer’s hands were instantly on your chest again, his fingertips digging into the supple flesh and leaving red dotted marks behind.

You squirmed underneath his touch as you felt so seen, so exposed. It was still hard to focus on the moment and let the boy you love so dearly show his attraction to you. It was always such a challenge to do so, but now more than ever because the little confidence you had had a minute ago slipped away from your grasp when he started to undress you.

You clenched your fists by your sides, looking anywhere but at Spencer as the anxiety bubbled at your sternum. Suddenly, your face was moved and you were looking at your boyfriend again, his palms warm against your already-blazing cheeks.

“Do you need to stop?” You shook your head, unable to speak.

Spencer bit his bottom lip in thought. “I know I don’t express it well, b-but I really am attracted to you. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’re beautiful. We’ve done this before, h-haven’t we?”

You nod.

“Then trust me when I say I want to see all of you. I just want to …” He swallowed deeply. “Want to be close to you.”

In reality, you were both nervous and you knew that Spencer was probably just as self-conscious about his own body as you are about yours. With a deep sigh through your nose, you nod once more to tell him to continue.

His lips were back on yours and his hands moved down to grip your hips, squeezing the fatty tissue; you felt so undeniably soft, between his fingers and against his stomach.

You pawed at his t-shirt, signalling him to take it off. He clumsily pulled back and attempted to remove it in typical Spencer Reid fashion: his head got stuck and his right arm bent in the most uncomfortable manner. You snorted underneath your breath and helped him out by pulling the bottom of the shirt over his head.

“Are you that eager?” you teased, slowly easing into the atmosphere and finding comfort.

“I’ve literally been trying to tell you that,” he exclaimed with a huff and pulled your body down from your thighs, scooting himself down until his face is hovering over your stomach.

“Spencer, what are you-”

“Please, I just want to taste you”, he said with doe eyes, his fingers already on the button of your jeans.

You shifted your hips a little, now extremely aware of yourself and how your tummy looked from Spencer’s angle where he was situated between your thighs.

“I’m not sure, my stomach looks odd-”

“I’ve dreamt about having your stomach pressed against my forehead as I eat you out for the entire week I’ve been away, please just trust me.”

Your face heated up.

“Fucking vulgar, I thought you were a sweet boy.”

His face flushed in embarrassment at realising what just left his mouth. “Can we stop focusing on what I said and just let me get on with it?” You giggled and agreed with his statement.

In a few seconds, your jeans were slipped off your legs and Spencer’s nose was buried in your panties, nuzzling the faint wet spot in the middle of the fabric. Your breath hitched at the sensation as you tried to mentally convince yourself to enjoy the moment.

His index and middle fingers hooked around the edge of your underwear and moved it to the side, finally revealing your glistening pussy. He sighed and his eyes fluttered shut once his tongue met your slit for the first time in ages, dragging the muscle along your sex.

Your thighs shuddered around his head and you tried your best not to let out a sound. This was soon deemed useless once Spencer flattened his tongue against your clit, gently spreading your lips with his index fingers.

“Oh shit.”

Your brain already felt like mush - your hyper-sensitivity was something you were ashamed of, but it deeply pleased your boyfriend.

He hummed in approval of your comment, pushing his nose against your clit to slip his tongue into your entrance, basically tongue-fucking you at a slow pace. It contrasted the usual way he hastily lapped at your pussy and made a mess of the entire thing, getting drunk on your taste. This time, however, he was really trying to show you how much he worshiped your body, despite his shy demeanour.

It eventually got impossible to stifle your sounds, even if a hand was clamped over your mouth. Soft breaths and gentle moans floated around the room, while you subconsciously moved yourself against his face.

In order to get a better hold of you, Spencer hiked your legs over his shoulders after removing your panties and placed his hands on the smooth expanse of your tummy, tenderly kneading it. What you could only describe as butterflies, although cliché, erupted inside of you. You wanted to move his hands away, tell yourself that part of you was disgusting and unworthy of admiration, but the pleasure Spencer was giving you and the love radiating off of him stopped your worries.

He continued to suck on the raw skin and flick his tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves, every so often pushing his entire face into you and exhaling out of pure hunger. You loved how he always made sure you were enjoying yourself when he went down on you, how he showed no discomfort in having his mouth, nose, and chin buried between your legs and getting drenched in your arousal. And you knew how much messes rubbed him the wrong way, but he surely seemed to be relishing in making a mess of you.

You hadn’t noticed yet, but Spencer had been rutting his hips into the cushion of the couch for a while. He was aching to be inside you, to have your warm walls tighten around him; but your pleasure came first and foremost, especially since you were so concerned about him not being attracted to you - that was definitely not happening.

He whimpered into your cunt as he grew harder, his poor weeping cock restraining against the fabric of his boxers, his pants, and the surface beneath him.

“Fuck, I’m c-close”, you gasped, sooner than usual.

The comment sent Spencer into overdrive: he alternated between sucking harshly on your clit and spreading his tongue all over your lips and inside of you, just dying to have you cum on his face. One of his hands was still on your stomach, but the other was holding onto your waist tightly. All he wanted was to feel your soft flesh between his fingers, against any part of his body. Even the pudge of your stomach that you tried so desperately to hide drove him mad.

With one last lick to your clit, your orgasm hit you abruptly. Your hands fumbled until they found Spencer’s hair and tugged and pulled, pushing him deeper against your pussy as you soaked his face in arousal. You felt him groan as it vibrated against you, mirroring the way you were gasping for air and moaning out in pleasure. His arms were wrapped tightly around your thighs, using them to ground himself as he suffocated between them.

After a few more laden breaths, you relaxed your legs and loosened your grip on his hair. You peered down to see a blissed out Spencer resting his cheek against your inner thigh, his thumb drawing circles into your hip.

“I’m sorry about that,” you said with a laugh.

He hummed as he pushed himself upwards, subtly moving his crotch to settle against your pelvic bone for more friction.

“I should be saying thank you really.”

You pulled him in for a kiss, a thank you for what a wonderful job he had done. The taste of yourself lingered in your mouth.

Although you attempted to lengthen the kiss, he pulled back and heaved, “now please can I be inside you, I really need it so badly, it hurts.”

There was the usual needy and whiney boy you knew.

“Yes yes, I’m not going to leave you hanging, pretty boy.”

You swiftly pushed his pyjama bottoms down with his boxers and Spencer kicked them off to help. His length was hard against his pelvis, the tip all red and swollen after having nothing but humping the couch to help him get off. Gently, you wrapped a hand around the base and squeezed. That got a whine out of him, his jaw slack and still covered in your slick. You slowly dragged your hand up his shaft, tightening your grip as you neared the head and circled your thumb over his slit that was already spurting pre-cum.

“Please f-fuck, please just let me inside you, I’m already close to coming.”

“Already?” You raised your eyebrows teasingly.

“S-Shut up,” his voice wavered as he struggled to hold himself up, his hands planted on either side of your shoulders.

You let out a chuckle before letting go and resting your palm on his waist to encourage him. Nervously, he lined himself up to your entrance and tried his best not to push in all in one go. In his excitement and neediness, he missed and his cock slid up between your folds, his tip rubbing against your clit. You both exhaled.

