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lilaacstars · 4 years

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you’re in my veins (and i can’t get you out).

rating: T | words: 31.227 | pt 2.

read it on ao3

He watches how her eyes grow big after listening to his offer. His eyes fix on her and start to notice the bruises she has close to her scalp, down to her ear, the edge of her jaw and on the visible part of her neck. Her bangs are falling gracefully to the side - too gracefully- but he can take a peek, with the little cat senses he still has left, and see that underneath that perfect hairstyle there are stitches and missing hair.

He gulps, almost choking on his saliva, it feels thick and heavy and his throat has closed, impeding his ability to breathe, but he hasn’t stopped so his body trembles, and it is like he will puke, but there’s only the acid on his stomach, and it goes up as if it was a bubbly chemical reaction, but his throat is still closed, and he just feels as if his whole body will shut down but it’s too awake at the vision of her. And then the sensations pile up, then crumble down, then pile up again, and it’s a cycle of obscure overwhelming emotions that trigger and stop every reaction his body pulls.

It is disgusting, nauseating, gory even.

Upclose, face to face, breathing the same air, the consequences are not an image fabricated by his brain anymore, and yet, he knows there are so many more hidden marks of treachery that will present itself in flesh and pain.

Her lips tremble and her sight finally fixes on his, only to look away a second after.

However, she leans forward, closer to the window.

Adrien takes one step back and that allows Ladybug to come inside the room.

Her steps are careful and light as if she is ready to jump back to the window and run away from here at any given moment. Adrien is sure that it isn't a baseless guess, but what is truly going through her mind is still a cypher.

After standing in the middle of the room and eyeing everywhere around, she finally walks back to stand beside the coffee table and lets out a long sigh.

Next, Ladybug stands close to the window, only giving little steps in a small space. She takes the end of her long braid and starts playing with the end.

He looks at her, hands on his pockets as he fidgets and waits for her to speak, for her to guide him where she needs to be.

“It’s good to see you,” Adrien whispers and takes one step forward.

Ladybug crooks a brow and tightly hugs herself. She doesn’t answer.

“You haven’t been out as Lady Noire in a long time. Is there a reason?” He asks, trying to sound as ignorant as a civilian would be.

Ladybug lets out an amused scoff but there’s no real joy behind it.

Her eyes are focused on the skyline and a thin layer of gleaming tears is set on her eyes.

Adrien gulps, unsure if the reaction has something to do with him or is all about the thoughts she’s been carrying through her night stroll.

The question wouldn’t be an unusual one for a mere civilian. Maybe they wouldn’t be so eager to jump into it, maybe they would ask other questions first, but he was not a mere civilian… well, he was now, but there had been a time where he wasn’t.

No.

He still isn’t a mere character walking down the road. He will never be, and yet that is the path he must pretend to follow.

“This was a mistake,” He hears the whisper as loud as a siren.

He jolts on his spot and takes fast steps towards her. It only makes her jump faster towards the window.

“I- I’m-”

But before he can formulate a phrase on his mind for his mouth to stop the stammering, she is gone.

His eyes follow as she is only a ship in the night between the sea of city lights.

She is gone.

Gone.

Gone forever.

But is she?

She is not truly gone. She is alive, and she is patrolling, and Paris has their heroine back.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t have a partner, he doesn’t have a friend, he doesn’t have his other half.

He is a broken piece of a human that once felt he finally had the piece that could make him endure life, and now she is gone.

Not truly , but he has been left alone with her shadow roaming through the brightest corners of the life of others, yet creeping on the back of his mind, only smiling on his memories, and frowning and avoiding his gaze into the future.

His breath stops once again. One little detail striking like lightning.

She avoided his gaze as if he was a deathly disease.

Could… could she know who he was?

Marinette seems to be aware that he once was something special; someone special. And Ladybug is as smart as her, if not more.

But if she knows, then she wouldn’t have come. If she hates him so much that she couldn’t even bear for him to touch her when she needed someone to lean on (not in the figurative sense) then why would she seek for him? Why would she come to him?

It doesn’t make any sense and yet he can’t shake the thought out of his mind.

And it stays there, like a fly on the wall. As the days pass he will forget about it, and then the buzz of the wings will echo in the chamber of his mind and then it would be the only thing he can focus on.

Not school.

Not Kagami.

Not his friends.

Not Nathalie.

Not his father who finally makes time to have dinner with him.

Nothing at all.

Nothing but her and the knowledge she might have.

The wonder wouldn’t even pretend to hide when the sunset, it would make itself appear in other shapes through dreams. Some of them are tranquil, others are as bitter as reality can be, and yet the bittersweets are the worst. They show the road not taken, they show him taking good decisions after the terrible ones he’s taken, and reward him with what he has always wanted, the unravelling of the secret. Every day he wakes up and knows that he does not deserve any of it, that this can’t happen and that if it does happen he has to make sure he does not gain any redemption from it. And every day he wakes up knowing not only that he has broken every piece of her soul, but also has put her in imminent danger.

When she left he could see her limp, he could see how he prefered a certain grab on the yo-yo, and how short her jumps were in comparison to her usual ones.

There is nothing he can do to make it right, he’s already brought destruction to them, but if he could find a way to protect her, he wouldn’t think it twice.

He is sitting right next to Luka on the café table, as Nino looked for an empty chair he could use, he scribbled on a napkin.

They were waiting for their order to come, only one glass full of fresh water in front of each, and sugar and a plate of napkins in the middle of the round table.

Luka had his phone out, scrolling through, and tapping his foot against the pavement in a comforting rhythm.

This

“Sorry, I found a chair inside almost immediately, but I got bombarded by messages from Lya.”

Luka and Adrien giggled, the first more enthusiastic than the second, but that wasn’t a rare occurrence anymore, so there was no comment about it.

“How many of those texts were pictures?” Luka asks.

“Oh, half of those. She’s so excited that LB is back.”

Adrien stops drawing and looks towards Nino, watching his phone as Luka takes a look through the pictures.

“Ladybug was out?” He asks, pretending to not be incredibly interested. Even if after his breakdown in school he doesn’t think he can get away with it.

“Yeah, there was an akuma attack like an hour and a half ago?” Nino asks and Luka nods at him, “Don’t you have your alarm on?”

“No.” It was too painful to hear the akuma emergency line going off and not being able to do anything.

“Why not? You have to, you’re going to put yourself in danger.

His mouth opens and closes before he can show how uninterested he is in his safety. If he can stumble through the path of an akuma, he might see Ladybug, and no matter how many bruises, cuts, or blood he might lose on the way, all that pain would be worth it.

“It just stresses me out.” He lies, realizing his friends are expecting an answer, “Was she alone?” He can’t help but ask.

The shadow that crosses his friend’s eyes doesn’t startle him. He’s grown accustomed to this reaction.

“Yes.” They nod.

They seem to be interested in continuing this conversation, but Adrien has the call on it, and he doesn’t want any of it. They can’t know how personal it is for him, they can’t know that knowing that she is out there alone makes him feel as if he was cut in half.

“What were you looking for in your phone?” He says, turning his head to Luka, “You looked consumed by your phone.”

“A bike.” He gives a toothy smile.

“You already have one,” Nino says confused.

“I think he means a motorcycle,” Adrien smiles.

“Yes.”

“That’s so awesome,” Adrien chimes, “I have a license for it. My father doesn’t know, of course, but once I’m out of the house I’m buying one bike for myself too. Which ones have you seen?”

And Luka pulls out his phone again, showing the different models he has his eye on.

Adrien is glad that the subject takes a lot of the conversation. As their food and coffees arrive, they’re still talking about the prices, the equipment, the special license he has to have, and how Juleka isn’t very fond of him buying “such a dangerous vehicle”.

“She wants me to buy a car, I’ve tried to let her see that a car doesn’t go with my style.”

“It would be more comfortable for you to carry around your instruments.”

“Yes, but a car will never be cooler than a bike. Also,” He changes the website to a new one, “Look at these amazing suits and helmets.” Nino and Adrien move their chairs closer to Luka to get a better look.

There are different jackets and trousers to suit up for the cold, or not burn yourself with the pipes of the bikes (apparently this wasn’t a rare thing), there are others that only had the objective of making you look while riding. Adrien could understand that sometimes having a cool suit just made things better.

When Luka changes to the helmets, there is one that catches Adrien’s attention.

Is black and matte, with neon green accents around the shield, and all around the curve, as if it was stitched.

“Wow,” He hears himself gasp.

“I liked that one too!” Luka jumps, “But I think I will look like an astronaut, also I don’t think black is my colour.”

“It is mine.”

Nino and Luka laugh.

“When have you ever worn black?” Nino asks and gives him a shake as he hugs him, “I think I’ve seen you only wear it on photoshoots, and you always look so awkward.”

“I look fantastic in black.” Adrien protests, but not truly caring about making a better comeback.

His mind is too busy planning something else.

keep reading in ao3.

#ml fic #miraculous ladybug #ladrien #ladynoir

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ultraglittercat · 4 years

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Drabble 67

Soda Water

Little Varian gathered his materials: baking soda and vinegar from the kitchen, 2 clean bottles, lots of tubing he’d scrounged around for, scissors, a funnel, cloth, and plenty of water. He cut the tubes at an angle and threaded one end until it was an inch inside the bottle. The tubing looped around and entered the 2nd bottle, where it reached the bottom. Then he poured the water into the bottle with the tube going to the bottom. In the other bottle, he poured vinegar using a funnel. So far, it was looking very good.

He grabbed the cloth, put baking soda on it, and folded it carefully. He dropped the baking soda roll into the vinegar, then screwed the cap back on and shook the bottle. He noticed bubbles coming out of the tube and could tell the carbonation process was working. He shook it until the bubbles stopped coming out of the tube and then let it sit.

Quirin came over, entering the kitchen before Varian finished his experiment.

“Varian, what are you doing?” he asked.

Varian grinned. “I’m doing a ‘speriment.” he said importantly. Quirin followed as Varian carried the bottles to the sink, and pinched the tube on the bottle with vinegar and baking soda. Then he slowly opened the bottle with the drink. Next he released the tube on the other bottle. Carbon dioxide, baking soda, and vinegar all spurted out, staining the front of his shirt but Varian didn’t seem to care.

“It works!” he announced happily.

“Well whatever happened, it’s gotten you messy.” Quirin observed.

“It’s carba-nated water.” Varian said, stumbling over the long word. He didn’t have to pronounce it correctly to know it had been a success.

“What?” said Quirin.

“You can add minerals to it like sodium bicarba-nate or po-tass’um sulfate and it’ll change the flavor. But see how the water has bubbles now from carba-nation? You can add sweeteners to it too, and I bet it tastes even better!” Varian predicted.

“Wait, you’re going to drink it? I don’t know if that’s safe.” Quirin objected.

“It’s just water with baking soda and vinegar. There’s nothing bad in it. Please let me try it, Daddy.” Varian begged.

“Alright, I guess there is nothing dangerous in the ingredients. But you really shouldn’t be poking around in the kitchen without permission.” Quirin said sternly.

“Yes, Daddy.” Varian nodded. He grabbed the bottle of carbonated water and drank it. It tasted really good! “You should have some, too.” Varian offered.

Quirin eyed the bottle suspiciously. It was bubbling, but that seemed to be the only difference between it and regular water. Taking a quick breath, Quirin took the bottle and drank from it. He was surprised by how much the bubbles had improved the taste of the water!

“Varian this is pretty good. How did you come up with the idea?” Quirin asked.

“I read about chemical reactions in Mommy’s old books and thought I could try mixing it in water. I think I’m gonna call it soda water, for the way baking soda reacts.” Varian decided.

Quirin didn’t even know Varian had read any of Vivienne’s old things. He thought he’d put them in a pretty good hiding spot, but apparently Varian had discovered the stash. Only 4 yrs old and already so curious and determined that he was trying to invent things. Varian really was his mother’s son.

