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wesstars · 9 months ago

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crush

cairo sweet x fem!reader (no pronouns used)

summary: when cairo goes home, what comes to mind are thoughts of you. wc: 2.3k tags: explicit, minors DNI!! all characters 18+. university au. masturbation, smoking, non-linear narrative. reader is cairo’s teaching assistant, reader described as masc presenting. a/n: let me know what y’all think :) for the vibes

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“Is Professor Miller not coming?” Winnie had just dropped into her unassigned assigned seat next to Cairo, two minutes before Greco-Roman Literary Theory started. The flipping of pages punctuated the chatter of other students waiting, a comfortable sound.

“He said he’d be gone today,” Cairo replied absently. “There’s a ‘guest lecturer,’ our teaching assistant.”

“Oh, right. Who’s that?”

Cairo shrugged. “Who knows.”

As if on cue, the door swung open. Cairo didn’t even look up—Miller mentioned that he kept a handful of research assistants that would be there to help with the advanced reading. But honestly, Cairo wasn’t sure what they could tell her that she didn’t already know. A melodic hum fell through the air for just a moment, a chorus.

“Good morning.” At your lilting voice, rough with the edge of 10am, Cairo started. She watched you set your messenger bag on the desk. Your white shirt pulled over your shoulders; there was a glint at your collar, a necklace peeking through. A thin watch adorned your wrist. Winnie, along with some of the class, echoed your greeting, and Cairo blinked.

Late spring afternoon draped across the furniture in Cairo’s room, the quickly waning light giving easy way to a blue hour. Dropping her bag at the door, she tore off her shirt and skirt with the confidence of one standing before a crowd. Running a hand up from her sternum to her neck, she stretched languidly, sinking down onto her bed. After so many uneventful days—when she applied to Yale, she didn’t think that there would be any uneventful days—she finally had a story to turn over in her mind.

You. You were a mystery. Even as you had started the class with an introduction, telling Cairo you’d graduated from a middle-of-nowhere college in California and sought a writing career in Vermont before delving into research, she longed to lay out the details and pull them out from under the rug. Where did you learn to teach? Did you like to drive, or be driven? Mountains, or the sea? Where did you grow up? Was there coffee or tea in your cupboard? Cairo’s stomach burned to know. Her dark eyes burned the ceiling with smoke signals, searching for you even though you were god knows where in that seaside state.

Arching her back, Cairo let her hand travel down, palm flat against her stomach, to trace the seam of her upper thigh. As the class had progressed, your keenly observant nature did not elude Cairo. Maybe listening was something that your pedagogy instilled in you, but the way you held each student’s question in the cant of your head, an answer in your crinkling eyes, listening seemed to be in your nature. It was meticulous, the way you picked apart the class text, weaving in references and tying it all in. In that two hour lecture, Cairo learned that you watched the same way you listened.

Balmy as it was, the humidity made her dark waves cling to her skin, and she shivered as she brushed them back, thinking of a different pair of slim hands. Your scrutiny of each student had an intention that she couldn’t quite place; a determination that thrilled her. Cairo imagined that you’d observe her the same way, that she would be the one you were most fond of. It was only natural that her own attention would draw yours onto her. Holding the weight of your envisioned gaze made Cairo’s core twist, a pleased little flush that she prayed you could see. Your affected impartiality didn’t bother Cairo—in fact, it pulled her into your shadow. In her bed, she rolled onto her stomach then her knees, shaking her hair out.

Her hands were steady as she reached for her bedside table, thumb rolling on the wheel of her zippo as she held the cigarette to her lips. Cairo took a drag, blowing out neat smoke rings as she settled back on her heels. The skin of her own fingers was cool against her lips, and when she took the smoke away, she studied the pattern of her lipstick on the white paper as she had so many times before.

She’d watched, unabashedly and unafraid of being caught, as you drummed your fingers on the chalk tray. Would your fingertip be soft or work hardened if it pressed down her tongue? Would your skin carry the stain of her red lip as deeply, as obediently, as the malleable wrapping paper?

“Alright, class,” you cleared your throat, turning slowly around the room to make eye contact with each student. “As you know, Jonathan’s away on a conference today. I’ll start with a bit of roll, just so I can learn your names. Not many of you come to my office hours, I know.” You smiled easily. It was so guileless, Cairo mused, nearly childlike. You had the class go around the rooms with names and majors, a circuit that Cairo gave no attention to other than your lilting rhythm of hums, the tapping of your foot on the floor, the way you flicked the corner of the role sheet with your thumb. Your gaze was soon on hers, waiting expectantly. She looked right back with a blink.

“Cairo Sweet. English major.”

“Cairo.” Her name rolled off your innocent little grin, making her cock her head. “Wonderful.” Fascinating. Would you whisper midnight black desires in her ear, so deep and dark they might be murmured into the ink of your own empty room?

You continued, circling back to the front and easily transitioning to the lesson plan. You had an awfully effortless way of grasping the class’ attention, holding gently and never forcing. It wasn’t like Professor Miller, who always seemed to hasten through the lecture so he could return to his research. She could tell you liked the woods of the text, to fall down into the depths of each word, feeling its weight in you and letting it rock. Just like Cairo.

She sighed into the warm air prickling up her skin, the curl of your voice around her name making her nipples harden in her bralette, even in retrospect. Exhaling around her cigarette, Cairo brought her hands up to palm her breasts, feeling the drag of her rubied nubs on her palms. Was it the high of the nicotine, the blur of smoke ridden air that made her float straight up into the lofty space you’d created in her mind? Though the feel of her own fingers scraping the lace against her skin was familiar, she found herself keen to think of your soft or callused hands. She was wet already, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten wet so fast.

The weight she imagined of your touch on her flushed skin was completely, deliciously foreign. Unbidden but intimately welcome, Cairo wished that your caress would find the map of her chest as familiar as a classic, something you had searched a million times over yet always managed to find something new. Shamelessly, Cairo trailed her fingers down her stomach, nails catching on every rib as she arched her back in the spilled moonlight. The mystery in the crossing of your long legs as you’d leaned back on the desk climbed up her belly, curling in the thump, thump, thump, of her heart. The uneven roll of your sleeves clung to the corners of her eyes, eidetic and oh, so, tempting. She had watched you so ardently—did you like to watch? Would you watch?