“F-Fuck sorry, I just-” Spencer could hardly speak. His knuckles were turning white from the way he was holding the arm of the couch; he was dying to have you engulf him so he could place his hands all over your sweaty skin.

“It’s okay,” you breathed out. “Let me help.”

You reached down and grabbed his cock once again and pushed the head against your pussy. Spencer could already feel the heat emanating from you and it only spurred him on more.

With a little wiggle of his hips, he started to inch himself inside you. The warmth of your cunt gradually surrounded his dick. So warm, so wet is all he could think about.

You took him further by placing your hands on his ass and pushing. Once he was fully sheathed inside you, your boy genius could no longer think straight. All he wanted was to cum and tell you how much he loves the way you make him feel.

Hurting you or causing any pain was the last thing Spencer wanted, so he carefully pulled back until he was almost entirely out and then pushed in again with a quiet squelch.

“G-God, you feel so g-good,” he whined.

Honestly and truly, you hardly heard what he was saying because you were completely focused on how he was stretching you out so deliciously, mouth agape and eyes closed.

It didn’t take long before Spencer started to shallowly thrust into you, your gummy walls fluttering and spasming around his throbbing cock.

In an effort to be closer, Spencer laid on top you, chest to chest, and hid his face in your neck. His hands found a home in your hair, gently massaging your scalp.

Nothing could have felt any better than this: your lovely boyfriend making love to you, his nimble fingers caressing your body into a state of peace and bliss. And for him? Well, his girlfriend’s plush body pressed against his skinny figure was better than anything he could imagine.

You lazily ground into each other, whimpers and hot breaths leaving the both of you. Your hands were splayed across Spencer’s back, desperately keeping him as close as possible.

“I love you, I love you so much,” he whispered.

This man was a dream come to life and he was so sweet while being so.

You swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth before replying. “I love you too, a lot.”

He peppered kisses across your neck and traced your skin with his lips, leaving a layer of dew behind. In return, you left a few kisses on his shoulder when your head wasn’t tilted back in pleasure.

You were so tight around him and you felt so unbelievably full. Now, you weren’t going to say that Spencer had the biggest dick you could think of, but that wasn’t the point - you fit perfectly with each other and your pussy had basically moulded itself to fit snuggly around his length like a glove. You couldn’t imagine yourself having sex with anyone else, not that you wanted to anyways.

You moved your head to the side and kissed his cheek, moving a hand to rest amidst the mess of hair you loved so dearly. He had just shaved that morning so his stubble wasn’t there to scrape against your lips.

“I r-really love- oh fuck.” Speaking during intercourse wasn’t a skill Spencer had mastered as of yet. The feeling of his approaching orgasm had him reeling and he was mustering all the strength he had left to express how much he enjoyed your body and how it made him feel.

“I love … I love how you feel a-against me. You’re so soft and warm.” He gasped as he teetered on the edge.

“Your s-stomach and thighs and h-hips … God.” He hiccupped. It was hard to talk, his hands holding onto your waist.

“They’re all s-so … so soft. It drives me … insane, it- fuck drives me insane.”

Never had you felt so loved as you did at this very moment: enveloped in the arms of the boy you loved, skin-to-skin, whispering the most heartfelt words into your ear.

You wanted to reply, tell him that his words meant so much to you, but the way his tip was stamping into your sweet spot had stolen the breath out of your entire body. All you could do was gasp and let out moan after moan.

Spencer’s bony hips were smacking into the plush of your ass as he fucked into you deeper, his rhythm faltering as it all just became erratic.

“Gonna come,” Spencer whispered, as if he was asking for permission.

“Y-Yeah, go ahead,” you managed to mumble. And that’s all he needed.

With a high-pitched moan, he spilled into you as his hands moved around, just trying to grab any inch of you that he could, loving the feeling of the fat around your thighs and waist. I love you’s were muttered into your skin while his orgasm kept hitting him in waves. His hips stuttered as rope after rope of cum was milked from his tired cock, your cunt pulsating at the fact you were so close as well.

The brunet finally stopped thrusting after a while, going soft inside of you as his breathing slowed down.

“I love you too by the way,” you said quietly, scared to break the silence.

You could feel his smile on the side of your neck.

“You didn’t come yet,” he murmured before his hand found its way between your bodies, a thumb pressing onto your clit. Your body jolted in surprise.

“You really don’t h-have to, darling.”

“But I want to, want to make you feel good.”

You giggled. “You already have, silly.”

“Yeah, but you deserve more.” What an angel.

At least, you weren’t so far off from climaxing and thus a few tight circles helped you come for the second time that evening.

You laid on top of each other, not wanting to move from such a sweet embrace. Spencer had shuffled a little lower once he pulled out of you, not caring that his cum had started to ooze out of you and smear against his upper thigh, and rested his head on your chest. He couldn’t resist putting his hand on one of your boobs either.

“All that I said … it’s true,” he confessed. “I love you a lot and I think you’re pretty. And I love the parts you hate about yourself.”

You hugged him tighter, not sure how to express the appreciation you had for him. “Thank you, you don’t know how much you mean to me, Spence.”

He left a kiss on your collarbone before saying, “We need to get you cleaned up before you get a UTI. Do you know that up to six out of every ten women in the United States experience one?"

#writingreidisms #criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #mgg #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #mgg fanfiction #criminal minds smut #spencer reid smut #mgg smut #spencer reid x reader #mgg x reader #midsize reader #plussize reader

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alamin99sheikh · 3 months

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Book Name: "Becoming a Legacy Leader" Writer: Zana Kenjar Location: USA Benefits of reading the book

A 10-Step Manager’s Guide to Unlocking Limitless Opportunities is a dynamic new book by Zana Kenjar, who has spent years leading teams in various roles. The book devotes a chapter to each of the ten steps, which include Building Your Champion Mindset, Developing a Risk-Management Culture, and Becoming a Profit-Driven Leader. At the heart of the book is how to cultivate a strong relationship with those you lead by getting to know your team members individually and inspiring them to do more than they may believe they can. A bonus chapter is targeted to immigrants, helping them to adapt to working in the United States and providing tools to leaders for how to help them in the process. Kenjar is herself an immigrant who came to the United States as a teenager and is now a proud US citizen.

Kenjar begins by addressing how many people want to be promoted to their first or next leadership position but often wait years and feel stuck because they don’t actively try to help themselves. Kenjar shares her own story of being overlooked for a leadership position only to learn from the leader who took the position how she could best help herself advance in her career. Ultimately, Kenjar learned that moving up the ladder doesn’t have to be so challenging. She now wants to share what she learned, which is all about uncovering your potential so you can become the leader you always wanted to be. She has now been in leadership roles since 1996, including seventeen years in the banking industry. She has even been recognized as in the top 2 percent of the country’s highest-performing managers. Today, Kenjar is a self-employed consultant, author, and speaker who teaches others to accomplish what she has achieved.

