#evaluate results and accomplishment

[tobeholyistobeempty]

‘SO YOU CAN LISTEN….GOOD.’ | simon ghost riley

📊 result of my poll found here.

WARNINGS - 18+ smut mdni, (amt) engineer!reader, asshole!ghost but with motives, slightly stalkerish!ghost, ghost is a cocky bastard but reader is too, so much verbal sparring, enough tension to choke on, reader afab, ghost is a munch and has a unique way of saying sorry, oral f!receiving, religious undertones, fingering, enemies to something worse then enemies, dubcon bc consent verbally unstated, so much dirty talk it hurts, canon warped a bit.

A/N - this ended up being so much longer than i intended but dear god it needed that build up. ghost makes a real wild first impression. 12k.

Today was just another day. Just another day.

At least, that's what you kept telling yourself as you grabbed your data pad from the terminal and made your way toward the front of the hangar �� pulse thrumming, blood pressure undoubtedly a tad higher than usual. Perhaps today was just another day, but to say that it didn't hold slightly more merit than yesterday would be a fucking lie.

Today marks the date of your six month performance evaluation. Today is the day you finally find out if you nab that promotion or not.

And maybe you’re overthinking, maybe you’re nervous for no reason. Did this promotion make or break your career? Would not getting promoted singlehandedly destroy everything you've achieved and accomplished over the last however many years? No.

But it would definitely feel like a real kick in the ass given everything that you've done for this place since you got here.

The day you first got that damned data-pad, you should have known this job would be a complete shitshow. Still, you pulled up yourself up by your bootstraps and did your duties just like every other day — and that day like all the previous ones since you graduated. You’d been all over the world at this point, as an AMT you go wherever you’re needed and usually remain however long you’re needed for. But this transfer — to an unnamed, unmarked base in the middle of goddamn no where — is different then anything you’d ever done before.

The hours are different, the people are different, the pay is different. It was unexpected, but when their last head AMT simply vanished without a fucking trace — it seemed as though they scrambled, and took the next best thing they could find (or so you like to tell yourself).

It’s all a little…strange, to say the least.

And of course, there’s been talk about what happened to their last head engineer, speculations, but it seems no one actually knows for certain. It’s one of those things that everyone low rank whispers about, but no one high up with actual informative intel dares to speak on — which only made the chatter worse.

Along with your nerves.

Regardless, you didn’t have a choice, and the first day of your transfer was a baptism by fire — stepping into the aftermath of utter chaos they'd left behind.

Your job isn’t to save lives in the heat of battle, or to clear rooms, or to conduct stealth operations. No, your job is to repair aircrafts torn to hell and back and continue to keep them functional. It’s rather thankless, and often you'd find yourself overworked and under-appreciated — which, granted, goes hand-in-hand with your overall life summary — but the hangar at TF141’s main base was a sight to behold, and not in any positive sense. Neglected and battered machinery lay strewn about, with debris haphazardly scattered in every fucking corner imaginable. By the time you'd reached the actual aircraft's you were almost afraid to look at them — and for good goddamn cause.

TF141 has two main helo��s: MH-6 Little Bird and an AH-6J Little Bird. Upon first inspection of them, you’d almost thought they'd been through a war of their own — hastily patched together with little regard for proper repair. The evidence of prior negligence was glaring, and you were fucking fuming.

You'd expected some clean up, but not that much.

And to top it all off, you were given clear instruction by General Shepherd himself to keep your mouth shut and your head down, do your job and mind your own. On your way out of his office he informed you, surely out of the sheer kindness of his heart, that although he couldn't tell you what exactly happened to their prior head engineer, you could easily suffer the same fate if you weren't careful.

Which was more than enough to shake the very foundation of your so very deeply engraved attitude problem.

No matter how pissed off and irritated you’d been during your start here, you kept your emotions bottled up until you were back inside the privacy of your barracks and could freely let it explode. It's been a little maddening almost, the solace. You'd been here half a year and the only person you've had an actual conversation with outside of the other engineers is 141’s Captain, and that was only when he was looking for a debriefing on your recent repair work.

However, amidst the avoidance and the uneasy silence that you experience on a daily with the others, there seems to always be one fucking exception;

Ghost.

You'd seen photos and heard a lot about him prior to this assignment — the mysterious Lieutenant with a reputation that preceded him as if the Grim Reaper himself were present on earth.