The space between her thighs was achingly empty, craving the set of your narrow hips. She was comfortable there, and she remembered the taut stretch of wool as you dropped into your chair and set one ankle over your knee. There was something endearing about the way your trousers had pulled up to reveal slouchy black socks, and darker her mind went as the material pulling creases around your lap made her shudder and—she reached behind to pull one of her fluffy pillows under her, smoke billowing into the air.

Cairo gave her hips an experimental roll, imagining it was the soft fabric of your slacks against her aching cunt, and grinned around her cigarette. Unlike the pillow, you would be ever so solid under her, grabbing for her thighs like a dog yearns to please. Were you more likely to bruise her skin, yanking her into you without care for blood—or would you guide her gently, make a home in her innocence and hold her more dearly than life ever could? Either way, your desire for Cairo would be so apparent that you couldn’t help yourself.

The dip of your tongue in her navel, the little smirk you’d undoubtedly wear as you went down further—would you go for her throbbing clit first, or would your lips press so warm—she didn’t know. She didn’t have to, content with all those different versions of you unfurling before her. In her bedroom, each time she moved her hips, it became easier to imagine you guiding her actions, the bump of your nose on her folds, damned if not addicting.

Cairo grinned as she fell onto her forearms, hips pushing into the soft pillow without abandon. The slide of her panties soaked with slick against her sensitive clit felt like the delicate press of your splayed hand on her desk as you’d passed, eyes occupied by the text you were holding. It had only been a split second, but it was enough for her to memorize every crease, every vein. Cairo let out a whine, a demanding little sound, as her movements grew erratic. Looking up into the heaven where you must be, she imagined that you’d murmur to her, “I’m here, I’m here, how could I be anywhere else but here?” as you traced the dip in her back. Her arousal took her down every sullied path she’d ever dreamed of, but her mind stuck on one gesture that made her mouth go dry.

She remembered the way your shirt got just a bit untucked when you stretched during the class break. You’d instinctively tucked it back in, quick as you surveyed the class. Cairo thought that you’d dress yourself back up the same way after you bent her over the desk after class, pushing her skirt up and shoving your fingers into her, painting bruises onto her hip bones with how tight you held her.

The two of you would share a mutual understanding that she wanted this, wanted it bad enough for you to take it whenever you saw fit. Cairo decided that today, this time, you’d be as rough as you pleased, a cup of pens clattering to the ground as you pushed her down, forearm across her shoulder blades. Your necklace would be cold on her warm skin, would it be cold on her tongue? You’d put two, three fingers inside, humming in that absentminded way you did. She thought you’d nuzzle into her ear, all lips and sharp teeth, asking if she’d sprayed your favorite hair mist of hers because she hoped you’d notice—she did—and take her, break her, whatever you wanted.

You’d send her plummeting down towards a deeper hell (or was it higher, up to your majestic heaven?), already knowing everything that her body needed. Cairo imagined herself coming so helplessly around the stretch of your fingers, so high strung from nights of trying to mimic the press of your touch on her clit, unable to reach the same heights you sent her to. As she held back tears, eyes on the ceiling in reverence, feeling herself drip to the floor, you’d sigh as your mind wandered to other things already, carelessly running a hand down her back.

Cairo gasped, dropping her nearly finished cigarette in favor of gripping the bed sheets. The white fabric wrinkled around her fingers, reminiscent of your shirt creasing as you’d rolled your sleeves up. This was something new you could show her, just how fast she could come and just how wet it made her. It was a marvel, feeling the fabric cling to her cunt, almost as good as how you’d feel. Resting her forehead in the crook of her elbow, she murmured your name over and over again, a little susurrus of a litany, so similar to your preoccupied hum. Panting, Cairo giggled in her bliss, soft and bright as Californian oranges clinging to rich leaves. You were dark enough to be tucked into the wrinkles in the soft pillow, dark enough for Cairo to love, as a journal loves a secret.

Sated, Cairo grabbed her phone and typed your name in. The results spilled out, and she scrolled, looking for all of the details in the background of your social media posts, curiously drunk on the year’s gap in your CV. Cairo noticed the perfect little circle where the cigarette had burned when she dropped it, and she brushed away the remnants. The gesture smeared the ash on the sheets.

—

Walking into your office with barely a knock, Cairo took in the familiar room of an academic, but with your unfamiliar knick knacks around the place. A lighter, a leather wallet, glasses and wired headphones. You didn’t look surprised as you glanced up from your laptop. Instead, you smiled.

“Cairo, isn’t it?”

A flush of pleasure shot straight into her—you remembered. She nodded. Your shelves were covered in books and stacks of reviews, the morning’s leftover cup of coffee sitting on one of the ledges. Did you smoke before, or after your coffee? The terrible, terrible want to replace the taste of smoke on your tongue with the taste of her gave Cairo just the confidence she needed.

“What can I do for you?”

Cairo leaned over your desk, watching the way your eyes dropped to her burgundy lipstick. “Would you be able to help me on the Aristophanes reading?” She pushed her copy of The Clouds towards you. “I can’t seem to grasp it.” Your eyes met hers. “Of course.”

a/n cont'd: can you read my mind, i’ve been watching you… there’s just something about you, baby… ♪ / hope you enjoyed @woewriting :)

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

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macravishedbymactavish · 2 years ago

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Quick fic updates

Turns out my best work happens when I have 14 things on the go all at once (side note: I clearly chose the right career path in life)

And if anyone understands the song references behind the fic titles, we're now best friends.

Come Around (Logan Walker x F! Reader)

Changed from !Reader to F!Reader due to future plot points

Chapter 5 is in the works, 85% completed in my drafts. I'm not sure if I like the chapter, or the way this chapter is ending just yet though. But the series is far from over.

Riptide (TF141 x M!Reader)

The main fic will slowly be coming to an end, but there will be a sub series for this universe (coming soon to a dashboard near you). Some domestic "the task force is a found family" drabbles.