As Kenjar walks readers through the steps to becoming leaders, she shares inspiring quotes, practical advice, and thought-provoking exercises that allow them to apply what they have learned in each chapter. Most importantly, she focuses on the importance of not letting fear stop us, being willing to change, and not letting negative thoughts overpower us. Perhaps most inspiring of all are her personal stories about people who worked for her whom she was delighted to see advance in their careers. Kenjar seriously cares about her team members, as evidenced by her repeated emphasis on the need to celebrate others’ achievements.

The book’s chapters are largely arranged into lists or steps related to how to achieve the goal of the chapter’s topic. For example, when discussing the importance of communication, Kenjar reminds us that we must learn how to speak effectively to our team, our manager, our peers, our business partners, our family, and ourselves. She discusses in detail each of the following tips for how to be an effective communicator: speak with sincerity and humility; lead with empathy, influence, and patience in your voice; do not use nonverbal communication like slamming a door that says the opposite of what is helpful; and respect your body language by making sure it says to your team members, “I am here, happy and willing to teach you and help you every day!”

Kenjar offers a lot of practical advice for leading teams through change. She knows the boss has to be the change leader. They cannot be negative about the change or try to blame those higher-up for it. They must be positive about it, explaining how it will be a good thing for everyone involved. Communication is also important during change, even if you sound like a broken record, to ensure everyone knows what to expect and is clear on how to implement the change successfully.

One chapter discusses the importance of becoming a customer experience expert. Kenjar teaches her team members how to greet customers properly, making them feel special. She recommends having coffee chats with customers. She suggests making a list of your top twenty clients and learning their stories so you know what they need and can develop a lasting relationship with them. In the end, it is clear Kenjar cares about her customers as much as she does about her team members.

Everything in Becoming a Legacy Leader is valuable and worth discussing, but what really jumped out at me was Kenjar’s appreciation for what she has had the opportunity to achieve by immigrating to the United States. Too many of us born in this country take things for granted and focus on the negative rather than the wonderful freedom and opportunities we have here. Kenjar’s positivity is refreshing. She states:

“I love the United States of America. It’s the best country in the world because it is full of opportunities, and I will continue to create opportunities for myself, my family, and my employees until my dying day. Get to know your team, create endless opportunities, help them find options, and there will be no limit to who and what you and your people can become.”

Being an immigrant, Kenjar focuses a lot on the importance and value of diversity. She has led many diverse teams with different dynamics and of different sizes and realizes everyone has different talents to offer and can be of value. She encourages leaders to take diversity training and educate themselves on the countries and cultures their team members are from. This activity will help team members feel cared about and help leaders understand where their team members are coming from.

Becoming a Legacy Leader is a book that will benefit anyone who reads it. It offers both an inside perspective on leadership and a refreshing voice that will inspire its readers to become inspired leaders.

Thank you💝

Available On Amazon:

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harleythealter · 9 months

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I’m tired of the people who offer free diagnoses. I can respect and understand some self diagnoses. I don’t need a doctor to tell me that I deal with depression. That would cost money that doesn’t need to be spent.

Usually it’s harmless, something I’ve tried to reach myself to become immune to. It’s like hearing about tragedies on the news, after so many, you just stop crying and it’s not so upsetting anymore. I just got tired of people diagnosing me with ADHD or ADD. Really, it’s not their place. I didn’t ask for their opinion. They didn’t ask if I wanted their opinions conceding MY mental health. It makes me bone deep exhausted.

Some people suggest that I’m depressed-in certain seasons. Usually that comes after months of confusion as to why I’m functioning a certain way. It’s less offensive because it’s often accurate.

But it’s so confusing to have people ask me thinks similar to… ‘do your characters talk to you?’ ‘Can you see your characters?’ ‘Do you feel like sometimes you are your characters?’

On and on. And I feel panicked because I see what they’re suggesting. I’ve even asked to clarify and make sure I’m not assuming. And when I ask if they’re really trying to figure out if I might ‘see’ things-also known as hallucinating. Or if I believe I have multiple people inside of me… there’s so many things that can relate to. I get the most panicked because how do I respond? The answer is no, I don’t hallucinate in the way you suggest and no, those people aren’t apart of me… but… I mean they do come from me… Harley especially. I gift my OCs parts of me to keep safe… and yes I see them… but only through my stories… they don’t stand next to me. Though they do certainly comfort me more than most people who are next to me ever could. Also… they don’t speak to me… but I do hear them all of the time. I often refer to harley as the person making the jokes… but Harley got his sense of humor from me. How else do we cover up our insecurities? So is it me or is it Harley? I mean. I’m one person, right? But how do I explain the fact that Harley feels like a shadow living just to the right of my skin. As if we’re a drawing in red and blue, two different images depending on what lense you look through. How do I express that Harley isn’t real if he’s made up of very real parts of me? If he’s almost if not 100% me?

Do you see these questions that come up just from somebody trying to diagnose me? TEENAGERS WITHOUT ENOUGH EDUCATION OR EVEN EXPERIENCE?????????

And that’s not the least of it. I deal with enough identity searching while deciding who I want to be that when people ask me questions that suggest things like this, especially without permission I feel disrespected as if they don’t actually care. Which I can’t say for sure if that is or isn’t the case, I don’t live their life. But diagnosing others without permission isn’t always welcomed and I need a break. It’s been over a year and a half and it’s still stuck there, wondering, questioning.

*insert semi laughter* I can’t forget to mention all the times I use plural pronouns… “yeah we’re all okay over here”… it’s just me over here… right? How does that even fit into it? Is that me talking? Is it Harley? How the fuck am I supposed to know? I mean, all the years I spent with a blurred connection between me and the world, maybe Harley just took over.

Oh. My. God. I never realized this next part. I’ll change the color for ya.

In my story… Harley wasn’t the original. Harper was the “born” person if that makes sense. After her childhood traumatic incidents, she changed. Short way to explain the rest is that Harley is a mask. Harley and Harper are one coherent person with a different name for a different state of mind. But Harley is louder, funnier. Mostly he’s confident. Harper is quiet. She feels more secure in who she is even if she doesn’t want that to be the only part of her. She doesn’t force herself to smile, she’s graceful to herself and loves her family deeply. Harley is capable of this too. But there’s still some sort of split.

Connecting that back to me… What if I use Harley as my mask as well… he makes those loud confident jokes. I feel as though I’m secure through him. There’s a sense that nobody will know me better than Harley. I seriously think that Harley had saved me from myself. Maybe he didn’t stop the trauma but he was somebody I could rely on-because I was able to write him whenever. Of course all of this makes it even harder to prove that he’s not ‘me’. I know he’s fiction. That’s the truth. But how do I prove that to myself when everything suggests that in some fashion, Harley is something more?

It drives me nearly insane trying to understand this. Because he’s more than an imaginary friend. I’m aware of his fictional status but it’s hard to separate him from the real world when all of our ‘symptoms’ suggest we aren’t so separate. And when I mentioned us feeling like a blue and red drawing, why did that resonate so deeply? Why do I question myself so deeply.

And why is it that I do not feel this way with all of my other characters? Harley wasn’t my first OC. He was my fourth(-ish. He and Mazie developed at the same time). But still. What makes Harley and I different? Why do we feel more like one piece than two? But also like two very different people at the same time?