“You did good with your first invention. Let’s clean up the sink a little where the mixture spilled.” Quirin said.

“Okay. Can I invent more stuff, Daddy? It’s fun!” Varian was grinning from ear to ear.

“We’ll see. If you really want to invent things, you should be wearing goggles and gloves. Safety is important.” Quirin reminded him.

“I’ll be safe.” Varian promised.

“My son, the inventor. You’re really growing up fast.” Quirin sighed. He would have to keep a closer eye on Varian, to make sure future experiments didn’t get out of hand. Still, he was proud of his boy for having imagination and initiative. Varian was sometimes a challenge to raise, but it was very rewarding when he smiled as brightly as he did when the soda water experiment worked.

The End

Thanks to @whitecatindisguise on tumblr for the story idea! Varian is really smart, he could read by himself at age 3 (though he still likes when Quirin reads to him), and he understands more than most people realize. He gets his goggles and gloves right after this.

#tangled the series #tts #tts varian #tangled varian #varian #tts quirin #tangled quirin #quirin #fanfiction #fanfic #my fiction

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at-my-core-im-numb · 4 years

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What is love and how do I earn it. With all of my flaws can I even deserve it.

Is it having someone to rely on? I'm too undependable. Is it having someone to be there? I'm not empathetic. I'm mostly inside my own head.

People say they would die for the ones they love. I wouldn't die for anyone but myself. You might think it selfish, but suicide is something I contemplate as I hate myself.

I've heard to be loved you have to love yourself first. I don't think I ever will. Does that make me unlovable?

Is love the willingness to sacrifice for someone else's happiness, with no expectation of reward? I sacrifice. Not for the happiness of another but for the greater good. Because, in my mind, anything I take from me and give to another is going to a better cause. I sacrifice in self-hatred, and that is not love.

One might argue that love is merely a chemical in the brain. If that's the case, I fear mine may be broken. Anxiety, an abundance of fear. Depression, a lack of happiness. What is the word for an inability to feel and understand love?

Other people love me. I know this because they say so, and then I say it back. Does saying, "I love you" make it so? No. People sacrifice their time and resources for me, is that love? If I do the same in imitation and reciprocation, is that love? Is it just a show?

I grasp the social construct of giving and receiving. You say, "I love you," I say, "I love you, too." You take care of me when I can't, I return the favor. We become codependent on one another. Is this bond love? We chose to do these things, but if we stopped right now, I don't think I'd mind.

People say they need one another, that their lives would be incomplete and unfulfilled without their loved ones. To me, having people around is a balance between helpful and annoying. I would not mind the lonlieness.

Being alone and being lonely are said to be different things. I've yet to notice. I enjoy being alone. I've been told I look lonely, that I live a lonely life. As long as my needs were met, I would not mind spending the rest of my life in utter solitude.

I need food and water, sleep, shelter. I want comfort and entertainment. I do not require love.

Is it possible to love a being that cannot love in return? People say they love inanimate objects. I say I love pizza and the color black, what I mean is that pizza tastes good to me and black is aesthetically pleasing to my eyes. When people love one another, do they really mean that the person is appealing to their senses in some way? I would not die for pizza.

Do you love someone based on how much importance they bring to the table? Is that why some people are not loved? Is it a title to be earned that many fall short of? Am I supposed to strive for worthiness? I am not important enough to love. I bring no value.

What is love if no one can explain it? Is it real if no two people describe it the same way? Can it be earned by the worthy? But, who and what is worthy of the indescribable nature of love?

#love #apathetic #self worth #mine #string of consciousness

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onthevirgeofdestruction · 4 years

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Would you mind if I request some more of the Logince family with baby Patton and older brother Virgil? Who did they adopt first? What was the meeting between Virgil and Patton like? Did they like each other right away or no? For Anon

I split this into two chapters.

Words: 2,051 Warnings: Anxiety, Jealousy, Insecurity Characters: Virgil, Logan, Roman Ships: Logince Universe: Kid!Patton & Teen!Virgil Adopted by Logince Genre: Family

Some part of Virgil registered that his dads had already started the adoption process. That they wanted him there and that they loved him. That it had been two years with them now and they had no plans of letting him go. But there was a very loud voice saying that he would be replaced by another kid. That the other kid would fit better and be better and they’d change their minds or ignore him. And he’d go back to scraps and struggling alone because there was no one to help him when things too overwhelming.

Virgil knew it didn’t make sense. His dads would never do that to him. They even asked Virgil if he’d be okay if they could foster another younger child. Virgil agreed to it. Papa had said that taking Virgil in had made them so happy they wanted to spread the love. Dad was clear that them wanting another kid didn’t mean that they would love or support Virgil any less. And Virgil honestly felt secure in that moment. Papa wrapped him up in an enormous hug when he agreed and they went out to Virgil’s favourite pizza place to celebrate. It was a nice day. He’d had lots of nice days since he got to the Sanders.

But now that the day where a new kid would come was here, he couldn’t help but hate the new kid. He’d never even met him. Dad said his name was Patton, and he was six. He was shy and his communication was a little stunted. And that all sounded well and good. Until Virgil’s stupid fear of abandonment issues started acting up.

Virgil fiddled with his hoodie strings while he sat alone in his bedroom, balled up against the wall on his bed. He knew he was being stupid. He was completely aware. Why couldn’t he stop? He didn’t even know this kid, and he hated him from an irrational fear. It wouldn’t even bet this kid’s fault if he got abandoned, it would be his parents. It made even less sense the more he thought about it. But he also couldn’t stop hating him. Virgil yanked on either side of the string and stared down at his lap blankly. His parents want this. Why can’t he be happy for them? Why can’t he be happy for the new kid? Virgil groaned in frustration and dropped his head to his knees.

“Virgil?” Logan said, peeking into Virgil’s bedroom. Virgil glanced up and gave Logan a weak wave in acknowledgment. “I had a feeling,” Logan said, opening the door and coming into the bedroom.

“A feeling, huh?” Virgil laughed grimly and wrapped his arms around his legs.

“I’ve learned a lot from you, Virgil. Do you mind if I join you?” Logan asked, stopping a foot or so from the bed. Virgil shook his head and Logan climbed up on to the bed and sat next to Virgil. He paused for a moment of consideration and wrapped his arm around Virgil’s shoulders and pulled him closer. Virgil exhaled and leaned against Logan.

“Why do I have to be like this?” Virgil asked quietly.

“I’m afraid I’m missing some important context. Would you like to elucidate me?” Logan asked, rubbing Virgil’s shoulder a little.

“Not really,” Virgil muttered. He didn’t want his dad to be mad at him.

“Well then, I suppose the argument is nature versus nurture in a more broad sense. Is it your genetics or your experiences who make you who you are today? Is anything really you and your choices and wants or is everything considered ‘you’ determined by chemical reactions in your body?” Logan mused and leaned against Virgil.

“That’s… weirdly philosophical of you. And a little terrifying,” Virgil looked up to Logan in confusion.

“Finding out what motivates us is important to the progress of ourselves. We can’t be more if we can’t find out what makes us want more,” Logan explained, sounding fascinated.

“What makes us want more?” Virgil was even more confused now. “What do you mean?”

“There are two types of motivation. And motivation is what keeps us moving forward. One kind is intrinsic motivation, which comes within. The other is extrinsic motivation. That’s external motivation. External motivation is important, of course. This is things like validation from peers and rewards in the real world. But intrinsic motivation is the things done for the sake of the satisfaction of the activity, even when there’s no reward to be found,” Logan continued on. But Virgil still felt a little lost.

“What does that have to do with why I’m like this?” Virgil asked, furrowing his eyebrows and looking to Logan at an angle.

“I don’t know exactly what you’re talking about. I just know what motivation is an important part of being who you want to be instead of what nature or nurture has already provided for you. Why you could be one way or another. You don’t sound satisfied with where you are, so we should find what motivates you to help you change. Roman, for example, has lots of talent, but he’s very insecure. These two things conflict for him. But when people cheer for him or he receives accolades, he finds happiness and satisfaction despite the internal conflict,” Logan motioned to the door, perhaps towards where he last saw Roman.

“Okay,” Virgil nodded. He felt like he was following now.

“And consider me. I find happiness when I complete things of my own merit. I like proving to myself that I’m capable, and I don’t mind if nobody cheers for me as long as people respect me and take me seriously. I can get insecure when people do not take me seriously, but I can still find happiness in my own tasks without interaction,” Logan said.

“So you guys are like the two kinds of motivations?” Virgil said.

“That’s correct. So which kind makes more sense for you?” Logan asked gently.

“I don’t like it when I’m the center of attention. But I also don’t like it when no one recognizes when I’ve worked hard. I don’t think either make sense for me,” Virgil admitted quietly. “So I’m like this because I’m unmotivated?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not everybody is one way or the other. Plenty of people need a combination of both. When I’ve worked particularly hard, I like my work to be acknowledged by others, too. And when Papa practices and rehearses, he does that alone and is motivated by his own drive to be the best he can be. Maybe you’re more balanced between the two. So what makes you feel good?” Logan asked, giving Virgil a small squeeze with his arm.

“I don’t know. When people like me, I guess. I like feeling included and stuff. Music makes me feel good. I dunno if that’s a motivator, though,” Virgil admitted softly.

“It can be if you’re interested in it. Music could be intrinsically motivating for you. If you are feeling dissatisfied, we can consider a musical pursuit, but I don’t understand the root of the problem. I would like it if you didn’t exclude details so I could assist you better,” Logan said, sounding somewhere between concerned and perturbed.

“I can’t say it. I’m sorry,” Virgil muttered. “Thanks for caring, though,” Virgil added, feeling a little less sour. He pressed into Logan and reached up to squeeze his arm briefly.

“I’ll always care for you, Virgil,” Logan said softly. “Both of us will always be there for you,” Logan rubbed Virgil’s shoulder again. And hearing him say that helped much more than Virgil wanted to say out loud. Part of him still hated the competition and the unknowns. But even the day they were expecting Patton to come, Logan took time out to talk to Virgil and reassure him even when he didn’t know what was wrong.

“Hello, gentleman!” Roman popped his head in. “Are you alright, my little stormy sky?” Roman stepped in and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, I’ll be all right. My head’s just in a weird place,” Virgil looked up to Roman and gave him a weak smile.

“Being in a weird place helps you know when you’re in the right one, sometimes, as strange as it sounds,” Roman smiled. “We’re here for you, though, every weird place, nice place, and bad one. If you tell me what you want and I will move heaven and earth to find it for you,” Roman put his hand to his chest and raised his other one dramatically.

“Papa,” Virgil groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Virgil said he is interested in music,” Logan sat up a little and looked to Roman with a sly smile.

“Music? My boy? Really?” Roman beamed and looked like he was glowing with excitement.

“Papa,” Virgil groaned harder. “I’m just interested, okay, I like it,” Virgil tapped on his legs.

“Well what part of music are you interested in? Singing? Playing an instrument? Music production?” Roman asked brightly, deeply invested, leaning toward Virgil with a bright smile.

“I don’t know!” Virgil leaned back against the wall.

“How about you do some research and come back to us with something that sounds intriguing to try?” Logan asked.

“Oh, that’s boring, let’s go to a music store and you can play with all the instruments and tools and see what feels right for you,” Roman objected with a little pout towards Logan.

“Guys,” Virgil groaned. But he liked it a bit, if he was honest with himself. It was all reassuring. But Virgil wouldn’t really know for sure how they’d treat him until it happened.

“I’ve never heard you sing, Virgil. Maybe you can practice with me sometime?” Roman offered. “I can teach you the basics,”

“If I wanted to later, would the offer still be open? I don’t know if I want to, but…” Virgil trailed off.

“Anytime, sunshine, all I need is a sign,” Roman sang with his arm in the air.