But meeting him, being around him, well that was something fucking else entirely.

He routinely shows up at random hours, never muttering more than a few words to you before pissing off — disappearing into the shadows or taking out one of the birds. It’s always odd. He is odd. And the cryptic comments coupled with his rather bizarre reputation continue to leave you tangled between the dangerous desire to learn everything you can about the man, and the primal instinct to avoid him at all fucking costs.

Though, even if you had the choice, it wouldn't matter.

If and when Ghost decides to present himself to you, it is impossible to prevent it. His approach is as translucent as his namesake. You'd never fucking know he was coming, and if you did, it’s with purpose.

Nevertheless, you couldn't worry about him, or any of the other nonsensical bullshit today. You had other matters on your mind such as ensuring the hangar was in perfect condition for inspection later that evening. Price let you know rather early in advance that a hangar and aircraft inspection are part of your performance review — which clearly means the state of them would determine whether or not you passed.

There would be absolutely no room for error, and no one to complain to when it didn't go your way either. If this inspection failed, it would be the result of your own incompetence — and you were well aware of how that would be perceived. You didn't want to give any reason, any chance to end up like the former Engineer, after all.

So today is about one thing, and one thing alone, proving yourself worthy of that promotion.

With your data pad in hand, you began a quick sweep of the hangar, ensuring the guys hadn't made too much of a mess overnight or early this morning before you arrived. A few things were out of place, but for the most part, everything looked good.

Well, except for one thing — which was currently barrelling toward you at a dangerous fucking speed.

"Bloody fucking hell..."

Your data pad nearly fell from your grasp, your jaw dropping in disbelief as your ears rang — no, damn-near wailed — a deafening roar shattering the silence you'd just found yourself in, accompanied by the shrill whine of metal grinding against metal. You couldn't believe your eyes, your feet absentmindedly carrying you closer to the destroyed helo landing on the far side of the hangar, smoke billowing from its battered frame, obscuring the air with a veil of grey.

And as you got closer, you realized it only got worse — a door was missing, torn from its hinges, and half of the exterior was brutally ripped away. You didn't even realize you were clenching your hands into fists until you felt the glass of your data pad crack beneath your fingers.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You’re all but yelling as you take in the damage. "Today? Today. Of all goddamn days! Bloody ignorant bastards.”

As soon as those words were past your teeth, there’s movement from inside the cabin — heavy laden set steps — two iron slabs clanking against the metal floor, quaking the ground underneath your own feet, too. The air thinned slightly, but you didn't notice, too inebriated off your anger to think of anything other than cursing the hell out of whoever was inside.

You came to a halt in front of the now door-less opening, coming face to face with a pair of rich brown eyes peering down at you.

"Care t’repeat tha’?" A deep, low voice rumbled from under a faded, skull-faced balaclava. You swear the ground trembled as he jumped down. "...I'd like t’make sure I heard y’right."

You’d have to imagine he was grinning under that mask, and it only made your fucking blood boil.

"Ghost, why didn't you tell me-“

He cuts you off mid-sentence with a gesture of his hand.

"I need permission t’take out my own helo now? Huh.” A shake of his head. “Y’should know I was told to test your repairs. Bosses orders, sweet’eart. Take it up with him if you’ve gotta’ problem.”

"You-" your lips part, but words elude you. Due to his admission or the nickname he used, you aren’t entirely sure. "What?"

Ghost blinks, sight sweeping the empty hangar for a fraction of a second before fixing back on you.

"Y’heard me." He steps closer, smoke billowing behind him. "Or d'you need me t'repeat it again?" A pause, twitch of his lips. "I can speak slower, if you’d like.”

What a dick.

You pull your own lips thin, trying to trap the profanity desperately wanting to fly his way. “I think you’ve done enough.”

He just hums.

"Way I see it, y’got two options.” He starts, and you long to tell him to shove his options somewhere the sun don’t shine. “Get pissed off with me, which is futile, since I ain’t the one y’actually got a problem with. Or, y’can get back to work and fix er’ up before Price comes down in an hour. Your choice 'ere."

An hour. A fucking hour? Is he clinically insane? This is easily about three days of work. And that’s if the bloody stars align.

"You’re unbelievable.” Scowl laden, you frown at him, words dripping venom as you shake your pounding head. "How nice of you to give me the option of choosing. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude, truly."

A beat of silence, unreadable eyes flicking over you.