Also. Bringing it full circle. Can you see what happens to me when you suggest a diagnosis? Yes. I should be stronger to not entertain some of these thoughts but it’s actually not your place to try to insert yourself into this area of my life.

Respectfully-or not. I don’t care how you take this anymore. Shut the fuck up and get out of my private business.

Thanks guys. :P

#tw depressing thoughts #excuse the swearing #is Harley my alter?#does anybody know my mental status?#I need something to stop my thoughts from moving so fast #maybe I should just go to sleep #I think that’s it for tonight #harleythealter

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snowdens-secret · 1 year

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While I’m grateful for the way that feminism has taught me to be more cognizant of my social hang-ups wrt other women, in some ways I just feel like...what the fuck do I even do with these epiphanies.

Like, I joined my uni’s secret underground radfem group, and some of them joke about the excuses they have to make to their (mostly female) friend groups about where they’re going when they sneak out to one of our pub meets...and then they ask me whether my mates know/are chill with me getting into radfem, and I have to say, haha, actually most of my friends/housemates are blokes, and men don’t give a shit about the pomo fineries of which flavour of feminism you subscribe to.

Now, I like these ladies & wish I had more female friends. I’m defo getting better at not feeling like I have to police myself & my body language around other women, but I wonder if I’ll ever actually be able to undo the years I spent meticulously trying to come off as inoffensive and unrepulsive as possible to the straight girls I grew up with.

I don’t want to be self indulgent here: I consider myself to have had a pretty OK teenage experience all things accounted for. I was bookish + the class nerd so I think I was afforded a little less scrutiny for my androgyny. But even before I realised I was lesbian and the other people in my small town weren’t, I was already absolute dogshit at female social etiquette. One of my earliest & most vivid memories of school was getting into some semi-heated debate about something with female friends on the schoolyard, not knowing when to stop apparently (probably because I’m argumentative and was having fun), the other girl starting to cry over the disagreement, and the other girls present rounding on me for being so insensitive to this girl that I made her cry. And as a kid I simply. could. not. understand. why this girl couldn’t just hold it together and not get so invested.

I’m sure I’m not the only female who had a similar childhood experience, but this was just never an issue with boys I was friends with. And then of course, with puberty, gayness just kind of fed into my stupid pathology about not knowing how to act right around girls - again, with boys it just did not come up.

And it’s so dumb! And I know it’s actually really unfair of me to have this subconscious assumption that a woman I don’t even know secretly finds me repulsive to the extent that I have to involuntarily feel awkward in her presence for ever after! Radical feminism has me questioning now whether I even enjoy male company that much, or whether I just like being able to socialise with people who don’t make me feel Like That, even if through no fault of their own.

I’m glad it’s a question I actually have the percipience to ask myself now but...I mean what do I even do with this information now that I have it...cuz it hasn’t actually solved the root issue

#radblr #female socialization #lesbian #radfem #radical feminists do interact

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balanchine-ballet-master · 1 year

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A Cloud in Trousers: Jennifer Homans on Balanchine, Pt. 1

Jennifer Homans, the author of the recently published biography Mr. B: George Balanchine's 20th Century, was interviewed in The Nation by Dilara O'Neil. This is the conversation, in two parts. Part 1:

DILARA O’NEIL: I thought it would be fitting to start at the end with your author’s note, which physically places you in the book as a student extra in one of Balanchine’s last works, Adagio Lamentoso, which is about angels and death—presumably Balanchine’s death. You were also at his funeral, which you call his final performance, and you went to the company performance the day he died.

JENNIFER HOMANS: The death itself was an extraordinary event for me, because I had been so shaped by Balanchine, and so profoundly moved in my deepest self by the experience of working with his dancers and the people at the school, and going every night to see these dances, which I did for four years.

And when he died, I just remember being at the State Theater. And we were all there. I don’t even know how I got into this performance. I must have bought a ticket. And just watching Suzanne Farrell do Symphony in C second movement, I was really crying. It was an astonishing event, because it was a community of people coming together. It wasn’t like the usual theater where everybody’s sitting and you don’t really know the people around you necessarily. It’s not that we talked, it’s just that we had a feeling of like, “Oh, my God, we’re all here together.” So there was that.

And then the funeral itself: it was one of those moments where so many of us felt a deep cultural loss—which affected everyone involved. I didn’t really know him, but I was deeply affected by it. And the funeral was a performance, it was like a performance of the whole project of all the people who were involved in this endeavor, because they were all there. When I went back to reconstruct it and tried to describe it, I relied a lot on pictures of the event. I had some pictures in my own head, and I had a lot of different accounts from the dancers. One of my favorites was the image of Danilova walking down the street after the hearse, looking lost and following after it. It leaves me a little bit speechless, those events. I knew that I didn’t really understand what had happened to me in terms of being affected by Balanchine’s work and by his presence; he was around when I was there, and I would watch rehearsals and, you know, sneak in and peek in, like everybody else. But I didn’t really understand that I was part of something that was much bigger than I knew at the time.

As a teenager, I got dropped into it. I didn’t plan it: It was an accident. And there I was. I just happened to be obsessed with ballet and wanted to be a dancer. And then I ended up in this place where there’s this genius at work. And to me, it was normal, you know, what else would it be like? Except that I knew that this wasn’t like most other performances. So I knew it was exceptional. But I didn’t know why or how, and I certainly didn’t imagine at that time that I would ever return to it. And through writing.

DO: This was before you wanted to be a writer.

JH: I always wrote things down when I was at performances, and I came from an academic family. I spent a lot of time at the New York Public Library [the theater branch, which is across the street] when I was training at the School of American Ballet. I would go over there and try to figure out what was going on. What was this thing that I was studying? And I would watch videos, and I would read books. I got invited to Danilova’s for tea. And for years after that, I would make it my business to get invited again. I was fascinated. At that time I was just listening, I didn’t write any of it down, but I remember a lot of it.

DO: Dances, as you say, are not transcribed; they are handed down from person to person. How do you think your background as a professional dancer, and former SAB student, influenced how you were able to write about these ballets?

JH: Writing about dance is something intuitive for me, which comes, I think, from having been a dancer. I try to see it from the outside, as the audience would, and also to imagine what it is like to do it from the inside of the body, in the movement. It is an act of translation—having a nonverbal sense of a work and then striving to find words that might convey what it is.

DO: Can you talk a bit about your practice of melding archival research with more permeable subjective memories, both yours and those of Balanchine’s dancers?

JH: Archival and oral history can be used to compliment each other, I think. Memory is notoriously inaccurate, but memories—and the person doing the remembering—are also a form of information, which can be balanced by archival sources from the time. The best, of course, is when the interviewee also has diaries or letters from the time, which can jog memory and add another layer of evidence.

DO: It’s funny that you say you were always reading while you were dancing, because it also seems like, from your book, that Balanchine was also an inveterate reader, and you paint such a rich picture of everything he was interested in and what left footprints in his mind, from Mayakovsky’s concept of byt [roughly, the hardened routines of everyday life] to Nietzsche’s influence.