“Fine,” Virgil chuckled. If the offer really stayed open, then Virgil could maybe shut his head up about it.

“A poet in the making!” Roman declared dramatically. Logan chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“How about we reconvene in the living room and do something more active help put you in a better head-space, Virgil?” Logan offered. “It will not help any to be alone with your thoughts no matter what you are going through,” He added in that helpful way he did that always just skirted annoying. But it sounded nice.

“Can we play spoons?” Virgil asked, looking up to Logan.

“I will get the finest deck of cards!” Roman declared, standing up.

“Roman, we have two decks of cards,” Logan huffed, flipping his hand free hand flippantly.

“I will get the one with the gold foil and make fruit punch mocktails so we can feel fancy!” Logan adjusted his statement.

“I have some solid gold coins in plastic containers we could use as the proverbial ‘spoons’ if you wanted to feel extravagant,” Logan said, rubbing his chin.

“What? That would be so cool!” Virgil shot, unable to contain his excitement at the prospect. He’d never seen a real gold coin and wanted to play with it. It would be much more fun than spoons. Like being a thief in the night as he sneaked a real gold coin under their noses.

“Can you both promise to be careful with them and not drop them? It’s important they stay in their casings or they will lose value,” Logan asked, holding up a finger.

“Yes, dad,” Virgil and Roman both intoned, then looked at each other and laughed. Logan rolled his eyes and gave Virgil a last squeeze before getting up off the bed. Virgil watched them head into the living room and tried to gather himself. Okay. He was starting to feel better. Kicking their asses at spoons would probably help, too. So maybe he didn’t really know what motivated him so he could be less insecure and worry less about being abandoned again, but it sounded like they wanted to help him find that what did, even if Virgil couldn’t admit what was really bothering him. Logan was always telling him he had to try before deciding he hated something. So Virgil could try.

taglist: @elizabutgayer

#tsss #sanders sides #tsss fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #tsss fanfic #a whole castle #ts virgil #ts roman #ts logan #teen!virgil #parent!logan #parent!roman #logince #ayri writes #food mention #insecurity #anxiety

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iol247 · 4 years

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Flashback: Unabomber Publishes His ‘Manifesto’

Ted Kaczynski was a madman who killed and maimed innocent people – but did some of his worries for the future come true?

By 2017 standards, a bearded man ranting in his manifesto about how “one of the most widespread manifestations of the craziness of our world is leftism” might, at best, have a chance ending up name-checked by Alex Jones. Most likely, he’d become the hero of a thousand faceless message board posters. His 35,000-word diatribe against technology titled “Industrial Society and Its Future” might be suitable for a personal blog, but a national newspaper? Surely not.

Of course, more than 20 years ago, when Ted Kaczynski mailed out what would come to be known as the “Unabomber Manifesto,” it was huge news. After over a decade spent living as a recluse without electricity or running water in a cabin in Montana – sending mail bombs to university academics and corporate airline executives – Kaczynski sent letters to the New York Times and the Washington Post demanding they publish his manifesto and agree to print an annual follow-up for three years. If they did, the bombings would cease. If not, the Unabomber hinted at more bombings to come.

It had started in May of 1978, when a package exploded and injured a Northwestern University security officer. A year later, another bomb was sent to the same college, injuring a graduate student. Also in 1979, Kaczynski snuck a bomb into the cargo hold of an American Airlines flight. It went off mid-flight, causing an emergency landing and afflicting 12 passengers with smoke inhalation. In 1985, he switched things up, and sent a shrapnel-loaded bomb to a computer store in Sacramento, California, claiming the owner as his first victim. By the mid-1980s, the Unabomber had become a real-life American boogeyman. A killer who would strike without warning, and without much reason. Why was he doing what he did – and when would he do it again?

The publication of the manifesto would end up being his undoing. Members of Kaczynski’s family had a slight suspicion Ted could be the person behind the terror campaign. His brother David was one of the thousands of people who called the FBI tip-line after the manifesto was published and a million-dollar reward was offered for information leading to the capture of the Unabomber. After a long search, FBI agents arrested an unkempt Kaczynski in his Lincoln, Montana cabin on April 3rd, 1996. They found bomb making components, over 40,000 journal pages and the manifesto’s original typed manuscript.

There’s no defending the actions of a person who mails bombs with the intent to do serious harm. But Andrew Sodroski, executive producer of the new Discovery mini-series, Manhunt: Unabomber, thinks there is plenty to take away from Kaczynski’s words. As he said in a phone conference with reporters leading up to the show, “What the manifesto has to say about our relationship with technology and with society is more true right now than it was when Ted published it.”

Not many domestic terrorists convicted of murder get called prophetic by television producers – and there are scholars from different sides of the political spectrum who agree that the the Unabomber’s anti-technology stance was ahead of its time. “His work, despite his deeds,” wrote Dr. Keith Ablow, a psychiatrist and member of the Fox News Medical A-Team, “deserves a place alongside Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley, and 1984, by George Orwell.” Ray Kurzweil, noted author, computer scientist and futurist, quoted a passage from the manifesto in his 1999 book, The Age of Spiritual Machines. Some believe he’s a murderous modern-day Henry David Thoreau, while others say he’s a genius and a prophet. So what, exactly did he get right?

Kaczynski opens his manifesto with, “The Industrial Revolution and its consequences have been a disaster for the human race.” The technology he goes on to rail against, keep in mind, was mid-1990s – before smartphones, before Twitter, before “Likes” on Facebook and algorithms helped pick out things for you to buy and experience. Although the word “dystopia” never shows up throughout the essay, Kaczynski believed (and you have to assume still does so from his prison cell) that the future wasn’t some Philip K. Dick or Handmaid’s Tale scenario; the dystopian future started happening a long time ago. Computer networks, the mass-communication media, the modern health care system, pesticides and chemicals, all products of the Industrial Revolution, are destroying the planet, he writes. As one portion of the manifesto is sub-titled, “The ‘Bad’ Parts of Technology Cannot be Separated From the ‘Good’ Parts.”

In point number 49 the manifesto, Kaczynski writes, “In the modern world it is human society that dominates nature rather than the other way around, and modern society changes very rapidly owing to technological change.” One of the big problems, he believed while writing his manifesto, was the inevitable growth of artificial intelligence and how humanity will cope with it. “First let us postulate that the computer scientists succeed in developing intelligent machines that can do all things better than human beings can do them.” As one Wired article explained in 2015, “A manufacturing device from Universal Robots doesn’t just solder, paint, screw, glue, and grasp – it builds new parts for itself on the fly when they wear out or bust.” From checking you out at the grocery store to flipping burgers, robots are being designed to integrate into the labor force and cut costs.

He goes on to write in point number 172, “In that case presumably all work will be done by vast, highly organized systems of machines and no human effort will be necessary. Either of two cases might occur. The machines might be permitted to make all of their own decisions without human oversight, or else human control over the machines might be retained.” When Kaczynski’s thoughts were published, we were still dealing with the Terminator version of the robots overtaking humanity and destroying it – it was a nightmare scenario, fiction. But Kaczynski wasn’t writing speculative fiction; he was stating, from an academically-trained point of view, where he saw technology headed.

Technology overtaking humanity was only one of the scary possibilities. The rise of the “one percent” super rich and corporations controlling everything, was another. “Human freedom mostly will have vanished, because individuals and small groups will be impotent vis-a-vis large organizations armed with supertechnology and an arsenal of advanced psychological and biological tools for manipulating human beings, besides instruments of surveillance and physical coercion,” he wrote.

Tech companies have untold amounts of data on every person that logs online for everything from shopping for cat litter to ranting on Twitter. How to understand that data – and what to use it for – is an industry in itself. Could it be used to manipulate us? See the 2016 U.S. election and the rise of fake news spread through Facebook. “Hyperpartisan Facebook Pages Are Publishing False And Misleading Information At An Alarming Rate,” as one 2016 BuzzFeed article put it, showed up in feeds even if the people didn’t follow those groups. Some of the false news was spread the old-fashioned way, through word of mouth; but, as John Herman of the New York Times explained, misinformation on the social media service thrives or dies, “at least in part, on Facebook’s algorithm.” As Kaczynski believes, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. All of this seemed farfetched when Kaczynski’s words were put in front of a mass audience. In 1994, audiences were being told suave cyberterrorists like the ones in the movie The Net were the ones looking to steal your information online and do whatever they please with it.

After all this, however, calling Kaczynski a prophet might be a stretch. He’s a highly intelligent person who wanted to try and stop where he saw humanity headed by any means necessary – including murdering people. Yet he routinely points out throughout his manifesto that there very well might be no stopping the inevitable. The entire point of his manifesto, as he states, is revolution, anarchy: “Its object will be to overthrow not governments but the economic and technological basis of the present society.” Kaczynski, who has stated admiration for the eco-anarchist movement (“but I think they could do it better,” he also said in an interview in 1999), takes aim at both leftists, including “socialists, collectivists, ‘politically correct’ types, feminists, gay and disability activists, animal rights activists and the like”). He also writes, “conservatives are fools,” and that they’re, “just taking the average man for a sucker, exploiting his resentment of Big Government to promote the power of Big Business.” Kaczynski even engages in some gaslighting: “Feminists are desperately anxious to prove that women are as strong and as capable as men. Clearly they are nagged by a fear that women may NOT be as strong and as capable as men.”

All of this reiterates the point that Kaczynski is no hero whatsoever. The person who wrote “Industrial Society and Its Future,” is a fanatic. And as is sometimes the case, fanatics can take things to the tragic extreme. Yet there is something to be taken away from his words if you read closely; it’s that we give up a piece of ourselves whenever we adjust to conform to society’s standards. That, and we’re too plugged in. We’re letting technology take over our lives, willingly. It’s the sort of thing that doesn’t take a madman dressed up like a prophet to tell us; it’s all too evident. Kaczynski, to steal a phrase from the tech world, was just an early adopter of these thoughts. Yet his warning will probably forever go unnoticed because of the horrific deeds he carried out to get his message across.

https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-news/flashback-unabomber-publishes-his-manifesto-125449/amp/?__twitter_impression=true

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honeyyvee · 6 years

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Rating: T

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader ft Park Jimin

Summary: You go back to your hometown for the holidays and reunite by chance with an old friend, only to part from him again.

Genre: Angst

Words: 4k

Warnings: Slight sexual content. Alcohol consumption.

Notes: This is for the winter “Nostalgia” prompt of Army of Writers Net. This is some heavy angst, not fluffy in the least. Loosely based on personal experience.

You had gone back home for the holidays with your parents. Just graduated from chemical engineering, and having landed an excellent laboratory internship in a renowned plastics company, you felt like you finally had your shit together. Years of hard work had come to its rewarding outcome. You felt like life was finally beginning for you, and it was promising.

Your new life started until January though. So for now, there was a lot of cleaning around to do. You needed to sort out the things that you would and wouldn't take with you. As soon as you had gotten home your mother wouldn't let you rest, as she handed you some boxes for goodwill. It was like moving out for college all over again, except this time it was for good.

You were moving two states away, sharing apartment with your college roommate, Jiwoo, who luckily happened to be from your home town too. It had made the experience so much easier, Jiwoo and you had bonded over mutual nostalgia and stories of your childhood. You had arrived before her though, so it would be a couple days until you saw her again. You weren't a person of many friends, the few you had in High School you had lost touch with since moving out. You could always give them a call, but feared it would all end up in an awkward encounter. You would wait for Jiwoo. She had told you she would arrive on Friday and throw a big celebration party on Saturday, which you were totally pumped for. You didn't know her friends as they were from a different High School than the one you went to, but figured that if they were Jiwoo's friends it would be fun anyways. Besides…

Please don't miss it! There are some hot guys I want to introduce you to ;)!!!