If it matters: Anyone on the current Riptide taglist will be on the subseries list. If you'd like to unsubscribe to these tags shoot me a message :)

Honorable Mentions (that won't be getting a paragraph each)

We're Lost & Found (Keegan Russ x F!Reader) - will eventually be a multichaptered fic. I have future plot points chosen, and chapter 2 is in my drafts 60% completed

Deep End (Unnamed CODMW2 character x Reader) - this is a combination of 2 plot lines/ideas. New, fun little thing. Maybe one day I'll spill the beans on who [UNKNOWN] is. We're open to theories here though

The Home Chronicles (David "Hesh" Walker x Reader) - I love this mini series. I love the universe. It's an ongoing, non-linear work in progress. I have a couple ideas that I just need to put pen to paper for (or actually fingers to keyboard)

All taglists open, let me know if/which you want to be added to :)

#call of duty ghosts #call of duty modern warfare 2 #riptide fic #comearoundfic #random fic updates if anyone cares

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blogbyahad · 4 months ago

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How can I grow from a data analyst to a data scientist?

1. Enhance Your Programming Skills

Learn Advanced Python/R: Gain proficiency in programming languages commonly used in data science, focusing on libraries for data manipulation (Pandas, NumPy) and machine learning (Scikit-learn, TensorFlow, PyTorch).

Practice Coding: Engage in coding challenges on platforms like LeetCode or HackerRank to strengthen your problem-solving skills.

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Advanced Statistics: Familiarize yourself with concepts like hypothesis testing, regression analysis, and statistical significance. Understanding Bayesian statistics can also be beneficial.

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Critical Thinking: Enhance your problem-solving and analytical thinking skills, as they are crucial for identifying and framing data science problems.

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Follow Trends: Keep up with the latest advancements in data science by reading blogs, listening to podcasts, and following key figures in the field on social media.

Continuous Learning: Data science is a rapidly evolving field. Engage in lifelong learning to stay relevant and informed about new tools and techniques.

9. Consider Advanced Education

Certificates or Degrees: Depending on your career goals, consider pursuing a master’s degree in data science or specialized certificates to deepen your knowledge and credentials.

#data scince #network #programming languages #python #software

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steroidelegal · 4 months ago

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Career Advancement

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Career Advancement

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erikabsworld · 7 months ago

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Exploring the Future of Signal Processing: Integrating AI and ML

In the rapidly evolving landscape of signal processing, advancements are paving the way for a future where Artificial Intelligence (AI) and Machine Learning (ML) play pivotal roles. Recent developments in educational curricula highlight a significant shift towards incorporating these cutting-edge technologies. Traditionally, signal processing has relied on mathematical models and statistical methods to analyze and manipulate data. However, with the advent of AI and ML, there's a paradigm shift towards more adaptive and intelligent systems capable of handling complex, non-linear data patterns more efficiently than ever before.

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vibinjack · 10 months ago

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Tips For Career Transition To Data Science For Beginners

Introduction:

In the rapidly evolving landscape of modern industry, data science has emerged as a pivotal force driving decision-making, innovation, and efficiency. With the exponential growth of data generation, the demand for skilled professionals in data science continues to surge. For beginners aspiring to transition into this dynamic field, embarking on a career journey in data science can be exciting and daunting. However, navigating this transition with the right approach and guidance can lead to rewarding opportunities and professional fulfilment. In this article, we delve into essential tips tailored for beginners aiming to transition into data science, providing a roadmap for success.

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Create A Compelling Portfolio And Resume

As you embark on your journey into data science, crafting a compelling portfolio and resume is paramount for showcasing your skills and experience to potential employers. Highlight your educational background, relevant coursework, technical skills, and hands-on projects clearly and concisely. Include detailed descriptions of projects, methodologies, and outcomes to showcase your problem-solving abilities, creativity, and impact. Consider creating a personal website or blog to demonstrate your passion for data science, share insights, and showcase your projects to a wider audience.

Pursue Continuous Growth And Adaptation

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Conclusion

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#infycle #education #data science

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tenaciouspostfun · 11 months ago

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Nimbus Blog

WHAT'S HAPPENIN' NEW YORK

a look inside the great white way by Broadway Bob

The Seven Year Disappear

2/26/2024

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"The Seven Year Disappear" is a non linear, performance art play that deals with a mother, Miriam (Cynthia Nixon) and her son, business partner (Taylor Trensch). Nixon is a famous artist who has left her son Naphtali for seven years only to return leaving him confused. The illusion of Bi-Polar disorder surfaces as both mother and son struggle with mental disorders and substance abuse. Writer Jordan Seavey has created a body of work in which the audience decides what the play is really about... the journey here is the thing; and quite a journey it is!

"Seven Year Disappear" is a modern play; it is not for the faint of heart as it deals with AIDS, Alcoholism, drug addiction and mental disorder. Serving the more progressive theater goer this performance play will resonate for the entire 90 minutes. The more traditional theater person may find this play difficult to keep up with. Scenes move in and out with no particular order, we see past relationships of both characters and the intimacy's that they experience. Director Scott Ellis let's us see the vulnerabilities in their lives and the rocky relationships that they share. Trying to make sense of it all, Ellis has the actors in peak form; we believe these people and the world that they live in.

What is most notable about this play is the deft acting in Nixon, changing roles, accents and body language, Nixon plays one of her best roles that I have seen in her stellar career. Trensch too is very good throughout the show; both blend superbly together. The scenic design by Derek Mclane

and the lighting by Jeff Croiter is some of the best I have witnessed in a long time! On a black and white set, the purples that Croiter hits the stage with are breathtaking as it adds to the very cool setting. The feeling of a retro atmosphere permeates the stage. The last thing that is most noteworthy is the projection by John Narun. Much of the action is off stage if you will, we only see the faces of the actors and often in the back of the stage away from us. Narun keeps it suspenseful, somewhat erotic and perfectly captures the pulse of this play.

The New Group has had two great plays so far this year; Sabbath's Theatre and now this one. Although not all the scenes are memorable and the play gets slow at times and the political commentary is unnecessary, it is a different kind of play that brings a different take to the audience.