“S’that sarcasm, engineer?” And then, he takes another step closer.

It never gets easier — the way he fills the space, how much bigger he is when he’s this close, broad shoulders cutting the world around you down to just him. He could crush you if he wanted. You’ve never forgotten that.

Your lips part, but before you can get a word out he’s already speaking.

"Y'know," he peers down at you with a slight tilt of his head. "A simple ‘thank you' wouldn't be the end of tha’ world."

You deadpan, biting back the scoff threatening to escape. Thank him? He wants you to thank him — for blowing a helo out of the sky an hour before the biggest inspection of your life? No. He’s not insane. He’s out of his goddamn mind.

“Thank you for what, exactly?” You force the words out, fighting to keep the sarcasm at bay, to sound even remotely genuine.

It doesn’t help that he’s right there, close enough to reach out and touch. You’ve been through enough in your time with the military to handle pressure, but there’s something about him — the bulk of him, the way he commands the space around him, the fact you can never read his facial expressions — that makes it hard to breathe.

Not to mention the tac gear he’s always dressed in. Layered thick like it’s meant for a frozen wasteland instead of the stifling summer heat you’re currently experiencing.

“F’givin’ you a passin’ grade,” he says, like that means a damn thing to you.

This game is getting old.

“What the hell do you think you’re talking about now?” Heat flares beneath your skin, frustration mounting. “If that was a test, then it was a goddamn shitty one. You didn’t fly it. You destroyed it.”

He steps in again, exhaling like you’re the one wasting his time.

“M’giving you an opportunity. Take it or leave it.” You’re ready to bite back, to tell him exactly where he can put his opportunity, but then— “How’re you s’posed to prove y’worth somethin’, when no one thinks you’ve got it in ya?”

For the third time today, he shuts you up. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. This is, without a doubt, the strangest, most infuriating first interaction you’ve ever had with anyone in your entire life.

“Wow.” That’s all you manage. You knew being one of the only female engineers here would put you at a disadvantage, but this? Blowing up the helo just to test if you can fix it? It’s beyond comprehension. “That’s great, Ghost. Thanks.”

He doesn’t blink—just steps closer again, crowding you until you have to tilt your chin up to keep his gaze.

“Lieutenant.” Flat. Unyielding. But there’s something about the way it drips off his tongue that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. It’s not a request. It’s a correction. “Say it.”

Oh.

Heat licks up your neck, pooling at the base of your skull, and you’re not sure if it’s from anger or something else entirely. You swallow hard, forcing down the lump wedged in your throat because technically he is still your superior, regardless if he holds power over your job or not.

“Thank you,” you start again, your ego turning purple. “Lieutenant.”

You don’t look, but you feel his head tilt. You’d bet your life he’s smiling.

"So you can listen." Warm air skims your throat, and you’re not sure if it’s coming from him or from the heat of the burning aircraft - but it stings. "...good."

And then, when he realizes you’ve most likely bitten your tongue in half at this point, he takes a step back. You watch him now, eyes like a laser as he turns and heads for the door without another word. And almost immediately after he vanishes out into the hall you take the opportunity to suck in air like you’re starved of it, not realizing how fucking tense you were until he was out of sight.

Leaving you with a burning helo, an hour of time to fix it, and a whole lot of fuckin’ irritation.

“You bastard.” You mutter under your breath, staring at the wreckage before you.

If there was another option, you sure as hell didn’t know it. But no matter how impossible this seemed, failure wasn’t on the table — not after the years you’d put into this, the money, the sleepless nights, the sacrifices. You didn’t crawl your way up through this goddamn system just to crash and burn now.

You needed a miracle.

And for the next two hours in the hangar, chaos was the only thing you knew.

You’ve never worked this fast in your life. The moment you got down to business you started barking orders, pulling maintenance techs and engineers off other projects, shoving tools into hands and sending them where they’re needed. There’s no room for hesitation, no time to second-guess — the aircraft has to be back in the air, and it has to be now.

And within minutes smoke steeped the hangar, sparks bursting like firecrackers from stripped wires. Everyone’s locked in — shouts, curses, the groan of machinery being pushed and pulled back together reverberating. It’s frantic, relentless, like a pack of starving wolves tearing at a fresh carcass, and you’re right there in the thick of it, teeth bared, fighting to hold the whole damn thing together.