You sure as hell wouldn't it miss it for the world, there was a skin tight bodycon skirt you were dying to show off. As of the moment though, you had to sort through piles of old clothes and shoes, books and trinkets. You were done going through your closet, and moving on to rummaging your dresser when you found it. Shoved to the very back of the first drawer, a golden oblong gift box. The inconspicuous object drew in your attention like moths to a flame for no apparent reason. Driven by a curiosity you would dread later, you opened the narrow box. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach at the sight. Inside rested a thinly chained necklace, with a tear-cut crystal pendant, that brought back painful memories. A name in particular, that broke your heart. Kim Taehyung. Your best friend, confidant, partner in crime, and secret crush. The one person most dear to your heart, and the one who had broken it too. A tight knot formed in the back of your throat as a sequence of bittersweet memories flooded you one after the other. Silent panic creeped into your heart, there were lots of things hastily stuffed somewhere in those drawers that would remind you of him. Some letters, polaroids, a pair of books, and that necklace. Mementos of your long gone friendship, turned sour. When you thought about Taehyung the first thing that came to mind was heartbreak, a crushing weight of sadness and regret enveloping your heart. Written and spoken promises of forever left to the wind, amounting to nothing. Years of friendship thrown to the gutter, leaving nothing but bittersweet memories behind. It had been hard, so hard overcoming it. That's why you moved two states away as soon as you got the chance. The terrifying prospect of leaving your home behind was overshadowed by the immense grief that seemed to consume you at the time of leaving High School, and Taehyung behind. You never really understood what had happened, but of one thing you were sure: he changed. There seemed to had been a turning point in his life, that made him take the decisions he did. At first he distanced himself from you. It started with the little things: he stopped texting you about his day, or answered your texts days later. His demeanor changed, he seemed to avoid eye contact, and you altogether, like the plague. He became more quiet in your little circle of friends in the one class you shared, turned down invitations to hang out. The drift between you two had been gradual, but unstoppable. You did notice the early signs, but didn't really pay it much mind at first. You were in denial. You convinced yourself Taehyung was going through something he didn't feel ready to talk to you about, so you gave him space. You were busy doing your own thing anyways, unbelievably stressed with college applications and giving your GPA one last push. Out of the two of you, Tae was the social one. You weren't really dependent of other people, could go days without uttering a single word to anyone in school. So even if Taehyung's distancing was out of character, you really didn't have it in you to seek him out like you should probably have. Not much besides the occasional after class soft spoken invitation to hang out at your house or text messages asking about his day from time to time. And that would haunt you for the rest of your days. The crushing what if's that drilled into your anxiety driven brain for months. Anxiety and guilt were a bad mix. Over time the frustration at not understanding Taehyung's behaviour towards you turned into resentment that aged well like wine. The feelings of abandonment and betrayal were still there, resurfacing anew at your unexpected trip down memory lane. As much as you had tried to understand him, to this day it still felt like a grand betrayal. Like everything you thought you knew about him was wrong. Like you hadn't known him at all. Taehyung, the person most close to you. The one person you had trusted everything in. You were so guarded and so careful choosing your relationships, that you felt robbed of what you believed in your heart would be a lifelong friendship. The necklace in your hand: Taehyung's gift, a token of his love and sincerity, mocked you with its dull glimmer. Your heart sank. The Taehyung you thought you knew wouldn't have done that. He wouldn't hurt you in such a cowardly way, or abandon you like that when he had expressed so clearly his love, and his desire to be with you for the rest of your lives. At some point there was an invisible rupture, a change of his heart, that would forever change things between the two of you. You were just mad at yourself for not doing something about it. Could you’ve done something about it? Your fingers twirled around the pendant absentmindedly. Parting ways had been Taehyung’s decision, so chances were there couldn’t have been a thing you could do back then to prevent it. A sardonic laugh bubbled in your chest. Best friends forever my dick, you thought sourly. The clank of the jewelry against the wooden dresser sunk your heart to the pit of your stomach. A dull, intermittent ache creeped its way into your heart. You had forgotten all about it, the pain. There was a wound somewhere that never quite healed, and seeing that particular piece of jewelry was opening it up all over again. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes; you thought you had put all of this behind you. Buried it behind layers and layers of whatever, it's done. But it wasn’t, not for you. For a long time Taehyung left you hanging on to blind and hopeless hope. Hope for some kind of explanation, some needed closure, that never came. It was all up to you, to close that chapter of your life by yourself, for yourself.

And you would. The golden glimmer of the necklace urged you.

You wiped your tear stained cheeks and picked up a shoe box lying around. Took a big breath. It was about time. .

“Y/N, babe! So good to see you, I’ve missed you so much.” You were tackled by the back into a tight hug.

You recognized the femenine sweet fragrance right away. “Jiwoo, come on. We were apart one week.”

The petite brunette turned you around in her embrace. “I thought you wouldn’t come, for real!”

“I told you I would, didn’t I?” You chuckled.

“Oh, right!” Jiwoo winked. “I know why you came… “ She nudged your sides.

“Oh please, that’s…”

“Nothing to be ashamed of! Come on, let’s go inside, you must be freezing in that tight little skirt of yours.” She took your hand and dragged you inside, you followed without complain. It was chilly outside.

“I was actually just talking about you with someone I think you might love.” Jiwoo wiggled her eyebrows as she guided you to a corner of the living room.

Jiwoo’s house was huge. As much as you tried spotting in advance the guy she was taking you to, the mass of bodies made it difficult to see too far. If only you had worn your high heel boots, you could’ve seen the shitstorm you had coming.

“T-Taehyung?” You stopped in your tracks as your heart lurched to your throat.

“Y/N… “ Taehyung’s eyes went wide as saucers, his mouth agape, as if he had seen a ghost. And both of you might as well have. His expression was so comical you would’ve laughed if it wasn’t for the whole awkwardness of the situation.

You stared into his eyes and he did the same. Drank in his handsome, mature features. His hair was different and his fashion style too. You couldn’t believe it. After years of hiding from each other, here you were. Brought back together by chance. It seemed like eons of emotionally charged tension passed between the two of you, before Jiwoo finally broke the silence.

“Oh! You two already know each other?” She squeaked in delight, completely unaware of the tense atmosphere surrounding you.

“Well…” Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uneasy about the whole situation.

The fuck was he hesitating for? Of course you two knew each other, a little too well may you add. You scanned him head to toe. The guy in front of you with raven dark hair though, may as well be a complete stranger. The two of you were really starting anew, if there was anything starting, that is. It would probably be over before it began. Taehyung didn’t seem too excited about seeing you again.

“No.” You deadpanned.

Taehyung’s brow seemed to frown for a second. “We went to school together.” He averted his eyes to your friend, giving a small unconvincing smile.

“Oh! You did?” Jiwoo’s eyes glinted in silent delight. “You must have so much catching up to do!” She grinned at you. You glared in response.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” She winked, scurrying away from your grasp.

“So…” You huffed, disgruntled by your best friend’s scheme to get you laid. With the last person on the planet you wanted to see right now, no less. “How’ve you been?”

Taehyung bristled at your harmless question. “Good… good.”

He licked his lips, looking at you with big, fearful, puppy eyes. “You?”

“I’m alright, yeah.” You shrugged, embracing yourself. This was going to be a hell of an awkward conversation. There were so many things you wanted to say to him, needed to get out of your chest. But your tongue sat heavy on your mouth, like lead stopping the words from coming out.

How to start? What to say? Fuck you, was the first thing on your mind if you were being honest. Though you doubted that was the best way to rekindle your lost friendship. Whatever, it didn’t matter. In the end Taehyung found a way out of the uncomfortable, looming conversation.

“I’m going for a refill of my drink…” He pointed to his empty red cup. “Do you— um— do you want me to bring you something too?”

“Yeah, sure.” You accepted immediately. You needed a drink most desperately if you were going to keep this thing going. Whatever it was. You couldn’t stand another second of sobriety next to Taehyung.

The dark mop of hair nodded, his bangs were long you noticed. Grazed over his thick eyebrows. “Okay, what should I bring you?”

Your frown deepened, Taehyung knew what kind of booze you liked. Why was he acting clueless now? You shook away your growing annoyance and dismissed his question with a simple “Whatever, a beer would be nice.”

A final nod of acquaintance and Taehyung left to the kitchen in long, nearly rushed strides. You couldn’t blame him, really, the air was suffocating. You couldn’t stand another single second in his proximity. And you sure as hell wouldn’t wait for him to come back with your drink like a naive child. He probably wouldn’t come back. You wouldn’t. You would run for the hills at the first chance, can’t blame him if he does the same. Besides, you were used to him leaving you behind. But that wouldn’t happen tonight, you would leave him first. God knew there was so much your heart could handle.

You looked around for your friend in the multitude, until you spotted her near the entrance chatting. You tapped her shoulder and braced yourself for her reprimanding gaze. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with..." She raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows. You couldn’t help rolling your eyes. "The guy's a dick, Jiwoo. Wouldn't hang out with him even if you paid me." "Oh my god, Y/N, I thought you knew each other? I'm sorry babe, did he hurt you? Did he do anything to you? Because if so I can get him kicked in this precise mome—" "It's alright Jiwoo, he didn't do anything. Let's just say..." you sighed " that we didn't end up in the best terms." No shit, you didn't even end in any terms at all... Jiwoo opened her mouth in realization. "Oh... is he your ex?"