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Other Careers in Question

Where human creativity isn’t prized, AI might already impact those working as paralegals, 1st-year attorneys, and coders. Eventually, we can expect it to start replacing financial advisors, bookkeepers, truck drivers, receptionists, retail workers, and people monitoring and programming the AI itself.

The Timeline has Changed

Once, I believed the futurists were fairly correct, if not overly cautious. Google futurist Ray Kurzweil predicted that about 2050, AI resulting from incredible computing power would create daily innovations and disruptions to the point of imbuing humanity with near-god-like powers, including the possibility of never dying. All bets would be off the table.

David Levy, in his seminal work “Love and Sex With Robots,” predicted it would be in that same time frame that humans would be falling in love with and marrying humanoid robots.

Personally, I thought they were about 5-7 years behind, but we were all wrong.

While we all based predictions on computing power growth, we missed the advancement in how the code is written. Intermodal large language models work across what were once separate AI systems and learn at rates not previously imagined. All bets are off the table now.

What was predicted to happen around 2050 could happen by the early 2030s. Within a year, the changes could be seismic.

So, What Now

For now, I am still the far best choice for companies that need outstanding writing; whether they come to me is another story entirely. Strategizing and marketing myself is my daily regimen. I hope to find a full-time job immediately before a writer and his puppy have to hold up a sign at the intersection stating, “One of the first automated away. Will write for food.”

My greatest concern is the total lack of preparedness in our country. It's been apparent for years that this day would eventually come. Yet, we’ve been hamstrung with a political party more worried about morality laws and culture wars than feeding our own and planning for the future.

This doesn’t clear itself up, and it doesn’t create new jobs, only replaces them. This isn’t the 90’s tech boom.

Unless addressed now, AI tremendously exacerbates inequality worldwide and reverses the worldwide gains in alleviating poverty that has happened over decades. Our economics have to change, taxation has to become far more progressive, and laws need to be enacted to reign in a new corporate AI war that could quickly upend humanity.

Combined with the impacts of climate change we continue to fail to address, mankind is not on a good path, and we must act now.

Brian McKay is (maybe was) a professional writer, MBA, political scientist, the creator of a few silly things, and an overall decent dude. He urges you to promote progressive political candidates that take the future of our world seriously.’

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grantgoddard · 2 years ago

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Born to be hired : 2006 : the new boy, Enders Analysis

“How is it that jobs just seem to fall into the laps of posh people?” my daughter asked the other day.

A rhetorical question? A truism? Both? Those of us who work in industries populated largely by posh people whom we do not resemble may have observed two phenomena. Posh people are often appointed to posts for which they appear to have no relevant experience; and posh people are regularly promoted effortlessly without apparent need to demonstrate above-average talent or previous successes. Obviously not ALL posh people, but enough for such occurrences to be more than random chance.

Recently, I switched on BBC Radio Four mid-programme and heard a posh woman explaining her lengthy career. “I could have been anything,” she said confidently.

That single phrase encapsulates the social divisions so evident in Britain. If you are posh and your parents invest a small fortune in your private school education, it is drilled into you from an early age that you CAN and WILL do and be ‘anything’ in life. Meanwhile, the rest of us have to endure soul-destroying verdicts from state schools, careers services, Jobcentres and potential employers telling us of things we are not good enough to do and be in our apparently second-class lives. ‘Upstairs Downstairs’ proves not so entertaining a system when you have to make do in life with the scraps of opportunity that institutions occasionally chuck your way.

It used to be that posh offspring would join their families’ businesses or spontaneously be appointed ‘captains of industry’, as if managing a British industrial conglomerate was no different than taking daddy’s yacht out for a jaunt on a weekend. However, Britain’s post-war, post-colonial de-industrialisation (hastened during the Thatcher years) considerably narrowed such straight-ahead career opportunities. For a while, only politics, government, medicine, law and accountancy were considered suitable professions for posh people, whereas now those ambitions have had to be diversified into occupations such as … the media.

In 1973, Jenny Abramsky had joined the BBC as a lowly programme operations assistant, following an education at a London comprehensive (state) school and the University of East Anglia. After 26 years progressing through the ranks, she was finally appointed director of BBC radio. Following her retirement in 2008 from managing the largest radio operation in the world, it would be difficult to imagine a job description for her successor that would not have demanded similarly extensive experience in radio broadcasting. It is a sign of how times have changed that the BBC’s choice for the job was Tim Davie who had never worked in radio, but had attended private school, Cambridge University and was deputy chairman of Hammersmith & Fulham Conservative Association. It was transparent even then that the radio job was merely a stepping stone for Davie’s ambitions … and so it came to pass.

Occasionally a glitch in The Matrix does occur, maybe once in a lifetime, when mysterious forces within the universe collide to produce a job opportunity that would not normally appear on the precarious, non-linear career timelines endured by the non-posh. In 2006, I was unexpectedly offered an unadvertised post as a ‘media analyst’, a job title I had to search for on the internet to understand what it entailed. As the salary offered me was greater than any previously earned in Britain, it proved hard to resist.

On my first day of work at Enders Analysis, I was invited by my new colleagues to join them for lunch in a local ‘greasy spoon’. I had already spotted some clues: the office was located in Mayfair, a London district too expensive to even window shop; and the water cooler chatter was about made-to-measure suits by a tailor in Hong Kong.

“What school did you go to?” one of my new colleagues asked.

Decades had passed since I had last been asked about the school I had attended. I was now 48 years old, but I did not want to appear reticent to my peers on the first day.

“Strode’s College,” I replied.

My colleagues looked at each other as if I had mentioned a rarely-visited, faraway Pacific Island populated by savages.

“What sort of school is that?” one of them eventually followed up.

“It’s a sixth form college,” I replied.

This response evidently did not satisfy them. There was a more critical question they were burning to ask, a question that normally was not required of a new recruit. One of them dared to raise it with me.

“Is that a public school?”