JH: That was a big discovery for me because I have grown up in what I think of now as a mythology of Balanchine, which he in part created, which had to do with a sort of modernist set of chants: “don’t think, just dance.” It’s all in the work, we don’t need words. So when I started to understand, and come across the evidence, that in fact he actually read a lot and knew quite a lot about both literature, everything from Russian literature to Goethe, to reading bits and pieces of Spinoza and Sufism. There are interviews with him that show very clearly that he was immersed in Nietzsche and Hegel.

Byt, the idea of something that is settled in every day, is stuck and congealed in, was something that he really internalized and was very committed to avoiding all of his life. He was very worried about becoming bourgeois, and he lived very simply and didn’t care about money, and he didn’t want anybody else to care about it either. For his dancers, his artists, it was all about being on the edge—he didn’t want to settle into a tradition or settle into a way of being. It was a commitment to being avant-garde. Which is a way of being alive, really. That’s what he was interested in, like, don’t go to sleep. Wake up! Don’t sleepwalk.

DO: Balanchine always thought about how dances should be like butterflies, here and then gone. But that obviously changed throughout his life because he brought back dances all the time, and through that oeuvre created a legacy.

JH: “Legacy” really was not a concern of his, though. The only thing he was worried about was the Soviets getting hold of everything. He brought things back because he needed a repertory. Once he had a company, once the New York City Ballet was established, they needed a repertory every year, so works came back, but they changed. They weren’t always the same. It was just a fact for him, one of the strengths of dance was that it was ephemeral, and that it was absolutely here and then gone. So that, it’s the most alive thing of all. It’s in the present moment. It’s not even one beat further or one beat back; it’s right this second. And then, it’s what is pieced together of all those seconds is a dance. And this was all connected to his interest in time, how time works, and how we can measure time visually with and through music.

He loved the fact that as he put it, you do a step on one dancer, and it might look spectacular. Or whatever it is, you are moved by it. And then you put that very same step on another dancer, and it’s nothing. So it’s not the step, it’s the person and how they do it. Ballet is actually one of the most individual and individualistic arts in his hands, because it’s not rote. Performance for him was not a kind of depersonalization. Even though there is an effort to remove ego. It’s a real embodiment of that person.

#Balanchine #Jennifer Homans #Balanchine biography #Mr. B: Balanchine's 20th Century #ballet #choreographer #Balanchine life

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roguestarsailor · 2 years

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I HATE BEING THIS OLD AND NOT KNOWING THINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i’vee been mad at my past self actually. watching stranger things* makes me feel this yearning for my childhood/teen years and wishing i’d done things differently. i sometimes regret how i spent it and now im a loser adult who hadn’t experienced ANYTHING and will never know the feeling of just being carefree. i mean i know why i didn’t do those things but god talking to other people, watching media depict these rich lives makes me soo sad; like i really am wasting my youth. the depiction of teenage love, having sex for the first time, going on dates, quiet glances in class, sooo many of those things i WISSSHHHH happened to me. even in college, i never got up the courage to do any of those things. now im moving to a different city and i’m literally not ready. i feel like a fucken child but im a grown ass woman who has never done anything ever. i have none of these experiences and quite frankly im so ashamed that i don’t--its embarassing!!! i dont want some stupid guy to teach me things; i wish i could have just done those things as a teen and not be so green about everything. i wish i was just normal!! i wish these things just came easily. i wish i could just date a man and enjoy it. i wish i didn’t stress about sex every time i talk to a man in a romantic setting. i wish i knew the feeling of wanting to kiss somebody. i wish i was just normal and did those things as a teen or early 20s. now i’m playing catch up and im really just standing there as everyone moves on with their lives. soo many of my friends just did those things and now theyre in long term relationships and is soo natural for them to just lean on their boyfriends and speak in “we”, “us”, “ours”, picking up random facetime and chatting about the mundane things.....and i really really want that my heart hurts!! i wish i could one day be that open with my feelings and have it reciprocated..

and i think thats it. i didn’t put in the hours to learning how to be with someone and now im solidifying being alone*. like im used to my company and year after year im just learning to be ok with just lil ol me, and its just exhausting trying to anticipate things happening and knowing that i pretty much have to support myself in all capacity of life (figure out how to weather politicians that pride themselves in taking away my rights). i have a responsibility for my family too and i have to factor that in as well. but my god, i fucken wish i could just be normal and be like a lot of girls i know (basically my age or belowww!!!!!!!) who can just settle down w their person and know there is some sort of support and have that companion that they can depend on as they grow through the life stages. and most of them seem liek they actively love their persons too (wtf???)

anywho not feeling great this week. lots of emotions and everything feels like a trigger to me. i feel like an absolute CHILDDD.

*yes i should know my triggers and what to avoid. yes i shouldn’t compare my life to others because mine circumstances are different..but my god i feel like such a stupid slow loser

*everyone at work keeps saying “how young i am” now that im going to SF but these people are also like i met my husbands at 25. yyeah okkk. doesnt help when so many people you know are just settled and live with their partners. honestly, meeting ppl might not be good for me anymore. and by meeting people i mean most of the girlies i’ve met through SAT and we recently had a happy hour w a bunch of them and theyre all just in relationships and thats all they talk about. is just how they can quit their jobs and have their partner supporrt them or how much more money they make than them and tho they are grateful they have that safety net or just having ur default travel buddy, doing shit together, and again “us”/”we”/etcetc. oh god maybe i gotta stop hanging out with these people..,until i sort out my fucked up brain.............i gotta get a therapist holy shit

#amandathoughts

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emakegr · 2 years

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A trip to the GaryVee convention, where everyone is part of crypto’s 1 percent

https://emake.gr/wp-content/uploads/A-trip-to-the-GaryVee-convention-where-everyone-is-part.jpg

Gary Vaynerchuk (left) spent hours taking selfies with fans.

Hype and hustle at Gary Vaynerchuk’s NFT conference

Wyclef Jean is trying his best to get the crowd hyped. He’s making his way through some of the biggest hits of his career — “Hips Don’t Lie,” “Killing Me Softly With His Song” — while blue and green lights sweep across the stadium. But it’s not exactly a wild crowd. Some people stay seated. Others stand still, silently recording the stage. To the side, people take turns tossing bean bags into cornhole boards on top of a carpet of fake grass.

Then, it’s like a switch has been flipped. The crowd suddenly erupts in cheers and screams. Phones shoot into the air at rapid speed. People who had otherwise been near-motionless crane their necks, clamoring to see the stage. One man jumps up on top of a folding chair, loses his balance and falls, then scrambles back up for a better view.

Jean had shouted out the Fugees repeatedly over the course of the night — had Lauryn Hill just come out? Had TLC made it after all, following a last-minute cancellation?

The audience, there in theory for a weekend of panels and talks about crypto, NFTs, and business, was instead going wild at the emergence of a nondescript middle-aged man wearing a flat brim hat, beige hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. Most people likely wouldn’t be able to tell him apart from the average sales floor employee selling streetwear at a Zumiez store. But over the course of the four-day conference, as celebrities, influencers, and a new class of tech oligarchs came and went, it was clear the big names — and the conversations they would lead — were just a sideshow. The crowd was here for him.