Ex-best friend. "Something like that, yeah." She gave you an apologetic look. "Oh, I'm so sorry Y/N. The list of people got out of hand. I don't know who's around here anymore. I told my friends they could invite friends, and apparently those friends invited friends and... you know how it is." "But let's not allow this to ruin our night, we're here to have fun! And there's still someone I want to introduce you to." Jiwoo winked. You looked at her with reluctance. She pouted. "This one's the good one. I promise." "Alright." You followed Jiwoo into another crowd huddling by the alcohol on the kitchen bar. Where, luckily, you didn’t stumble upon Taehyung again. He was probably gone. Whatever. Jiwoo didn't disappoint this time around, as she introduced you to an extremely good-looking ex-classmate of hers. A stunning blonde named Park Jimin. The guy was a charmer, he had an adorable eye smile and seductive voice that you could listen to for hours. Until you had one too many drinks on you and mustered the courage to invite him to dance. You pulled him into a crowd of grinding boys and girls in the next room and soon enough, your flirtations advanced as you left your inhibitions behind. Jimin grabbed onto your waist as you grinded your ass over his hardening crotch. You felt sexy and bold in his firm arms, the pressing bulge of his pants gave you a boost of confidence you didn't know you needed until that moment. You were desired, it felt good for a change. You met his eyes across the room as if drawn to a magnet. Even through your alcohol hazed mind you knew. Taehyung was looking at you. Better give him a show then. You turned on your heel and faced Jimin. His hands still laid respectfully appropriate on your waist, but his gaze was heavy with lust and implication. You gave him the push he nedeed taking his hands in yours, lowering them down to grab on your buttocks, grinding on him slow and deliberate. A couple of seconds later you turned to look over your shoulder, only to find a disgruntled Taehyung pacing around, running his hands through his hair. An overwhelming sense of pride overcame you as you got just the reaction you were hoping for. He clearly had a couple of beers on him too, to stare at you grinding on another man so unabashed. Taehyung turned around and your eyes met. This time, through a short-lived moment of clarity, you could see the pain in them. He averted his eyes soon enough from you though, entertaining himself with his phone. You stared at him until Jimin demanded your attention back on him again. You pleased him continuing with your lewd dance, but stopped altogether when you caught a familiar mop of dark hair out of the corner of your eye, rushing past the crowd of dancing bodies. He was leaving. You excused yourself to the bathroom. A weak lie given that you refused to be accompanied by a female, as Jimin not so helpfully suggested. Unfortunately, you really didn't have it in you to care about how convincing you sounded. You followed the shortest way out of the house even if, again, it was a blatant giveaway that you weren't going to the bathroom. Whatever, Jimin will be pounced on as soon as I leave him anyways. You turned the knob of the front door open and immediately spotted Taehyung's back. He seemed to be done saying goodbye to a small group of friends. You quickened your pace to catch up with him. "Leaving already?" You huffed, nearly out of breath. He froze on the spot. "No goodbye?" You teased. His posture was stiff and he had yet to turn around to meet your eyes. "A friend's picking me up." He answered nonchalantly, staring into the street. Taehyung looked at you sideways, a What are you doing here, hanging heavily in the air. If he really wanted to ask that, he didn't. Probably out of fear of encouraging you to continue the uncomfortable conversation. He was wrong if he thought he would be off the hook so easily though. You were alcoholized and completely uninhibited, a dangerous state to be in. You hummed. There was an uneasy air about him, even if he was excellent at poker face when he wanted to. In your drunken state, it seemed like a good idea to push his buttons to see where it would take you. "Remember that time I asked if I could kiss you, out of curiosity?" He nodded with a small, forced smile."You were drunk. Like you are now." "I was tipsy." You corrected with a giggle. "I had barely had one beer. Anyways, that time you said it wasn't worth the risk of changing or ruining things between us." Taehyung frowned, his eyes scanned yours for some type of indication to where the conversation was going. With his hands in his pockets and stiff shoulders, his discomfort about the topic of conversation was pretty clear. You went on with your drunken remembrance anyways. "Well, guess what. A kiss didn't. You did." You jabbed at his chest. His frown seemed to deepen. Through your fogged, unfocused vision you caught something flash in his eyes. Hurt? Anger? Annoyance? It didn't matter, you weren't here to play nice. You were here to relieve years of pent up sadness and resentment, so you pressed further. You leaned into him, stumbling into his arms. "So how about we kiss now, huh?" You snaked your hands around his neck. You were chest to chest, looking into his deep, sorrowful, chocolate eyes, you wondered if he felt the thundering beat of your heart against his ribcage. "We're not friends anymore so screw it, right?" Taehyung shut his eyes closed and licked his lips. Your eyes followed the movement of the pink muscle with a watering mouth. He drew in a long breath. "I can't... " The air hung heavy with words left unsaid. You waited for an explanation that never came. It would've been easier that way, probably. Your fogged mind scrambled for ways to fill in the blank. I can't... you're drunk. I can't... it's not right. I can't... I have someone. As it turns out, until the very end, there wouldn't be an excuse that could satisfy you. Said or unsaid. Taehyung's large hands were warm as they untangled your arms from his neck with patient gentleness. As his body started drawing back from yours, a chill ran through your spine. Outside was chilly and you immediately felt the loss of heat that emanated from him. The cloud of his masculine fragrance dissipated in the air around you. The same woody, earthy scent you remembered. It was the only familiar thing about him and the mere thought of it brought tears to your eyes. You desperately wanted to hold onto the familiarity of it a little longer... just a little longer. You threw your arms around him again, around his middle, and pulled him close to you in a heartbreaking hug. You hid your face in his chest, into the warmth of his jacket. Waves of relief and deep sorrow washed over your body all at once. You missed his scent. You still missed him. Or who he was to you, once upon a time. After what seemed to be years of heartbreaking hesitance, Taehyung hugged you back. He buried his nose into your hair and held you as your body shivered and shuddered against him. His large hands ran soothing circles across your back as you cried into his chest.

This was it. The goodbye. The closure you never had. And despite the years, it was more heartbreaking than anything you had ever imagined. This person had been your best friend, your rock, your companion through some of the most important years of your life. It was an understatement to say you were anything less than wrecked at his loss. Your hands clenched around the material of his jacket, and breathed in a long breath to calm your sobs. Taehyung's hands patted your head, whispering empty, soothing nothings like it's okay. You knew better than to believe in them, but still allowed the soothing baritone of his voice to lull you into something akin to calmness. The effects of alcohol were dissipating, and with that came your much needed self-awareness and sense of pride. A sigh escaped your lips as a wave of shame overcame you, you had been weak and showed yourself vulnerable. He was probably putting up with you out of pity. You hated that. You cleaned away your tear-stained cheeks, slowly letting go of his embrace with the remaining sliver of strength you had in you. You forced a tight lipped smile but couldn't meet his eyes. Your gaze was glued to the floor, your mind thought of apologizing but as soon as you opened your mouth someone else's voice came out. "I'm sorry." Your gaze lifted from the floor to meet Taehyung's eyes. A pained look sat on his handsome features. It seemed that for a long time this had eaten away at him too, if the way his voice cracked at the end was anything to go by. You stared at him in shocked silence, looking for any signs of lying. There was no point in saying it if he didn't mean it. But your heart sank at the realization, the way his eyes watered. There was no mistaking it. Taehyung regretted this, but knew there was no fixing it now, no going back. In the background, a pick up truck blasted its horn. As if on cue, Taehyung blinked away the tears and coughed into his fist. "I gotta go." You both exchanged a long, last look heavy with regret. Your heartstrings felt at a snapping point. You waited for him to say it, to put the last nail on the coffin. But he turned on his heel without another word. If he did say it, you didn't hear it. "Goodbye." You looked at him leave through contained tears and understood. Some wounds may just never heal.

#btsguild #armyofwriters #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fanfic #bts fanfiction #vee writes

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ryanswaves-blog · 6 years

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My Front Room Table

I’m writing this blog mainly for myself. I think it will be a lot of help to me. Its a lot harder to lie to yourself while writing. My life has also never been more interesting, so I hope it proves entertaining for those who do read this,

Ryan B.

My current Home.

I’ve always had a habit of Judgement. And Rambling.

Unfortunately it used to be a Judgement that would end up with me feeling superior about some imagined slight in their viewpoint, their laugh, a picture on the wall, their taste in music, and I’d have this terrible way of assigning someone a value because of these observations. At the time, it was the best tool I had to not internalize all this anger and let it destroy me. Now i’m older and (hopefully) wiser, Judgement for me comes in the form of constant hypothesis’, and by making these observations, I have learned to socialise. I’m no good at reading body language, hearing the tone of friendship, or the cue of flirtations. I don’t believe this will ever come naturally to me, and I will have to put serious effort into refining the tools I have developed throughout my life if I am ever going to have fluent communication with the Human race.

I don’t bother with small talk. It is not something I am good at. It feels too much like a farce that allows people the comfort of not getting a wrong answer or engaging in low key confrontation before you feel like it won’t damage the fledgling relationship you are building. There are many social tools like small talk. Many are unique to culture. I have mastered none. So I skip straight to the Front Room. Isn’t that how we’re supposed to be at the heart of it? Strangers come to your village of reeds and furs with shells on well crafted twine, sit down at your fire and regale you with their stories of the Ocean, the water that never ends, or with scorpion stingers from the Sands that swallow all and you laugh, dance, eat, drink (probably) and fall merrily asleep under the stars with traded trinkets and new friends.

So very early on in my interactions with my new Human acquaintance, I will invite them back to my dwelling. In the past, this has been seen as blundering and clumsy by those used to the nuances of the western world, other times flirtatious, (and has ended with mixed results), but my fondest friendships have been forged in the conversation over the Front Room Table. The Front Room Table for most is where the Tea sits on the coaster usually paired by reading material (Bills, TV guide, or the dreaded Facebook scroll) and biscuits.

For me the Front Room Table is a focal point in my life. At the moment, it is attached to the Mast of the Lady Jane, and is the certified physical centre of my universe. It can also be lowered and matted for another berth. We all have our rituals of metaphysical alignment as we assign meaning or purpose to the order of our lives. The pattern of your comings and goings laden your 4 walls heavy with Emotion and if one looks hard enough it becomes very possible to find ways to communicate and connect with someone through observation, hypothesis and interaction of their world.

Move as they move, and if there is alignment, there is relationship. It can be a game of snap with 20 potential pairs a second and the chance that some cards in the deck will catch fire if they meet, or stain the table with the lifeblood of what could have been the journey of a lifetime.

This I find is Much more straight forward and rewarding than slowly picking each other apart with words as you dedicate a good portion of the interaction to appearing to do ‘The right thing’.

This is a picture of me, trying to get away from small talk.

You can learn an awful amount from someones Front Room Table. There are tell tale signs of a persons routine, their habits and peeves can be hypothesized by the depths their coffee cups have stained into the varnish, the chips and bumps where it was kept in storage or moved with small accident, the crumbs of their last breakfast that defied the hasty palm brushing,small details which often lead to a bigger picture. Material can be a good indicator, but like with Humans, the material is usually circumstantial. I have had glass, Pine, Mahogany, and more than often whatever flat round stump comes along my way. The articles upon the Front Room Table can be a direct insight, or simply provide clues. Flowers and studying notes, A gerbil in his cage, a Combat knife and a bottle of Whiskey. How close to the settee is it, are the follicles of the carpet brushed aside by a pillow as she sits cross legged to write? Is that fleck of red paint on the leg a sign that there is an artist waiting to be born but without the esteem of himself will never come to be? Perhaps someone sneezed painting the last house and nobody noticed till the move.

My fondest memories of a Front Room Table are those of my Nanas, which would have a stack of Sodoku books, 1 white & rose trimmed coaster in each corner, a TV guide, a mechanical pencil (which I would always break on purpose), Sweet gifts, and a Picture of my family. I loved my Nanas front table as it would usually be where I spent most of my time as a child. By 10:30 AM I would have completed a task that only I would know the point or conclusion, the result of which would be me being collected by my Nana for an early hometime. I didn’t mind this. I had made my point with unappreciated passion, and now I could walk home, play with the dogs (Mitsie & Susie) and sit at the front table eating Dairylea sandwiches and playing a game of Go that my Nan had modified so we could play with pens & graph paper. Life was good around the Front Room Table.

There was nothing special about the Table itself. It was a standard Ply top until she bought a Glass & Aluminium table from Argos. It could have become anyone's. There is nothing special about most Tables, they are objects until we introduce them to our homes and imprint our lifestyles upon them. You can talk to your Table if you want, but it will never answer you.

If you mark its surface or place something upon it, you perform a change through action, and it will reply according to the laws of nature, as does all. Your Table will let you know because you will see. You can call that mark damage, and repair it to the best of your ability (or not). Those who see your Table will see this. It is up to them how they see you for the marks you make. Or you can leave it where it is and see what comes along later, allowing you to take muse in the shaping of your home.

My Nana had learned hard lessons that gave her a cunning only available through earned Wisdom. I would never ‘misbehave’ around my Nana because she knew how to communicate with me.

Here she is, teaching my brother Jack about the secrets of the best Fish & Chips. There is no photographer in existence that has the skill to catch my Nana smiling on camera.

Being from the generation of The War, her communication was usually Action and her actions would always carry a message of Love and care. Only now she is gone and I am older do I realize the weight of the Lessons my Nana imparted on me. My greatest regret is that I did not appreciate her more while she was still here, and that I did not spend more time with her.

Her lessons allow me to communicate in such a way that speaking just cannot capture. It isn’t limited by the words you can say and it doesn’t allow you to choose the Validity of your ‘conversation’ through emphasis, side tracking, jokes and persuasion. Observation, Hypothesis and the analisation of ones actions in their surroundings invites you into their world when nobody is watching, it lets you view their past before they’ve told it, It gives you a much better idea of the Human you want to know instead of who they want you to know. I’m not interested in faces, I’m interested in the Human interacting with the environment, their environment and how it reflects upon them. You can tell me you like music and list your favorite bands, or we could Jam and find each others groove. You could tell me your work, your studies, but I’d much rather start a project and make a Youtube video about it. We could talk for hours about Fun of all kinds. I’d much rather play.