But the euphemism falls short, because this wasn’t just a carcass torn open, in need of some stitching. It was worse — much worse.

The helo wasn’t just damaged; it was obliterated. Every inch of it had been shredded to ribbons, from the engine to the exterior frame, internal wiring snapped and twisted beyond recognition. Whatever the fuck that maniac had done, he hadn’t just tested its limits — he’d taken a sledgehammer to it and kept swinging.

You’ve seen aircraft’s in bad shape before, but nothing like this. It was a wreck, a heap of smoldering metal and sparking circuits, and somehow, you’re supposed to pull it back from the dead. But there’s no time to dwell on the impossibility of it — not when you’re hauling replacement parts back and forth, hands slick with oil and sweat, not when you’re welding and soldering with the kind of precision that would make your professors weep, not when the only thing keeping you moving is sheer goddamn will.

And then, after what feels like hours, you hear it—footsteps.

Slow, deliberate, the kind that don’t belong to someone who helps—but someone who watches.

“My, my.” You recognize the voice instantly—Captain Price. “What in the bloody hell happened here?”

You practically fling yourself to your feet, dragging a sleeve across your forehead, smearing grime over skin already slick with sweat. You almost groan in exasperation, but you swallow it down, clenching your jaw, praying to whatever god might be listening for the strength to not say something about Ghost that’ll get you court-martialed.

“Sir,” you greet him with a respectful nod. “I was informed, rather late mind you, that there was a scheduled test flight.”

A beat.

“Test flight,” Price repeats, brow lifting with something you can’t quite name. “Right. Test flight.”

A sharp bark of laughter leaves him, short and humourless, shaking his head as his eyes rake over the half-patched wreckage sprawled before him.

“And this,” he turns back to you. ��This is the damage from that test flight?”

You hesitate—just for a fraction of a second—before nodding, breath held tight in your chest. It’s useless, really. You both know there’s no universe where a few minutes in the air could inflict this level of destruction. Price might’ve ordered Ghost to take the bird up, to test your work a little more personally—but there’s no way in hell he told him to annihilate the goddamn thing.

You’d bet your entire career the bastard did not have permission to go this far.

“Fucken’ typical,” Price mutters, pulling off his cap as he begins pacing around the bird, taking in the carnage from every angle. “Damn near destroyed the thing.”

That’ll be your fault, you think grimly. You’re the one who gave him the fucking order, after all.

But you keep your mouth shut, trailing behind him as he circles the wreckage, eyes sweeping over the mess of half-patched repairs. When he stops short, turning on his heel so fast you almost stumble back, you know what’s coming before he even speaks.

“How long’s this gonna’ take to fix?”

You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself. Swallow, but your throat stays dry. It’s not hesitation—it’s knowing the answer is one he won’t like. You don’t even like it. Because with the kind of damage Ghost inflicted, there’s no way in hell you’ll have it ready for any type of inspection today.

“For proper repairs and testing?” You exhale, shaking your head. “Days. At least two, sir.”

You brace yourself for impact—for the reprimand, the frustration, the inevitable do better speech. But it doesn’t come. He only sighs, nodding once before readjusting his cap.

“Two days, then.” He’s already walking away, halfway to the hangar doors when he glances back over his shoulder. “Performance review postponed.”

Those last three words make your stomach churn, and then Price is gone.

“Goddamn it. Asshole.”

The curse leaves you sharper than intended, loud enough to carry across the hangar. You don’t care. How could you? The moment you’ve bled for—postponed—because one insufferable bastard decided to make a spectacle of himself. You want to scream, to hurl every goddamn tool in reach straight at his smug, masked face.

Instead, you inhale deeply, exhaling through gritted teeth before turning to the crew.

“Call it a night, guys. I appreciate the help.”

A few nod, murmuring about leaving their assignments to meet early and help with the rest of the repairs, but their voices barely register. You’re exhausted, and you need a fucking shower — so you just mutter some type of agreement and head for the door. You walk the path back to housing, hardly even noticing that it’s nightfall now. Price must have come later than planned, though you really have no idea the hour because in all honesty you weren’t keep track of time. Either way, your boots hit the threshold of the barracks before you even realize you’d made it inside, your full focus on forcing your mind to keep busy.

You head straight for the showers, not bothering to grab fresh clothes. If you stop now, you might start thinking again — about the disaster of a day, about him, about the sheer fucking audacity — and that’s the last thing you need.