In the 1984-ish world of British language, the phrase ‘public school�� means a private school where parents have to pay for their children’s education. What Americans call a ‘public school’ is known in Britain as a ‘state school’ because it is funded by the state. Although every child in Britain is entitled to a free education, a tiny proportion of parents choose a private schooling that they confidently expect will propel their offspring into an elitist trajectory.

It might have been my first day communing with my new ‘colleagues’, but my patience was already starting to be tested. I decided to respond obliquely.

“It used to be a grammar school,” I replied.

“So had it been a private school then?” one of them asked.

This question itself betrayed a flawed understanding of Britain’s school system viewed from the perspective of someone who graduated from private education. Grammar schools can only be state schools by definition. It was up to me to explain such fundamentals in the most black and white terms.

“No, it was a state school as a grammar school, and then it was a state school as a sixth form college,” I replied.

The fact that this humiliating Q&A was the first conversation with my new work colleagues turned out to be indicative of how my future in this job was going to proceed. I was not embarrassed about my education, a state-funded experience I shared with 94% of Brits. What I found difficult to process was my colleagues’ apparent belief that, thirty years after my departure, the status of my school continued to merit far more concern than anything I had done since.

Once the horrifying truth had been extracted from me that I was not ‘one of them’, their lunch chatter switched to other topics. Although I was employed as a media analyst, there were no follow-up questions about my relevant experience for the job, about employers I had worked for previously or about any successes I had achieved. It seemed as if my long career in radio counted for absolutely nothing with them. Of more importance was the type of school I had attended, a fact that certain colleagues were quick to remind me of later in this job.

Despite this rather rude introduction, I continued to join my colleagues for lunch in the same diner on following days in order not to appear unsociable. The cooked food was consistently terrible and caused me diarrhoea. Why did they go there? It soon became apparent from their chatter that one of them, my line manager, lusted after an East European waitress employed there who was probably a third of his age. Instead of castigating him as a ‘dirty old man’, his colleagues appeared to enjoy indulging his fantasies and encouraging his unwanted attentions by spending most lunchtimes being served food by this poor servant girl. I soon chose to duck out of their pantomime and went my own way to Eat or Pret A Manger for a cheaper, more wholesome takeaway sandwich.

During my first week, I had to ask my line manager’s advice about a paragraph I had written for a report. A quick visit to his adjacent private office should have lasted no more than a few minutes. Not so. I exited more than half-an-hour later, reeling from his account of sexual abuse suffered at private boarding school. One moment we had been talking about my punctuation, the next he had drifted into dark memories of bullying from many decades ago. I had not asked a question that might have prompted him to regale me with these horrific stories. Why had he considered it appropriate to burden the ‘new boy’ with such accounts?

Some months later, the whole team was required to attend a seasonal lunch at a basement restaurant in Mayfair. I hated these affairs as my colleagues would get drunk and talk even more loudly, but it was impossible to avoid such ‘team’ occasions. Sat facing each other along a long bench table adjacent to the kitchen, mid-meal I noticed under our table a liquid had started to flow around my shiny black shoes. In my lone sobriety, I raised the alarm with my colleagues, but was ignored until a chef appeared and shouted that a pipe containing used cooking oil had burst and was flooding the restaurant. Suddenly all us customers had to negotiate an extremely slippery floor, climb the stairs and exit onto the street.

On our way back to the office, I was walking alongside my line manager when he suddenly said: “Would you mind if I asked your advice about a personal matter?”

Considering some of our previous, scary conversations, I was half dreading what I might be about to hear. Why did he consider me to be someone suitable to share his private thoughts? His life experiences and his concerns seemed light years away from mine.

“The problem is my mother,” he explained. “She is spending money like water and nothing I say can seem to stop her. I am extremely worried that, when she dies, my inheritance will be insufficient for me to live on.”

“And how much do you think you will inherit when the time comes?” I asked with a great deal of trepidation.

“About one million pounds,” he replied without a hint of embarrassment.

#Enders Analysis #Grant Goddard #London #media analyst

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tenderwatches · 24 days ago

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another really great writeup!! Watch and I were talking about the parallels between Ekko & Viktor too, as part of the fic we're writing explores how non-linear progress is and what it means to make progress when you have to make compromises to do it. it's a question i have seen come up time and time again in my non-profit career: do you put your energy behind direct services or legislative advoacy? do you take money from corporations? what about from people who want to support your cause as well as one you don't align with? who do you partner with? how do you serve your constituency without endorsing an unbalanced narrative? we see a way to represent these questions through Ekko and Viktor's approaches to problems in the Undercity, based on what they do in the Arcane canon. Viktor tries to help the undercity first through developing tools with Hextech, then by uhhh... creating a glorious hivemind. Meanwhile, Ekko builds a grassroots community that becomes somewhat self-sustaining (in major contrast to Viktor's commune, which obv could not survive without him) really interesting questions that we're excited to explore plus our boy ekko deserves better than what he got which was NOTHING 😭

Jayvik & Timebomb Parallels, AKA, why isn't anyone talking how Viktor and Ekko mirror each other in Arcane??

I'm surprised I haven't seen more comparisons between Ekko and Viktor, not to mention how those parallels between the characters also create parallels between the Ekko/Jinx and Viktor/Jayce relationships, which I'm gonna argue here are both romantic relationships.

1 ) Both Viktor and Ekko see it as a personal cause to make life better for people in the undercity, to the point of both becoming a local leaders focused on creating a place of peace where Zaunites can retreat to in times of peril.

Indeed, from a narrative perspective, I would argue that one Doylist reason Ekko needed to go into the Anomaly in Act 2-3 is to make space on the scene in Zaun for the rise of Cult Leader Viktor.

If Ekko had been around, he would have either served as a roadblock to Viktor's rise out of a general sense of distrust, I imagine, or he might have easily become a supporter, or maybe even a cult follower of Viktor's if he admired and believed in the vision, which would of course doom the world.

(This further illustrating just how narrowly Jayce, Wizard Viktor, and Ekkko had to thread the needle on defeating the Machine Herald in the final act, since I would argue Ekko like Jayce remaining in the canon universe for the months of Cult Leader Viktor's rise would also have led to Ekko and Jayce's defeat or assimilation before the final act had either stayed.)