I have found impossibilities and unhealthy paradox’s in the Western World’s communication that make it very hard for myself to learn how to make healthy bonds with other Human beings, and as a result I have a handful of friends. Many I do not talk to and have not seen in years, and some I have never met in person, but I remember all those who I have been close with and shared something special with. If any of my friends are reading this, I’m sorry if I don’t talk to you, but I don’t really know how to talk to other people. I’d much rather make the effort to meet up and make a memory than give you a digital thumb once every social acceptable interval. If the friendship we have is true, I will see you one day and we will pick up exactly where we left off.

Your Front Room Table will change as you do with Time, and will tell you what might be going on in your life, at whatever point you decide to take notice of it. But you can’t lie to your Front Room Table, because it is an inanimate object and incapable of making its own decisions of belief. You can train your Front Room Table to lie to others however, whether through fear of judgement or lack of reciprocation, by keeping it spotless. I don’t trust Front Room Tables with nothing on them. It smells like a secret. It smells like Chemical polish and fretting.

My Front Room Table at the moment has my Laptop, A Creality Ender 3 3-D Printer, a Software Defined Radio, A coaster with an Anchor on it, and my Notebooks. I have no way of taking a picture at this moment in time, but I will. I can’t be having this first post be a brick wall of text.

It is Varnished Hardwood with a lovely routed round trim, a hole for the mast, and one side is collapsible. Its one of the nicest Front Room Tables that has been a part of my space. Its windy out at the moment, so the collapsible side is swaying against the boat. Sometimes when its like this I drop a dab of water on the top of the sway and see where it goes. Sometimes it makes patterns.

I will treat this blog as my virtual Front Room Table. If you happen by, Please sit and see. We may have something to do. I may have something interesting to show you, and we might even get around to some serious talking.

#blog #yacht #sailing #stories #3-d printing #software defined radio #tables #home #friends #rambles #studying

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wovav · 3 years

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True Bugs, Lacewings & Other Familiar Garden Insects

This chapter represents a broad range of the biodiversity of the insects, including some you probably have heard of or recognize. But what exactly is biodiversity? For a gardener’s purposes—no matter how big or small your patch of land is—it is important to have a broad range of creatures (species richness). But it is also important to have not only a lot of species, but also enough individuals of each kind (abundance). Furthermore, you want different species exploiting the same resources (in the same biological guild). For example, it’s good to have lady beetles, parasitoid wasps, and lacewings in residence to regulate the aphid population. All of these things together—the number of species, the number of individuals of each species, which species they are, and what they are doing—all add up to something we call “functional biodiversity.” This leads to a healthy garden ecosystem, boosting its resilience (its ability to bounce back from disturbances).

A garden with resiliency can surf the waves of disturbance, such as planting new beds or pruning, or an invasion of aphids, and even the natural disturbances of seasonal changes, as they occur. As a rule, the higher the number of plant species in your garden, the higher the number of arthropod species it will support. A biodiverse landscape full of insects fosters “insurance species” of insects, those in the same guild (for example, the lady beetles, parasitoid wasps, and lacewings that all prey on the same food). These are “understudies” that are ready to step into a role when another species, for whatever reason, becomes unavailable. Yes, some of the following creatures can be perceived as pests, but they are an essential part of a garden ecosystem, as you will discover! Many “true bugs” are prominently featured in this chapter. As I commented back in this book’s introduction, when it comes to the world of small creeping, flying animals, we often use “bug” as a catch-all. But entomologically “bug” has a specific meaning—it refers to just one order of insects, the Hemiptera, and more specifically to the suborder Heteroptera, distinguished from all other insects by the common name “true bug.” Hemiptera are characterized by their unique piercing, sucking mouthparts. In some cases, those mouthparts are used for piercing plants, in some cases other animals (prey), and sometimes also for defense. Heteroptera means “different-winged,” and in this taxon, only the tips of the first pair of wings are membranous, while the second pair is fully membranous. Also, fascinating to behold, these insects are often masters at the art of hiding by camouflage, blending into background scenery. Some are able to masquerade as an inanimate object of no interest to predators or prey, such as a leaf. They also commonly engage in mimicry, looking like other insects such as bees, wasps, or ants. Some are adorned with spines or other forms of physical defense; many also have chemical defenses. Our gardens wouldn’t be the same without these intriguing insects. The first two essays will introduce a variety of common heteropterans, including some valuable predators. After that, we’ll explore the true bugs that were once in a suborder called Homoptera, “same-winged,” but are now separated into two unrelated suborders. You’ll recognize many of these. I have included several other taxa in this chapter: grasshoppers, katydids, and crickets (Orthoptera), and the mantises (Mantodea), lacewings (Neuroptera) and ants (Hymenoptera). True, some of these can be injurious to plants, but others are useful predators. While it is not always possible to point to a specific or obvious benefit—from a human’s perspective—remember that herbivorous insects that may damage our plants are food for something else. They are beneficial because they are part of the larger garden ecosystem. Ultimately, they do benefit us with the reward of a healthy garden, in which we can sit back and let the predators and parasitoids do most of the work of pest management. The key is to know when you need to intervene, and when you can step back and let nature take care of the problem. In the long run, developing “functional biodiversity” in your garden decreases the likelihood of pest outbreaks that require attention, and allows you to focus on more rewarding aspects of gardening. As a bonus, you’ll get to observe many interesting insects.

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jamaicastation · 6 years

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So much going on right now in my mind, so many goals and projects that I want to reach, but I keep finding myself sliding back into old habits and lose my motivation. I know that it’s because I’m depressed. I know that my brain chemicals don’t know how to be motivated the way someone with more normal brain functions would be. But this weekend the husband and I put together a new reward plan for my workouts that really has me wanting to make this happen.

All the rewards are based on travel rather than material objects, something that I have struggled with for years. The idea of making a rewards chart never really worked for me before because I don’t care about designed handbags, manicures, nice clothes or anything like that. Those are rewards for other people and that’s fine, just not for me. And putting FOOD down as a reward is just another way of tricking myself into associating food with happiness, which is how I got into this situation in the first place. We were, until now, not entirely able to say yes to travel as a reward because of the cost but our lives have changed so much and now things seem doable. Looking at my ultimate goal weight and seeing not just the health and physical benefits, but two weeks in Korea is like... that’s something I could do.

#personal

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fyp-psychology · 7 years

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This Is The Scientific Explanation For Why Introverts Like Being Alone

As an introvert, I need plenty of quiet downtime. If I spend too much time socializing — or am just “out and about” too much in noisy stores or coffee shops — I don’t feel like myself. I get mentally drained and even physically tired. I get cranky and short with people. Every little annoyance, like a crying baby in public, seems magnified. I fantasize about holing up in my apartment for a day or two to recharge my energy.

Recent research shows that extroverts get worn out by socializing, too. So it’s not just introverts who need to rest after chatting and meeting new people.

Nevertheless, there are some real differences between introverts and extroverts.

average, introverts really do prefer solitude more than extroverts, and extroverts are more driven to engage in social interactions that elevate their social attention and status (more about this later).

So, scientifically speaking, why do introverts need more solitude than extroverts? The answer is found in the wiring of our brains.

Introverts Respond Differently to Rewards

One of the reasons introverts enjoy alone time has to do with how introverts respond to rewards. Rewards are things like money, sex, social status, social affiliation, and even food. When you get promoted at work or convince an attractive stranger to give you his or her phone number, you’re gaining a reward.

Of course, introverts care about things like earning money, eating, and having relationships, too.

But researchers hypothesize that introverts respond differently than extroverts to rewards. When compared to extroverts, introverts are less engaged, motivated, and energized by the possibilities for rewards around them. So, they talk less, are less driven, and experience less enthusiasm.

In fact, they may find levels of stimulation that are rewarding and energizing for extroverts to be tiring or annoying.

What makes introverts less motivated by rewards? It was to do with a chemical found in the brain called dopamine.

Dopamine helps control the brain’s pleasure and reward centers. It enables us to notice rewards and take action to move toward them, and it reduces the “cost of effort,” meaning, it increases how much a person is willing to work for the possible reward.

When writing my upcoming book, The Secret Lives of Introverts, I spoke with Colin DeYoung, a psychology professor at the University of Minnesota who recently published a paper on introversion.

He told me that extroverts appear to have a more active dopamine reward system than introverts.

This means that extroverts’ brains become more active at the sight of a possible reward, and dopamine energizes them to pursue that reward. Introverts’ brains just don’t get as active as extroverts’ at the expectation of a reward.

Why Introverts Enjoy Alone Time

Thinking about introversion in terms of rewards makes sense. Because introverts care less about obtaining rewards, we’re less motivated to do things that extroverts find immediately rewarding, such as socializing. DeYoung told me:

“Introverts are indeed often drained by socializing, but that’s partly because the effort required may not seem worth it because the rewards from socializing seem less to them. Extroverts get drained by socializing too, but they are more motivated to engage in it anyway, and it probably takes more socializing before they start to feel drained. Anything that involves expenditure of energy will be draining eventually.”

To fully understand what DeYoung is saying, imagine two friends — one an extrovert, the other an introvert — at a house party on a Saturday night.

They’re crammed in a small room with thirty other people.

Loud music blasts from huge speakers, and a few people are playing video games on a big screen TV. Everyone is practically shouting to make their voice heard over the din.

There are a dozen conversations going on at once, and a dozen things to pay attention to.

For the extrovert, this “level of stimulation” might be just right. He sees possibilities for reward everywhere — an attractive stranger across the room, potential new friends, and people who will give him the social attention he craves.

He feels energized and excited to be at the party. So motivated, in fact, that he stays late into the night.

He’s worn out the next day and needs some downtime to recover, but to him, the energy spent was well worth it.

The introvert, on the other hand, finds this environment tiring and punishing. It’s too loud, there are too many things to pay attention to, and all the people in the room create a dizzying buzz of activity.

The introvert simply isn’t interested (to the same degree as the extrovert) in the possibility of social rewards around him.

The introvert makes up an excuse and gets out of there. He heads for home, where he watches a movie with his roommate before going into his bedroom to read alone. In his own apartment, alone or with just one other person, the level of stimulation feels just right.

Extroverts Are More Stimulated by People

Finally, a recent study found that extroverts are more stimulated by seeing people but introverts paid more attention to inanimate objects.

The researchers studied a group of different people and recorded the electrical activity in their brains through an EEG. As participants were shown pictures of both objects and people, the researchers evaluated their brains’ P300 activity.

This activity happens when a person experiences a sudden change in their environment; it gets its name because the activity happens within 300 milliseconds.

Interestingly, researchers found that extroverts who saw pictures of flowers and faces achieved the P300 response from viewing the images of faces, while the introverts only had the P300 response from pictures of flowers.

This doesn’t mean that introverts dislike people, but what it could mean is extroverts place more significance on people than introverts do.

Are You Getting Enough Alone Time?

As an introvert, it can be hard to get enough alone time.

You may feel guilty when you decline a social invitation or tell your significant other you want a night to yourself.

However, not getting enough alone time can affect you physically and emotionally.

According to Dr. Marti Olsen Laney in her book The Introvert Advantage: How Quiet People Can Thrive in an Extrovert World, you may not be getting enough alone time if you regularly experience some of these symptoms:

Trouble sleeping or eating

Frequent colds, headaches, back pains, or allergies

Feeling anxious, agitated, irritable, and “snappish”

Unable to think, concentrate, or make decisions

Confused and discombobulated, as if you are dashing from thing to thing in a blur

Trapped and wondering what is the meaning of life

Drained, tired, and put-upon

Disconnected from yourself

What should you do? Make it a priority to include downtime in your day, even if it’s only 30 minutes of relaxing in your bedroom. Your introverted brain demands it!

[THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN BY JENN GRANNEMAN AT INTROVERT DEAR.]

#psychology #introvert #introverted #infj #personality #psych #mental health #health #quiet #shy #intp #culture #life #introverts

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centerforhci · 3 years

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Listening: The Do’s and Don’ts and How To Master It

The human mouth plods along at 125 words per minute, while a neuron in the brain can fire about 200 times a second. No wonder our mind wanders when there’s so much time in between the words of a conversation. This is part of the reason we remember only 25 to 50% of what we hear.