Vaynerchuk addresses conference attendees.

Gary Vaynerchuk has sold a lot of things. His origin story typically begins with his experience selling wine at his father’s New Jersey liquor store, and later, making wine-tasting YouTube videos back when that felt new and exciting. He’s written several books, invested in tech companies, leads an advertising agency (VaynerMedia), co-founded a sports agency (VaynerSports), and launched his own wine company.

But mostly Vaynerchuk — who goes by GaryVee online — vies for your attention through an unyielding stream of in-your-face, motivational content that promises the secrets to a better life. Vaynerchuk peddles a particular kind of rise-and-grind, how-to-win-at-life positivity that has become so ubiquitous online that it feels part of the very fabric of social media influencing. Falling somewhere between a Tony Robbins-esque self-help coach and a brash company executive, Vaynerchuk’s persona is like an inspirational poster you might find on a wall of an elementary school, but with profanities: “FUCK IT, JUST BE YOU.”

Logan Cudlip, a 21-year-old college student, has been following Vaynerchuk online since he was around 16 years old. Vaynerchuk became a father figure in his life, Cudlip says, after his grandfather died when he was a teenager. The incessant stream of forceful encouragement via videos eventually became a comfort.

“I was just in a dark place and I was spending a lot of time on my phone alone,” Cudlip says. “It was just like, having this voice there every single day, 10 times a day, pumping out all this content constantly, reminding me, ‘You got this. Do it. Look at me.’”

Vaynerchuk’s come-up is also inextricable from making money, and specifically, finding shortcuts to make more money more efficiently. Many people know him as the guy who goes to garage sales, talks people down a few dollars, and, while walking away with mugs and toys and electronics, boasts about how much he can resell the items for on eBay. The blending of self-help and profit is what gets you video titles like, “The Secret to Making More Money is to Stop Chasing it,” and “When a Millionaire Gets Excited About Making $5.” Internalize Vaynerchuk’s ethos, the content seems to promise, and you’ll ascend above the struggles and daily grind that’s making you unhappy.

Vaynerchuk has called his NFT collection a “culmination of his life’s work”

In May 2021, Vaynerchuk had a new proposition for his followers: he’d spent hours hand-drawing dozens of animals as part of a new NFT collection he was calling VeeFriends. The simplistic, almost childlike creations came with a compelling offer to fans. Buy an NFT, and you’d get access to Gary. For a select few, that might mean the chance to have dinner with Vaynerchuk or participate in coaching sessions. And all holders of the more than 10,000 tokens would get to attend three annual conferences called VeeCon.

Vaynerchuk has called his NFT collection a “culmination of his life’s work,” and in many ways, VeeCon and VeeFriends feel like GaryVee in his final form. A 10,000-person conference would put to the test every skill and relationship Vaynerchuk has honed: a network of celebrities and influencers to call upon, his knack for selling just about anything, and a promise to his fans to deliver what he called “the best conference of all time.”

Practical Peacock is one of the characters drawn by Vaynerchuk that became his VeeFriends NFT project.

Though Cudlip is a longtime fan and says Vaynerchuk was his entry into Web3, VeeFriends and VeeCon had been out of reach for him. VeeFriends prices started at 2.5 ETH (around $5,300 at the time), and as a student on a full ride, he says he simply couldn’t afford the asking price.

But when we speak on the phone in May, the week before VeeCon 2022, Cudlip has just hit his own personal jackpot: a VeeFriends holder unable to attend the conference had donated their ticket to Cudlip. He booked an $85 flight to Minneapolis, the site of the first VeeCon, and arranged to stay with a friend in the area.

It’s a dream come true for Cudlip, and attending at all feels like a miracle. (When we spoke, VeeCon tickets on the resale market had dropped in price significantly, from a peak of $3,400 to around $400.) He wants to meet his boss in real life, who will be at VeeCon, and plans to hang out with other attendees who received donated tickets. And of course, he’d like to meet Vaynerchuk.

“I’m literally seeing my life transform before my eyes,” Cudlip says. “And it’s because of Gary’s constant motivation to just like, ‘Go do it. Go try it, don’t give up.’”

The US Bank Stadium in Minneapolis is home to the Minnesota Vikings.

VeeCon 2022 is being held at the US Bank Stadium, a sprawling, roughly 70,000-person venue where the Minnesota Vikings play. When I arrive on Friday morning around 8:30AM, it looks comically large for the event — giant screens and speakers are suspended beneath the glass atrium, and the purple stands surrounding the field are almost completely empty. The final attendance tally for the weekend is just under 7,000 people, about a tenth of the venue’s capacity.

VeeCon is branded as a “superconference” focused on business, marketing, community building, and more, but the actual event is arranged more like a music festival. A large stage has been constructed on the field with a sea of folding chairs set up in front, where headlining panels and musical performances will take place. There’s a modest Ferris wheel on one side, food trucks parked along the perimeter, and EDM is blasting. It smells like steak, and smoke machines lining the stage fill the near-empty stadium with a haze that will linger all weekend.

As I wander around the stadium on the first morning, a disorganized mass of people has formed around a merch table, tucked into a corner of the field. A worker yells at the group to get back as the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd elbows and squeezes their way to the front before limited edition apparel sells out. One couple I meet tells me they spent $1,400 between the two of them buying T-shirts, tie-dye hoodies, and other items. I later learn that when the doors opened that morning, a mob of people descended on the merch table, racing down the stadium steps and creating a chaotic and dangerous scene — pandemonium for a physical reminder they attended a metaverse event.

Vaynerchuk will spend around 16 hours doing selfies, autographs, and meet-and-greets over the course of the conference

While the main stage is on the field, other attractions — like a “flea market” in tribute to Vaynerchuk’s reselling hustle — are set up throughout hallways on the main entry level, where attendees must climb a huge wall of stairs to reach them. Side stages are tucked into suites and other event spaces so hidden throughout the stadium that they require directions from multiple event staffers, making it feel like you’re in a honeycomb, buzzing around and looking for something to do. Pixelated VeeFriends characters wrap throughout the stadium on digital banners as a persistent reminder of why we’re all here.

Color coordinated attendees.

Attendees in matching doge and Snoop Dogg onesies.

VeeCon attendee Ali Pasqual shows off her selfie video with Vaynerchuk.

The Gary Selfie Station proves to be both the busiest area and the best for people-watching. On any given day during the conference, a long, snaking line of people assembles in preparation for Vaynerchuk, with fans waiting hours to meet him. Vaynerchuk will spend around 16 hours doing selfies, autographs, and meet-and-greets over the course of the conference, meeting people into the night.

The evening before, at an outdoor welcome party hosted by VeeCon organizers at a park outside the stadium, the line to see Vaynerchuk wound around the grassy field, and hoards of onlookers crowded around the tent watching other people get their brief encounter with him. The crowd took selfies with Vaynerchuk in the background smiling arm in arm with someone else; they livestreamed from the side, describing the swarm of people; they attempted to get Vaynerchuk’s attention with tokens of appreciation, like custom sneakers or a photo of a 200-foot portrait of his face drawn on a beach.