2 ) Both Viktor and Ekko are, of course, genius undercity scientists who are able to grasp quickly concepts like wild runes and the Anomaly. But it's their partner's actions that bring Hexgems into their life. Powder by causing the explosion where he gets the shards from, Jayce of course by creating Hexgems in the first place.

3 ) Both are Heimerdinger's close assistant and pupil before they meet their true scientific partner in Jinx/Powder and Jayce.

4 ) Aaand, this is where it gets gut-wrenching, because both Ekko and Viktor have to say goodbye to the alternate universe version of the person they love and this is where it gets wild because they make the same face while doing so. And their loved one, Jayce and Powder, make the same face back of startling when they realize they're looking at an alternate version of the person they love.

(Source here if you want to watch the full videos side by side because it's NUTS how similar the faces Viktor/Ekko and Jayce/Powder make to their alternate universe loves: https://x.com/yearnerjayce/status/1863132466346656031)

In the blocking of the scene, they've even both got a version of one half of that universe's part of the relationship lying between the two of them (Powder holding her version of Ekko, while the Hexcorized version of Jayce lies between Wizard Viktor and canon Jayce), so the blocking is visually very similar too in a clear romantic parallel that is mind-boggling.

By the way, these moments are also technically happening in the same episode as far as romantic parallels go, we just don't learn about this parallel on Viktor/Jayce's side until the final episode with the full reveal.

And of course, both future Viktor and canon universe Ekko must make the ultimate sacrifice of losing access to an alternate version of the person they love who is happy and healthy (instead of, well, Jinx, and/or dead in the case of Hexcorized Jayce), in order to save the world.

By the way, there is a parallel that stretches throughout the whole 2.07 alternate universe episode, with the heavy implication that Ekko and Powder are this world's Viktor and Jayce. They're even doing an Innovators Competition. In both universes, Hextech is explored through the loving partnership of a pair of young scientists.

5 ) Finally, both Viktor and Ekko stop their loved one from committing suicide. Interestingly, both Jayce and Jinx attempt to do so in a way that's related to Hextech, with Jinx using Hexgems in her grenade, and Jayce getting cut off from Hextech being the reason he's seeking to end his own life. They also, coincidentally or not so coincidentally, attempt to do so in a way that's related to falling from a height.

Both are interrupted by someone they're not too happy to see at first, but who goes on to be their partner. Even Jinx/Ekko get one last partnership in the final Act, which is an interesting mirror to Jayce/Viktor, whose suicide attempt -> partnership helps launch the action of the whole series in the first Act of the first season, making these two couples in a way, mirrors bookending the series.

#arcane #arcane meta #ekko arcane #arcane character analysis #timebomb #tenderwatch headcanon #lies au

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creativemorningsvancouver · 2 years ago

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The global theme for March is ‘corruption’ and we are excited to welcome Councillor Christine Boyle.

Boyle is a second term Vancouver City Councillor with OneCity Vancouver. She has been a leading voice at the Council table on climate action, rental and non-market housing, reconciliation, active and public transportation, tackling inequality and the drug poisoning crisis, and more. Christine is a community organizer and an ordained United Church Minister, born and raised on unceded Coast Salish territory in Vancouver. She has done national multi-faith climate organizing, including efforts focused on divesting from fossil fuels and investing in building retrofits and other climate solutions, and was on the ministry team at Canadian Memorial United Church and Centre for Peace. Prior to that, Christine spent four years supporting progressive local governance and leading strategic communications at the Columbia Institute’s Centre for Civic Governance and supported the development of GreenJobs BC. Christine also spent many years working at First United Church in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside, and supporting kids and families at Grandview/?Uuqinak’uuh Elementary School in East Vancouver. She has a BSc in Urban Agriculture and First Nations Studies from UBC, and an MA in Religious Leadership for Social Change from the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, California.

As usual, we asked Christine a handful of probing questions to give us a deeper glimpse into her life and relationship with creativity:

How do you define creativity and apply it in your life and career?

I think a lot about the ability to strengthen our creative muscles in thinking beyond the limited options that our current systems and structures present. A conservative British Prime Minister famously declared that “there is no alternative (to our current system)”, and I think of creativity as a protest and a practice and a declaration of how untrue that is. It is our responsibility to imagine better alternatives, stronger communities, healthier ecosystems, deeper justice and equity, more whole and beautiful lives. Creativity is a key muscle in the increasingly urgent project of human survival.

Where do you find your best creative inspiration or energy?

I love working on teams, drawing creative inspiration through learning and collaboration. But I also need to recharge alone, and shape ideas while I’m running or biking, baking or gardening.

What’s one piece of creative advice or a tip you wish you’d known as a young person?

I wish I had understood earlier that my almost complete lack of skill in the visual and performing arts wasn’t synonymous with a lack of creativity elsewhere. I wish I had known as a young person that activism, and community organizing, and colour-coded spreadsheets, and rebellion were all acts of creativity too.

Who (living or dead) would you most enjoy hearing speak at CreativeMornings?

Jacinda Ardern (outgoing Prime Minister of New Zealand)*

What’s your one guilty creative indulgence?

Stand-up comedy and baking shows.

What keeps you awake at night?

The Climate Crisis

How does your life and career compare to what you envisioned for your future when you were a sixth grader?

My career path has been less linear than I likely imagined when I was young. I’ve had many types of jobs, and I’m constantly learning new things that shape what I take on next. The question I keep asking myself is “how can I make the most impact on the challenges of our time?” When I was young I wanted to be an environmental lawyer when I grew up, so I wasn’t that far off. But it’s all been more challenging, more creative, and more rewarding than I could’ve imagined.

What are you reading these days?

Long Council agendas, and as many novels as I can. Whenever I don’t have evening meetings, I tuck into bed with my 8yo and we read books together before falling asleep. It’s nice time together, and it gets me off a screen and into a good book.

What books made a difference in your life and why?

I read The Ministry For The Future by Kim Stanley Robinson last year, and I still think about it all the time. I also love Alice Walker’s The Temple of My Familiar. And every book from Ivan Coyote. I am a sucker for stories that shift how I see the world.