Yet listening is an incredibly important skill for everyone—including leaders. Why? If you’re not listening at work, it’s easy to misinterpret a discussion as a decision. You may underestimate the importance of objections and ambivalence. And not listening is a quick way to dissolve trust between leaders and their teams.

From my experience, leaders could use some listening practice. Why don’t they listen? Though Richard Branson once joked that leaders love to hear their own voices, there are two main reasons. For one, in general, people are not taught how to carefully listen. And secondly, society expects leaders and entrepreneurs to have all the answers.

Truly listening to someone is more difficult than it seems and requires practice. Yet practicing takes more than just “keeping it in mind” throughout your day. Let’s look at five levels of listening, the do’s and don’ts of listening, and steps you can take to improve your listening skills.

There are several levels of listening, but here are five I find most important.

Highlight: Five Levels of Listening

Ignoring is something we have all done. Someone is talking to us, but we are exploring things on the Internet, checking text messages, or thinking “what’s for dinner”. We are not actually hearing much of anything.

Pretend listening occurs when a person acts as if they are listening, but is not following the full story of what is being said. They nod and smile but do not actually take in the message. This is a skill that can be finely honed by people who do a lot of inconsequential listening, such as politicians and royalty. We all do pretend listening at times; be careful because it can damage relationships when you get caught.

Selective listening involves listening for particular things and ignoring other things. We hear what we want to hear and sometimes block out details that we are not interested in, or simply don’t want to hear. We listen for what we agree with, and then only remember that. Or we listen only for ways we don’t agree (this is usually as a result of a conflict), which can be quite frustrating when trying to come to an agreement.

Attentive listening is what many of us do most of the time. This is when we listen to the other person with the best intention, yet become distracted by our thoughts of how we will respond. In attentive listening, we dip inside our own heads for a short while, try to determine what the person really means, and formulate questions for the person before we start listening again. If you find that you’re doing this, ‘fess up! Let the other person know that your mind wandered and say, “Could you please repeat that?”

Empathic listening happens when the listener pays very close attention to what is being said, how it is being said, the message that is being portrayed, and what is not being said. Empathic listening takes much more effort than attentive listening, as it requires close concentration. It also requires empathy and understanding. You’re listening for the emotions, watching the body language and listening for needs, goals, preferences, biases, beliefs, values and so on. In other words, you’re listening in surround sound.

How to Be a Better Listener

Listening is actually a little painful. When we talk, we get a rush of chemicals sent to our reward and pleasure centers, so it is a selfish brain activity. There is no reward like that for listening. When you listen, you are halting your natural ways of thinking; it’s like holding your breath. Yet listening is a skill that can be learned, like a fitness test of the brain.

The first step to better listening is to choose to be a better listener and decide that it’s an important skill to you. It takes effort and a strategy and much like any sport, you will want to learn the steps, and then practice, practice, practice.

A Listening Acronym to Keep In Mind

Here is an acronym to help you become a better listener: NALE it.

N Note what is being said.

A Ask questions to clarify the story, and refine ambiguous words.

L Look at what the other person is doing. Are they relaxed, tense, looking away? This is all part of the communication they are sharing with you.

E Evaluate what you think is really going on with the person. You are not a psychologist yet, with a little empathy, you might pick up on some messages that are not being said. This gives you an opportunity to ask more questions. Stay in a curious state and you will learn so much more in less time.

Listening Do’s and Don’ts

To improve your listening, DO:

Be 100% present. This means turning off all electronics, and keeping your eyes on the person.

Be content to listen and to stay in the conversation until they feel like they are fully heard.

Ask questions and take notes, including clarifying meanings of words. Many words in the English language have more than one meaning, or can vary drastically (such as the word “soon”).

Show courtesy in your posture and your tone of voice by leaning into the conversation, and keeping your voice level.

Allow emotions to flow freely, and acknowledge the emotions with your words.

Pretend that you will be tested on what you heard and understood, if you are finding it difficult to concentrate.

To improve your listening, DON’T:

React emotionally. Stay calm and focused on the other person.

Offer suggestions or advice. This is a hard one! Yet if you are truly listening, all you’re doing is pulling information out. As soon as you start suggesting solutions, you are no longer listening.

Talk about yourself. Even if you have had the same experience, don’t tell your story. It takes the attention off the person and back onto you. A simple “I have been there” can do the trick.

Look at anything but the person. Stay focused on the person’s eyes, facial expressions, and body language.

Are you good at fully listening to others? Is listening a challenge for you? We’d love to hear your ideas about why listening may be difficult for leaders. Also, if you have experience working on your listening skills, let us know what steps you have taken.

Let’s share experiences. Leave a comment below, send us an email, or find us on Twitter.

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#executive coaching washington dc #executive coaching dc #executive coach dc #executive coach washington dc #personal executive coach in DC

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spydre · 4 years

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How Was Your Day?

(game date: March 25, 2021)

I spent my day arranging a meeting with, and hiring, a thief. I'd decided to go this route because the alternative method to retrieving the Ci from Gipson would likely be messy. As the Dragon had said, he would not willingly part with the thing. That, however, did not mean we should draw attention to ourselves if we didn't need to. I don't think Dragons believe in subtlety.

I reached out to one Steff "Novaspark" Camden, who has been our main contact with the Hoods since we noticed their activities at ER's benefit concert. She (or her comrades) did an excellent job planting the bug on General Stone, and she knows that she'll get paid when she deals with us.

Once we'd arranged our meeting, I transferred 1,000 credits to a datachip, which I handed over, first thing.

"That," I said, "is for your silence, whether you take the job or not."

She scanned the chip and made it disappear. "'Kay, you've got my attention."

I nodded once, then laid it out. "Our illustrious council leader has, in his possession, an object that does not belong to him. It looks like a handle, with nothing attached. My friends and I would like it back. He doesn't appear in public often. There are two instances coming up, that I know of. You would have free reign as to the how. You can use your people, and/or my people. You would have my gratitude. And at least one other rather powerful organization wants this done, too. I have some information on some expected public appearances, if it would help."

She took a moment to reply. "You don't aim low, do ya," she said, flatly.

I had no rebuttal. The girl was not wrong. "I wish I could choose my enemies," I said. "I comfort myself that I can choose my friends."

We bantered a bit. I wasn't sure that she was going to take the job; the high profile of the mark seemed to spook her. I did what I could to assure her that my team would provide backup. In the end, the price tag for her friendship was a 20,000 credit advance, with an unspecified amount upon delivery. I chose not to haggle, and made the transfer.

---+++---

Vamir spent his morning interviewing for an executive position at SunTek. He hasn't said much about it, yet, but if I know my father, he handled the interview personally, and absolutely none of it consisted of the kind of empty questions that you can research on the Matrix. Vamir's background would have been thoroughly researched, and Dad would be investigating my motives for recommending him. The fact that Vamir was hired could mean any number of things, but I don't think for a moment that it means that we have fooled him.

---+++---

Aru was in self-imposed exile. He blames himself for leaving his family in a vulnerable position, and by way of atonement he has been performing all the scut work at the estate for several days now. He and I have very different responses to guilt. I invented a "silver bullet" that should ensure that the manor is never undefended again -- and I look forward to it being used on the next intruder, even if they are only trying to "test" us. Maybe especially then.

---+++---

I am sorry to admit that I do not know anything about Gordianus' day. As the newest member of this team, and the least experienced, she deserves more of my time and attention. I'll have to try to correct that.

---+++---

Varfana, while performing inventory that afternoon, found a bag of powder hidden in the shelves. She called for the employee on duty, Heznik.

"I found this in the back room, any idea what it is or where it came from?"

Heznik looked guilty, then he sighed and fessed up. "You know my son, Lorhig, he's been doing some of the deliveries. I found that in his things earlier today, and took it. I knew he was hanging around with the wrong crowd, but I was hoping getting him involved in the business would help to pull him away. I don't know what sort of drug it is, but it does not look like caffeine pills. I am worried. He is out on deliveries now. I was going to confront him about it when he got back."

The man probably thought that he was about to be fired, but Varfana isn't like that. She sympathized completely, and offered up Vamir's chemical expertise to analyze the powder. Heznig wasn't sure he wanted to know. He didn't seem sure about anything; the realization that his son was involved with this at all had shaken him. After waffling for a bit, he decided that it was best to know the truth, and Varfana called up Vamir.

It didn't take him long, even with his portable setup, to identify the stuff.

"The common street name is 'Ash,' but some of the more honest dealers call it 'Burnout.' It's a highly addictive, very powerful, stimulant. Makes the user feel invulnerable, but it brings a nasty crash when the high wears off. It's killed a few people." He pushed the bag away with distaste. "That's at least fifteen doses."

Varfana set her jaw. "The boy's mixed up with the Masques. They'd be the ones in this neighborhood with the hard drugs."

From what I heard later, Heznik didn't take the news well. He was angry, and worried, and he needed someone to blame for this, so for a couple of minutes he swung like a pendulum between blaming his son, to blaming himself, and back again. As Varfana was trying to calm him down, the kid returned from the delivery route.

Lorhig looked like a frightened slugbunny that had narrowly escaped a hunt, only to blunder into a nest of antkegs. He sported a nasty bruise on one cheek, and a wary expression in his eyes. He scanned the room, saw his dad, his dad's boss, a stranger in a lab coat, and he very nearly turned right around again. To his credit, he didn't, and the whole story eventually was revealed.

When Lorhig told his "friends" (that he was getting drugs from, to use) that he wasn't going to be able to hang out anymore (because of his dad getting him a job at Oakenshield's), they grilled him about the job and basically told him that he would use this new job as a delivery boy as a cover to deliver drugs for them, too. Or Else. The bruise on his cheek was an Or Else moment, when it was discovered he had lost some product -- that being the bag which Heznik had taken from Lorhig's things.

It was at that point when Varfana called the group to let us know what was going on. Katrya said she had a plan, and I (for one) was entirely too happy to let her (or anyone) handle planning. Especially since this particular situation was not likely to call for a lot of subterfuge nor intricate hacking.

---+++---

EllieRocks had an earlier curfew, so I didn't get a chance to discuss much with her - another failing on my part. I'll have to check in with her soon - is it too late to see if she could entertain at the debutante ball? She would certainly hold everyone's attention, giving Novaspark the best chance if she should decide to pull the job then.

---+++---

Ryatt has been learning what it's like to run a business. We did our best to set things up so that this doesn't take up the majority of his time, but it's not a good idea for him to isolate himself from it completely, because that would just make it too easy for unscrupulous executives to steal too much from him. I snagged a few minutes before he had to leave, and proposed that he and I design a drone for the upcoming Sunspot Games. He could list Rintendo as an official sponsor, it would be good publicity, and give us all a good excuse to be present at the Games if needed to back up our hired thief.

He agreed that it sounded like fun, although he seemed more interested in designing a VR game based upon drone racing - which, if I know anything about this kid, means that he will end up designing an intricate system for players to design their own drones, with race courses based upon the entire history of the Sunspot races (and a few based upon alternate laws of physics), and the resulting product will end up being used as a tutorial for future participants of Sunspot.

Which, in turn, probably means that I'll be the one doing most of the work on the actual drone we'll be using in the real-life race, but that's okay. His VR work will point toward the best design, if he completes it in time to be useful to us.

---+++---

Katrya spent her day as she has several days since the SunTek job - avoiding being seen in public. She also made a point of having to stay outside of both planned events. When I asked why, she stared at me blankly. "Do you not read the news, Zeke?"

Apparently I don't, at least not often enough. Shortly after we all had our faces flashed in relation to the SunTek break-in, Border Patrol issued a 500-credit reward for information leading to Katrya's arrest. Specifically her. And I'd missed it.