The line, fans say, is worth it. In the stadium full of thousands of people from around the world, almost entirely maskless, Vaynerchuk doesn’t shy away from close contact. He gives out tight, prolonged hugs to a stream of thrilled strangers, telling countless people, “I love you.” He listens intently to personal stories of failure, joy, and uncertainty, making eye contact with everyone who comes through. People hand him wine bottles, hats, clothing, trading cards, their own arm, and even a baby to autograph. (Vaynerchuk signed the baby’s shirt.) And after they’ve had their moment with him — captured, of course, via photo or video — fans join the crowd surrounding the selfie area to watch Vaynerchuk do it all over again with someone new.

At a welcome party hosted by VeeCon organizers on May 19th, Vaynerchuk autographed a baby’s T-shirt.

One of the people who waited in line to meet Vaynerchuk is Ali Pasqual, and unlike most attendees, it’s easy to pick her out in the crowd. First, she’s a woman. She’s also dressed in a silky purple top, a purple pencil skirt, and a perfectly white cowboy hat with matching boots in a sea of T-shirts and jeans.

The VeeCon crowd is overwhelmingly male — I’d estimate around 90 percent — and appears to largely be between the ages of 25 and 45. (VeeCon organizers told me they did not collect demographic information besides where attendees were traveling from.)

Though most attendees are white, Vaynerchuk fans are more racially diverse than an outsider might suspect, perhaps a testament to the cross-cultural potency of his bootstrapping, hustle ethos, presented as a lifeline that feels viable in a time of immense income inequality between the very rich and everyone else.

“I bought my VeeFriend basically because [Gary] told me to.”

Pasqual, who’s from Rhode Island, discovered Vaynerchuk about two and a half years ago when she was trying to leave her full-time job working in the jewelry industry. Other motivational and self-help coaches weren’t doing the trick to help her level up her career. Then Pasqual heard about Vaynerchuk and has been “hooked” ever since — she quit her full-time job and now owns a small jewelry business, and wants to design for the metaverse in the future. Pasqual planned out her VeeCon trip well in advance, making arrangements to have people looking after her daughter while she travels alone for one of the first times in a while.

“I am in like, complete struggle mode right now,” Pasqual says. “But I don’t regret it because I was so miserable.”

While Vaynerchuk himself is the main draw, the VeeFriends NFT series is the catalyst for VeeCon, and the conference is ostensibly meant to bring metaverse believers together. There are standard sights you’d expect from an NFT event — the Bored Ape Yacht Club t-shirts, whispers of what might be airdropped to attendees — but even when it comes to the technology, Vaynerchuk’s influence is irrefutable. Many people I speak to say they learned about NFTs from Gary.

“I bought my VeeFriend basically because he told me to,” Pasqual says. “I was like okay, I trust what he’s saying completely.”

Despite the optimism inside, VeeCon is happening as the crypto market is tanking and real people are losing real money. Exactly a week before the first day of VeeCon, cryptocurrencies lost $200 billion in value in a single day, according to Bloomberg. Over the days prior, the TerraUSD (UST) “stablecoin,” which was supposed to stay at $1 began to crash, sending its corresponding Luna token into a death spiral until it was near-worthless. Weeks later, Ethereum still hasn’t recovered its lost value.

A flea market vendor sells pop culture memorabilia.

Attendees try their hand at art during a welcome party hosted by VeeCon organizers.

In the lead-up to VeeCon, some of Vaynerchuk’s predictions about the value of his own NFTs proved to be wrong, too. When holders of the original VeeFriends were given their free VeeCon ticket, which is a separate NFT, the artwork for the new token was still a secret. Vaynerchuk hyped up the tokens by suggesting the floor price for tickets would only increase after the art was made public.

“Feel sad for those who sold under 2 [ETH],” Vaynerchuk wrote in late March on Discord, after hearing some owners had let go of their NFT ticket. “Makes me sad that every darn time people underestimate.”

But instead of upping the value, ticket prices went in the opposite direction after art was revealed. Tickets were trading at around 1.7 ETH prior to the unveiling, according to OpenSea, but in just a few days the average price had dropped to 0.6 ETH. Some attendees paid thousands of dollars for their ticket. Others paid a few hundred. And those that weren’t planning on attending but were holding on to a ticket — waiting for the value to crack a ceiling and sell — had to eat the losses.

Most VeeFriends holders I speak to insist personally profiting off of their Vaynerchuk NFTs is not a concern for them. Instead, they’ve come to VeeCon to meet and network with other people, hear from celebrities, and immerse themselves in the language and culture of entrepreneurship and do-or-die positivity.

VeeFriends holders and Vaynerchuk fans have a shared language, and patterns quickly begin to emerge over the course of interviewing dozens of people of different ages, races, and backgrounds. Nobody will admit to buying a VeeFriend to try to make money. Instead, they recite talking points that are common among NFT communities broadly, but also some that can be traced back to Vaynerchuk directly: Gary always says, “Don’t overextend yourself financially.” The market might be down, but it will bounce back. 99 percent of projects will go to zero. VeeFriends, they’re confident, will be one of the few exceptions.

VeeFriends characters circled the stadium.

Athena Cauley-Yu, who runs a stationery shop in Bath, England, is a rare attendee who is direct about purchasing a VeeFriend with the intention of flipping it for more money. When I find Cauley-Yu, she’s sitting alone in front of the main stage, wearing an intricate headpiece made of cardboard that looks like a bug. She’s covered in red, black, and yellow spandex and has attached a sheer, glimmering strip of fabric to her wrists, resembling wings.

“I’m Hot Shit Hornet,” she says, referencing the name of one of her VeeFriend characters. VeeFriends was her first NFT, and she resisted the urge months ago to sell one when the value peaked at $80,000. Now, Cauley-Yu is too attached to her digital drawing to let it go — she tells me she’d almost rather see it be worthless than spike in value, lest the temptation to sell gets the best of her.

“There’s pride and peacocking in having a VeeFriend,” Cauley-Yu says. “I love Gary anyway, so it’s nice being close to him [through VeeFriends].”

Most of the celebrities who Vaynerchuk has tapped to speak at VeeCon — Snoop Dogg, Eva Longoria, Mila Kunis, Liam Payne, and more — have launched NFT projects or have made crypto part of their brand identity.

Hours of panels are scheduled throughout the weekend.

Wyclef Jean performs at VeeCon on May 20th, 2022.

Panels are snappy 25-minute blocks and range in topics from “Getting Really Famous Really Fast” to “Empowering Women in Web3.” Attendees are at least mostly attentive, especially for big names like Pharell and Logan Paul, who an organizer tells me is the speaker who seems to elicit the biggest response, besides Vaynerchuk. The conversations have some practical advice mixed in, but often feel more like motivational rallies, with vague calls to “build in bear markets” and “change the world.”

The headlining performer on Saturday evening is Miguel, who — surprise! — has just announced his own involvement with a Web3 company. Besides the occasional shoutout to Vaynerchuk, crypto, and NFTs, it’s like any other concert. In the roped-off area for press and other audience members with special access, men around me are being a little bit ruder than they perhaps normally are, angling to get a better view of the stage.