How would you describe what you do in a single sentence to a stranger?

I once heard my younger kid tell someone that my job is to tell the builders where they can build things.

#cmvan #creativemornings #creative #community #corruption #yvr

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christopherjhenneforth · 2 years ago

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Making the Leap from CFO to CEO - Firms Detail What It Takes

According to a report by executive search firm Crist Kolder Associates, of 681 companies forming the S&P 500 and Fortune 500, the number of people who transitioned from the CFO to CEO role in H1 of 2022 was 55. That represents a percentage of 8.1 percent. This is the highest percentage the recruitment firm has ever recorded since 2012. That year, only 5.6 percent of CEOs were former CFOs.

Generally, the number of CFOs becoming heads of companies has been increasing over the past decade. From a low of 5.6 percent in 2012 to 6.2 percent in 2014, 6.9 percent in 2018, 7.9 percent in 2021, and 8.1 percent in H1 of 2022. However, the financial sector is where most CFOs become CEOs. In H1 of 2022, for example, 25.5 percent of CEOs in the financial sector previously worked as CFOs. In the industrial, services, and consumer sectors, only 16.4 percent of CEOs previously worked as CFOs. In energy, it was 10.9 percent, healthcare 5.5 percent, technology 5.5 percent, and retail 3.6 percent.

While there has been a progress in getting more CFOs into the ultimate C-suite leadership position, COOs and presidents still receive more promotions to the CEO role. Per Crist Kolder, 45.5 percent of CEOs from the 681 companies it analyzed were former COOs and presidents, while 19.3 percent were divisional presidents.

The wide gap in financial executives moving to the CEO position should be eye-opening and insightful to current CFOs, especially those who want to progress in their careers and become the ultimate decision-makers. Likely, what got them where they are will not be enough to get them where they want to go. Management consulting firm Korn Ferry puts it bluntly, while financial acumen, accountability, and a good relationship with the board will make a person a good CFO, they are insufficient to get promoted to CEO.

Financial executives must move beyond the technical and adopt competencies in interpersonal, relationship-oriented fields to make that final leap. They must also learn to drive growth, develop strategies, and manage crises.

Many CFOs are analytical by nature. They follow linear thought patterns hence, are highly aware of rules and focused on minimizing risk. In a study published in 2014, researchers from executive search firm Russell Reynolds compared 150 CFOs with 4,000 non-CFO executives. They found that CFOs were impressively detail-oriented and rational with data. They were also modest and followed the rules. However, the CFOs were less outgoing and persuasive. They also struggled with abstraction.

CEOs, by contrast, are agile, adaptable to change, optimistic, and more comfortable with abstraction. They are both visionaries and doers who see the glass as half full, know how to collaborate with teams, and inspire action. A 2012 study by Russell Reynolds highlighted 10 attributes where CEOs scored much higher than their C-suite peers. They included calculated risk-taking (27 percent better than C-suite peers), a bias toward action (22 percent better), optimism (16 percent better), measured emotion (15 percent better), and forward-thinking (13 percent better).

CFOs who want to become CEOs would do well to go beyond their comfort zones and develop CEO-centric skills. Accounting firm Deloitte has found that boards of directors are more willing to accept CFO candidates for CEO roles if they demonstrate they can inspire action, take calculated risks, learn on the go, engage closely with people, and embrace other dimensions of the company beyond finance.

#Christopher J. Henneforth

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gunmetal-magnus · 3 years ago

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And what if I can’t? What if I’m not worthy of my ideals?

As I stare out my apartment window and watch the drizzling sky, I’m drawn to the subtle gradient of yellow. Clouds coasting through the sky, gray yet without dismay. And the sun? The sun will live to break another day, that I am confident in. I only wish I were so confident in myself.

....

Life is strange. Mine in particular looks like it might be going in a good direction. I’ve been getting interviews for jobs and as someone who’s spent their fair share of time hopelessly unemployed and depressed, not knowing what to do with themselves (besides salsaing with suicide ideation), I should be elated about any progress. I wish I could say that I am or even that I was but that wouldn’t be accurate. The truth is that I’m a harrowing hailstorm of things - surprisedsleepybusycuriousthankfuloptimisticexposedhorrifiedcriticalnervousanxiousinsecurepressuredtired - it’s all a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?

Knocking on the looming doors of success, I find myself feeling the crushing weight of my expectations. The walls are a deafening white with not a texture or pattern in sight. If you try to touch them they ripple like water. There are no windows for me to peer through. Fog creeps around me like a cheetah stalking its prey. It’s so thick you could choke on it. Success is...scary.

I know I know, that sounds a ridiculous thing to say, shouldn’t I be more afraid of failing? Welllll...no. You see, the weight I mentioned earlier was not merely crushing, it was also comforting. Over time failure became familiar and eventually, my friend. I got used to failure as the status quo, smothered in its cosy embrace and the threat of change, of combing out of this embrace into the chilling embrace of uncertainty, of becoming someone worthy of their success - it’s unfamiliar, it’s scary. But just what is so comforting about not achieving your goals - about not getting what you really want? For me it’s because of one paralyzing question: And what if I can’t? What if I’m not worthy of my ideals?

“But…I’m…I’m just a soldier, I-I’m not worthy.”

It’s a terrifying prospect that I could give something my all and find that I just couldn’t do it. I don’t want to be saying “I did my best and it wasn’t good enough,” because what I may mean is “I wasn’t good enough. I don’t have the power.” But that’s exactly the point! I do have the power and if that is true then I have to come to terms with my responsibility to that power - that it’s up to me to use that power because when you can do the things that you can do...and then the bad things happen...they happen because of you. I don’t want that burden so it’s easier to cast it off and reinvent the narrative by claiming powerlessness. It’s easier to identify as a fraud and be done with it, to say to myself “men like me should’ve never dared to believe.”

Haha…paradoxically in our journey to discover our own power we discover just how little power we hold, that our only power is in ourselves. Time and how bound we are to what we know at present, our surrounding circumstances, and the fact that we’re only people who can only do people things - these serve to remind us that the power of what we control and free will are only so vast. It’s strange - you are responsible for how you use your power but not the outcome because you’re not omnipotent. Bad things don’t always happen because of you. Sometimes they just happen. Sometimes things in general...just happen.