500 credits seems a little insulting, all things considered. I slept on the problem.

The next day I started work on a new type of holographic projector. Actually, I built three mini-projectors into a necklace, and programmed them to project an image of a face over the wearer's own visage, approximating the same movements and expressions. It was finished by early afternoon, and turned out better than I expected.

Before turning the prototype over to the foxkin, I studied and documented my work carefully, and by late evening I was able to program the machine shop drones to duplicate it - they can turn one out every six hours, so in a couple of weeks each of us should own one. The materials are pricey, about 10K each, but if we ever get out of the saving-the-world-business, we could sell these on the black market for ten times that.

For now, though, I'm keeping this tek a secret. Well, I did take the first drone-assembled FakeFace to another meeting with Novaspark. I figured, with this tool in her kit, her chances of nabbing the Ci would be much greater. I made it clear that this bauble wasn't going on the market; it was just for her use, but she was so excited about the potential of the thing that she didn't care. She even offered to return the cash advance, which I firmly declined for several reasons (most of them relating to goodwill, but there are also expenses involved with ripping off the upper crust, and, as I said at the time, a girl's gotta eat).

---+++---

So, that was my week so far. It could be worse. I could have a

boring

job.

..::Kai::..

#Æstas #gaming #writing #FreshWebs #text

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negativefate · 4 years

Text

rambling stream of consciousness essay i wrote to myself dec 29, 2014

listening to harsh noise music while driving down the highway i had just taken off at 630 from my house and before that woken up at 5 to get ready and finish cleaning the last set of things and before that leaving a party at kevins house and not telling anyone that i wasn't going to be there for new years and causing disappointment and before that seeing a show at dead leaf with a great 8bit band at the end and before that walking back and forth to the liquor store to get some beer and before that awkwardly getting dinner after my cousin came to visit when we probably should have gotten dinner with them and then before that i am cleaning up the basement again, organizing stupid cables, making a couple old devices work which is fun, but is it worth the time spent even? if not, then is my time on this planet even fucking worth it or am i just making trash like i believe these actual physical well designed objects that come to my home are so jump to me landing in kansas city and here i put on a tape just to get in the mood again i get there only an hour after landing i clumsily look up directions to get to jacks house on my phone i find there’s a bus that gets me there for fuckin a dollar fifty and i give them 2 and they give me a ticket for 50 cents back i ride the bus and i'm pretty tired for lack of sleep, and we drive through some weird semi industrial areas that are sparsely developed yet there are people getting on and off the bus fairly consistently i almost don't even notice who is getting on and off and at one point i look back to the back of the bus and see that i don't remember hardly any of the people getting on one person is looking back at me with a mousey face i typify some of these midwest people's looks certain women especially have a certain look that just reminds me of various nondescript porn actresses or something i start reading a economics book and it talks about oil prices and how scarcity reflects prices and is a major signal to the economy it is an interesting point of view but i look for holes in the logic because it seems obviously presenting a plain vewpoint it is clear that the US for example doesn't give a fuck about scarcity or perhaps the signalling system is so degraded that there is a runaway development the roads are overbuilt the cars are overrunning the roads if i take the face value economic view that this is a supply and demand problem i see it as a very perverse value system that rewards wasting they clearly even mention that soviet economies have gross inefficiencies and if we reflect on our own inefficiency it's clear to see that we are not perfect i feel that the author should have made this more clear i notice that i passed a street that i saw on my map (wyanadote) and while i didn't think it was "already" time to get off, several people are standing for several city blocks instead of sitting waiting to get off therefore I realize perhaps we're at a central location and certainly we are I stumble a couple blocks from the "main transit center" to another crossing on wyanodote, and i pass several office buildings with retail space that is broken down on the first floors first an eye doctor shop, filled with eye product ads but being torn to pieces otherwise then a sandwich shop, with dark cloudy windows and closed signs and a vibe of a previous generations comfort food when i reach the bustop at the streets that i had spotted on my map i was pleased and the troost bus came almost instantly i didn't understand how to scan my transfer so the lady did it for me, and i was acting bashful she was wondering if i knew it was the troost bus and i said yes i was wondering if that question was loaded i rode the bus in the front and looked at all the people that got on and off as we went towards jacks house we passed a row of two story townhouses that were red and white and repetitive that just looked like a dead end life situation for successful people i remembered my talk with my dad about retirement plans and investing money and about how i was literally thinking of blowing my brains out rather than do that and how i was yet again thinking about suicide in the bus i didn't even take it seriously but the vividness of me blowing my fucking head off was really awful i finally started recognizing some troost landmarks and scrambled off the bus i gave my ticket to a guy that wanted a transfer and he lamented being late for the bus that i just got off i don't know how to respond to this very well but wished him luck i walked up to jacks house and there are birds and squirrels and life just running wild there it is bright and sunny though a bit chilly (maybe 40 deg) and all these animals just were simply flourishing i walk inside through a couple closed doors and find my keys in the decorative chicken ornament i was surprised to also find several condoms inside the chicken, which was really amusing (e.g. the rooster...cock...haha) then i sat for a minute and petted the cat i wondered why the cat wasn't outside killing all the abundant wildlife whatever i was wearing three jackets because i was convinced that frontier would charge me for stuffing my jacket in my backpack and making it oversized in reality they didn't appear to care but they charge 50 dollars for a goddamn carry on that wasn't declared so i didn't risk it so i take off several layers and start my car i find where i left several of the christmas presents that I had meant to bring back home in the trunk and sort of kick myself for it i consider taking my car to a dealership to get it fixed up but have no idea where i also consider getting some food somewhere but decide to just hit the road i'm fairly tired still so i decide the stop off at fast food a couple miles out of town during the ride i am listening to some shitty talk radio about some guys that are talking about their "online trading academy" for stock trading i pull over and get some mountain dew, burrito and gasoline. slurping reality blub sucker is all i am at that moment. i do a couple stretches but it doesn't really feel very good. i am still listening to the radio in the parking lot and i notice that they replay recorded segments of themselves suggesting it is not at all a live show. at that point i decide it's time to blast the "white eye of winter" cassette and just start driving. i decide intentionally to start making stream of consciousness analogies to the noises instead of just letting it wash over me in some nonverbal stupidity i realize music journalists are probably better than me at this but i take some interest in just naming the feelings that i get so I'll repeat that hear a full spectrum white wash starts and then quickly gets crushed into a rumbling full force debase attack that's totally intentional about getting a skull crushing sound "large numbers of priests that were administrating the gulags were arrested and presumed killed" "others were sent to the labor camps...and suffered more slowly...assumed to be part of stalins fringe" a demented drum sound with a short delay time and extremely high feedback pounds and is absorbed by a sea-worthy hiss that fuzzes out and pounds once again to a deep drum a wind swept saturation takes hold and kills everything around it dead leaves litter the ground like there was never life anyways a thin veneer on the surface of our planet oscillations that never even really meant anything the dark fades away...like a comet that is completely grey....without color next a dirty fucking liquid sounds like it's being squeezed through a rubber feeding tube and a vaguely operatic chorus sings in the background, lulliby for a screaming nightmare some full bodied drone hovers over the chorus and takes the 17th century in it's arms and lays it gently to rest, taking each of the sharp moments, the sick deaths, the negative atrocity culture, and bringing it up onto a safer place, one where the only thing that matters is th industrialization of our times the industrialization has replaced any notion that feelings matter, any notion that a fair working environment is something that people deserve we could give retards something to do but it's already done and if you go up the ladder you see more and more things have been automated away you don't think about the roads being built do you? you don't think about the farms that cover 80+ percent of arable land do you? even when you're flying from new york to LA you don't hardly notice that humans have claimed this land for themselves scintillation frequency evokes this convulsive thought control that rises into a nasty chemical haze that demands more resources it's silenced into yet another flailing drippy sound fade out

a electric whip takes the stand fucking whining about the deprivation of resources and stuggles to make some connection fiercely spitting out brief moments of feedback between any number of frequencies that it can communicate on with an aether with non-existant endpoint it takes on more and more endpoint arcing back on itself and driving the frequencies into logical conundrums that antirepel itself and howl into additional painful derivative maneuvers it makes no difference to the machine what the effects of it's energy is being expended on, but only that some noise is being made taken astray leading reclamation of a formerly _done wrong_ system that is now instantaneously trashed and thrown under to make way for something more unplanned more unrelenting in it's consumption of power and antisocial connectivity whining and crying you see tear droplets form in the wave spectrogram taking a full 90 seconds to develop from a mixture of waveforms into a coherent pattern at your notification level notification level that is aloof from what you are supposed to be paying attention to but is instead wired into the inverse avoidance pattern the end the beginning once more gain blasting the appearance of nothing into a oscillation that has wavelengths spanning over years in time \ the bright lightning shatters a dark blank sentimental moment between us vaccum heavy rain sucks the white light from the heavens turning your back onto the keloid frostbite fallow bulbous pulsing face trancerotten yellow drainage trapnell decade trip fucker stumble block meaningless powernazi storm chaser populace chain reveals a mathematical rule. a pseudoconsistent logic to resolve fndamental curry's paradox from thin air what you thought was a clumsy blind behemoth is now an industrialized system that seemingly stands on it's own regardless of what yo even thought your very presence is nothing more than that like a dinosaur a placement that just gives you a central prominence as i start the other side the lull the powerful lull of harmonics drilled deep into the subcortex drilled deep into the somnambulist deity that rocks the beddy-bye to sleep that keeps the sharp reality away for at least some time for that reality of simple nature, the spikes of inedible plant matter, the vast nothingness that humans have somehow decided is rightfully theirs. homesteaded one small plot at a time until the federal government stepped in and purchased the large swaths of land a musical pattern that resembles a shaman opening and closing it's arms above it's head and taken drumming starts thathits something that's the vbrational equivalent of a untuned drum mode across an entire flood basin drumming starts that calls into question or owner ship of that land and the melodic butterfly that was once a welcome sight is now almost gone a tick tock dog growl gargling on some infected bacteria sinus cavity occupies the entire space you can hardly remember what things that you thought reckless distasteful nonsense squanders what was left of your vague fact driven storyline a sigh of relief ahlzagailzeguh stomps something fierce onto the mixing floor and drives metallic shards of broken dreams into the woodwork you don't think about who built your house did you/ why do you think you are worth anything to the other people around you when i say you am i actually referring to myself? i'm just desperately trying to offload my stupidity onto someone else? what is vulnerable to critique? i sit almost braindead when i face some of the most important situations yet when something is inconsequential i can leap into action and hurl retarded insults atpeople who don't deserve it like this girl that played prince at a party for like 4 hours i walked up to her and nearly choked her lights out and when she closed the computer i said no! play something else! i proceed to chose a random song that i thought was good off of youtube and then i proceed to just stand there and drunkenly creep on some peoples conversation wishing i could have just chosen a song that was better it's not my fault right? no, it is... there's a huge societal expectation that can't handle you being this way there's a roaring electric god that isn't going to cradle you in your arms while your social environment sees you as if you were a crying baby on an airplane take just a couple things at a time put them "in their right place" maybe then you won't have a crushing retardation lingering over everything you touch repeat this ad nauseum don't think for a minute that you can "escape" this reality you're "personal experiences" (your vacation, your hanging out with friends) is so far deviated from your systematically disassociated life happenstance that your better off to just give the middle finger to everyone and everything until it's over until it's over and you drop a sharp process into the ground and levitate transgressional power you can physically and mentally fail during this tremble weirdly under the occipital signal tension drab naked torbid flippant crater wield two basic components and when suddenly connected create a huge imbalance that sends flux reeling superintensely into the weak painless skinless meat proper happenstance flayed skinless animal carcass rotting spongiform encephalitis eschera coli sacchromyces schizophrenia pombe river blindness parasite trapped nderneat the helencaste psycholayer obligate individual disease question i never know what to say

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