At one point, Miguel begins a call and response during one of his songs for the women in the crowd: “Ladies only, say, ‘I wanna fuck all night,’” he says in earnest. From where I’m standing, it’s dead quiet.

All of Vaynerchuk’s work serves this same purpose: to create the perception that the distance between himself and his followers is razor-thin; that he’s here with you, right now, speaking your language. To do this, he pulls from what seems like a bottomless well of himself that would test the patience and endurance of celebrities much more famous than him.

“My favorite thing so far is actually just watching Gary interact with everybody that’s standing in line and standing and waiting for hours,” says attendee Wade Turner. “Just to genuinely and authentically connect with people one on one has been pretty inspiring.”

Vaynerchuk is recorded at all times, and a gaggle of videographers, photographers, and associates orbit around him, capturing his every move: Gary walking, Gary waving, Gary taking interviews, Gary talking with his family. It’s often easier to spot the entourage that surrounds Vaynerchuk than it is him — just follow the cluster of buzzing associates, and you’ll find Gary in the middle. The footage isn’t just for the sake of documenting the conference — it will be reused (and reused, and reused) for future content. In fact, within hours of VeeCon’s kickoff, videos are already trickling out.

Vaynerchuk and girlfriend Mona Vand walk through the event space.

The first thing I notice, sitting down with Vaynerchuk during VeeCon, is that he is much quieter than his on-camera persona — at times, he’s almost whispering. Stripped of a giant stage and screaming fans, he is welcoming and warm, yet decisive and unrelenting, as if he’s working to convince everyone in the room of what he’s saying, including himself.

We are in a private area behind the main stage, and a crew of people is hovering around us: associates, videographers, people peering down at their phones, doing some very urgent job. He softly brushes his knuckles against my hand several times during our chat as he emphasizes points about the blockchain, intellectual property, and VeeFriends.

“For me with VeeFriends, I’m not a technologist,” Vaynerchuk says. “I’m not here trying to build tech stacks or new blockchains or lower gas fees. I’m trying to use the current technology as a catalyst to building out impact.”

The impact in question, Vaynerchuk told press at an earlier lunch, was to make the world a better place. VeeFriends are named after human traits Vaynerchuk values: “Tenacious Turkey,” “Joyous Jellyfish,” “Fuck You Monday Mole.” The business plan, as far as I can tell, is to give his characters the Disney treatment — merchandise, board games, children’s books — and use them to encourage people to be less shitty.

Vaynerchuk in VeeFriends gear.

“I’m very happy as a human being. I want more people to be happy,” he tells me. “I think that there are some tried and true traits that we’ve really gone away from. I have huge ambition to have VeeFriends be a catalyst for civility.”

Unlike the Bored Ape Yacht Club project, which grants character usage rights to holders of the NFT, Vaynerchuk retains the rights to his VeeFriends characters. The value of a VeeFriend is that it’s tied to the conference this year and the next two annual events, as well as the more exclusive opportunities like dinner or coaching sessions with Vaynerchuk — a new way to monetize and systematize his relationship with followers.

The high-profile nature of VeeFriends and VeeCon — Vaynerchuk estimates he’s made around $100 million in revenue in the first 15 months and says conference spending is in “the high seven figures” — has ripple effects across his other ventures.

“I think that Gary’s brand has a tremendous halo effect on VaynerMedia and thus VaynerNFT, really giving him the permission to launch so many new different companies,” Avery Akkineni, president of VaynerNFT, told me later.

I ask Vaynerchuk what accountability looks like in the space. Brands, celebrities, and other crypto hype people are convincing a segment of the public that their digital assets have inherent value, even as projects fall off, floor prices tank, and the scams keep coming.

“Accountability is the most important trait on this earth,” he says. But he emphasizes that it goes both ways, for the NFT creators and the customers.

“Tomorrow, any brand on Earth can add value to the token they issued last year. … If you’re a Fortune 500 brand, you’re not going to let a project sit in limbo so that the audience, journalists, social media, can shit on you. You’re going to provide value to it if you’re halfway smart.”

And as for the people who buy NFTs? You should be in this for the long haul.

“Somebody’s accountability on holding the token: don’t sell it,” Vaynerchuk says.

Vaynerchuk has created a perch for himself within the NFT space where he can be both a cautionary voice and the ultimate booster. He repeats the mantra that 99 percent of NFT projects will go to zero, for example, and that the community is in greed and gold rush mode. He also assures ordinary people — college students, small business owners, moms, veterans — that this technology will change their lives forever, and that this is what it feels like to be in on the future early.

At the press junket the day before, I asked Vaynerchuk what made VeeFriends any different from the tidal wave of NFT projects vying for attention. “Great question,” he said, and took a beat before responding.

“Me.”

Attendees exchange contact information via the VeeCon app.

A booth at VeeCon hosted by the Creature World NFT project.

By Sunday, the final day of VeeCon, the stadium crowd has fallen into a comfortable rhythm. The smoke machines roar on, making my eyes bloodshot, and attendees trickle in at their leisure and wait in a coffee that stretches down the hallway. On the main stage, Snoop Dogg closes out the programming to a full audience, cracking jokes to a crowd emboldened by a weekend of reassurances that Web3’s takeover is inevitable. Finally, Vaynerchuk emerges one last time to send off the thousands he’s brought together.

“My intent for all of you is always and forever going to be phenomenal.”

In a wandering, sermon-like 20-minute speech, Vaynerchuk leads the crowd through cheers for everything from being happy to NFT education to, in an impassioned segment, the intent behind actions. “Let there be no confusion for this community. My intent for all of you is always and forever going to be phenomenal,” Vaynerchuk says.

The crowd erupts in cheers and whistles when Vaynerchuk promises he’ll bring them along for the ride.

Including fans in his journey often means telling them exactly what he’s doing. In September 2016, Vaynerchuk uploaded a video explaining how he’d execute on a bold claim he’d recently made: that he could earn $100,000 a year selling rocks on the street to people who don’t know him. Step one, he says, is to set up shop in an upper-middle-class neighborhood.

“I would try to market myself as somebody who is creative on top of a rock. I wouldn’t try to sell you a rock because that wouldn’t work.” He goes on: “I would doodle and create on top of rocks and try to sell them.”

Suddenly the rock becomes something more, via marketing, celebrity endorsements, and the patience to let the scheme percolate for a couple of years.

“The doodling on top of them constitutes as art and that becomes agnostic, and then marketing can take over,” Vaynerchuk says. “And then all I need to do is have Leonardo DiCaprio take a picture on his Instagram that he’s bought this rock because it’s art. And then it’s game over. It’s just high school arbitrage. All of it is.”

He would likely make around $36,000 profit in the first year, he warns — but by year two? $100,000, easily.

Vaynerchuk, it turns out, was only partially right. In fact, he’s made much, much more.

https://emake.gr/a-trip-to-the-garyvee-convention-where-everyone-is-part-of-cryptos-1-percent/

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