Let’s say I achieve success, what then? The pressure to maintain is immense and to exceed - it’s even more so. Who perpetuates this pressure? For many of us it’s society but the greater threat lies within the darkness of our own hearts. The societal gaze is nothing without validation and that validation comes from our self-worth and how grossly entangely that is with achieving success. There is an expectation of linearity and escalation in progress, if you get good grades you’re expected to keep getting good grades and then some, so it’s shocking and disappointing when you don't. People wonder how that could’ve happened, you wonder how it could’ve happened, you start to doubt yourself...should you though? Writer and retired athlete Christopher Bergland challenges the expectation of linearity in success and explained in a conversation with his daughter, “I learned as an athlete that in order to succeed and become the best that I could be, I had to fail again and again—but always keep trying. Inevitably, every time I raised the bar, and took on a new athletic challenge, I would have to fail first in order to ultimately succeed and break a record." He embraced failure as part of the ebb and flow, it was part of success. To him, failure was no reason for doubt. So why should it be for me? I don’t know, because life’s not that simple I suppose? Identifying as unworthy and fraudulent, these are not easy to shake. Negative self-identity manifests itself in habitual self-sabotage. Worrying about how we align with our perceptions of ourselves, procrastination via instant gratification distractions like Instagram scrolling and going back on our promises such as taking that drink we know we shouldn’t become commonplace - habitual and they will take habitual work to undo them.

Even so, is this really just about the burden of ideals? Perhaps not. Susanne Babbel writes in her article “Fear of Success'' that the physiological reactions to trauma and excitement over success are similar - too similar. “When we experience a traumatic event — such as a car accident or a school bullying incident — our body associates the fear we experience with the same physiological feelings we get while excited.” Heart tensions, shortness of breath, quivering and more - they are triggered in me by both stimuli and my body cares not for the messenger, only the message and that message is “be afraid.”

if I’m responding to excitement as if it were trauma, the question is what is my trauma?

…

Babbel mentions that throughout our lives, we may be made to feel less than, “many of us — especially if we've been subject to verbal abuse — have been told we were losers our whole lives, in one way or another. We have internalized that feedback and feel that we don't deserve success.” I knew someone who made me feel like this, I called her my mum. I spent a lifetime being told by her in one way or another that I wasn’t good enough. I remember being dragged into the unlit attic by her for losing a crayon as a child, I remember being shouted at for getting some mediocre grades in junior high school - being told that I better do better, I remember being told that she had given up hope on me - I remember, all of it. We don’t talk anymore - except we do. I internalised her voice and I made it my own, I began to identify with failure. I have an excerpt from an old journal entry that illustrates this identity crisis all too well.

�� 5.11.20

“Sometimes I really wonder

If it’s better

To be a

Fuckup

Than a Success

Without

The Interesting Mess.

...Why do I have to compromise the things that make me who I am to be happy?...Why can’t I have my misery?...I hate doing the right thing...Maybe I like being a failure, a mess, a no man’s man.”

By this time I had long since left home but you can’t outrun your demons, only challenge them. I have only begun to unravel this voice due the therapy I have recently completed and am fighting this battle every day. Sometimes I lose and they gain territory. Other times I manage to reclaim it and even add more. It’s an endless battle.

And yet, the voice of Failure clings to me like some foul smog. Since he doesn’t want to let me try and fall, he’ll say, “It’s comfortable here. Flounder into the fondue of failure, it’s what you know - it suits you. What precisely is so wrong with failure in the first place?”

…

It’s a good question. In an ideal world, the answer may be, “nothing in particular,” because I don’t need to succeed to be valid - do the people you love need to be successful for you to love them? I should hope not. However, it is not so simple for me to love myself. Failure will cost me something more than money and a career. The price of failure is stagnation, embracing the non-linearity of progress and I hate that. I’m grossly impatient and want to move forward with my life, not wallow in the depths of Misery Mires. I’ve been stuck here all my life and I’ve just begun the journey out of here. Failure, as far as I’m concerned, you don’t suit me as well as you think. I must change sometime because I don’t want to die in the claws of the demons from which I was born.

I can’t stay in my comfort zone. Yet I can - I’d even quite like to. Why? Because...because...deep down I’m still reconciling with the idea that I’m worthy, that I’m worthy of living a life worth living, that I can be what I say I am without fear that it’s all a lie and always will be. The only way for me to challenge such a belief is to fly in the face of it - to say that “I am worthy” and to act like I mean it, whatever that means - I don’t quite know yet. My therapist and I agreed that this would be a long road and that ideals are nothing without practice. I guess all I can do now is drive…

“If you aren’t worthy, you’ll keep trying until you are.” In order for me to be worthy of my ideals, I first need to believe that I even have a shot. Beyond that, I need to believe that I deserve to take it. Being worthy means recognising my power to change and the responsibility to act that comes with that. Simultaneously, my power is not all-controlling as I am only a person. Success isn’t linear and failure is a part of that. However the burden of trauma is heavy. The self-sabatory habits I picked up from that will require me to reinvent my self-identity and in turn deconstruct those habits. Lastly and perhaps most importantly, I need to be willing to give the process time. Can I? Haha! - s-sure, why not?

Perhaps one day I will find myself staring out into the sky - maybe it’s drizzling, maybe it’s not. Maybe through an apartment window, maybe in a lush field as the gentle breeze brushes by. The clouds are coasting by as they always have, slowly but surely. What colour are they? Who cares, I don’t even know what colour the sky will be. Maybe it’s illuminated with a lovely peach pink that reaches out and touches the heart of my inner romantic. Maybe it’s an apocalyptic red that leaves you weak in the knees - the possibilities are endless but it doesn’t matter - it doesn’t matter what may be. What matters is what will be and

I will be watching.

I’ll say I’m worthy and

I will mean it.

I don’t know yet know how

But I will

Because that’s what I’ve decided.

#self worth #fear of failure #fear of success #trauma

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