You tear off your disgusting uniform in seconds. The water is scalding, but you don’t flinch. If anything, you lean into it, letting the heat work its way into your bones, washing away the sweat, the grease, the tension coiled tight in your shoulders. You brace a hand against the tiled wall, exhaling sharply.

Fucking Ghost.

Your mind takes over now that you lack distraction, and the name alone is enough to set your teeth on edge. He didn’t just make your job harder—he deliberately threw you into the fire, watched you scramble, tested you like you were some new recruit fresh out of training. And the worst part? He got exactly what he wanted.

You hate that you rose to the challenge. That you had to. You just can’t figure out why. Why he did it — where his motives are.

Steam curls around you as you drop your head, water hammering against your spine, drowning out everything else. Your breaths come heavy, dragging in and out of your chest like you’ve just run a goddamn marathon, so busy in your thoughts that you don’t notice the shift in the air, the faint tremor in the ground beneath you.

You don’t hear the footsteps until they’re too close to ignore, breaking through your sorrows, coming to a halt just beyond the dividing wall. For a long, heavy moment, there’s nothing. Just the steady rush of water, the sound of your own breathing.

Then—

“Y’done sulkin’ yet?”

Fucking hell.

You snap to attention, the sound of that voice like a gut punch. Verbal inflection so intense that only after a few conversations (if you can even call them that) you know you’d recognize it in your sleep, and it takes all of your willpower not to react with more than just the involuntary stiffening in your muscles.

You blink the water out of your eyes, trying to center yourself.

“Do you make a hobby out of sneaking in on people while they shower?” You ask, forcing your voice to stay light, to not betray the rush of heat in your chest. You should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve known this wasn’t the end of the goddamn shitshow. “Or am I just that special?”

"Didn’t know I had t’make an appointment for a communal shower.”

God, that does something to you, and you hate that it does. He’s taking your attitude and he’s feeding it right back to you — and the taste of your own medicine has never been so bitter.

Then, you hear his boots against the floor again, his voice accompanying. “Seems there’s alot I don’ know about ya.”

And again. It’s that tone. The way it drags, measured, like he’s thinking out loud. Like he’s taking you apart in his mind piece by piece. Trying to figure you out.

And you—stupidly, impulsively—throw it back at him.

“I’d say we’re even, then.”

It slips out before you can stop it, and you know it’s a mistake the second the words settle. Because he stops moving. The air tightens. A beat stretches long between you. You take the opportunity to reach for your towel, turn off the water, anything to not feel so vulnerable — but it doesn’t help. Not when you’re suddenly so acutely aware of how close he is. How little space separates you.

How very little there is between you at all.

You swallow, forcing steel into your voice. “I don’t even know your name.”

Then, the softest sound — amusement, maybe.

“Not sure y’need to.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, pulling the towel tight around your torso. Of course.

“Not sure I want to.” You mutter, more to yourself than anything.

But he catches it anyway.

You hear the shift of his stance, another hum of amusement. “Coulda’ fooled me.”

And that does it.

You know you’re walking straight into the trap he’s setting, but you don’t care anymore. Your patience is gone, worn to the bone, and you won’t be able to sleep tonight if you don’t get to glare him right in the eyes and tell him to fuck off.

“Cut the shit, Ghost.” The stall door slams open as you shove it wide, padding forward until your bare feet nearly touch his boots. “Why the hell are you even here?”

You don’t expect to hit a brick wall, but that’s exactly what it feels like. He’s missing a layer of tac gear now, hands stuffed into the pockets of his cargos, shoulder propped against the support beam like he’s been here all night. His gaze flicks over your face, your neck, the way water drips from your skin.

You fight not to pull your towel tighter.

“Cap’s orders.” He states, voice easy, right as rain. “Told me t’make amends.”

He has to be kidding.

“Make amends.” You repeat the words flatly, tasting them, turning them over in your mind like they might somehow make more sense on the second pass. “He told you to make amends.”

They don’t.

And when he nods — you huff a laugh, humourless.

“Right. And you thought the best way to do that was to sneak into the showers and stand there like a fucking serial killer?”

“Didn’t sneak,” he says simply. “Walked in same as you.”

You blink. You have this sick feeling he’s enjoying this. Enjoying every reaction you’re giving.

“Yet your intent is not the same as mine.”

He looks at the door, then back to you. “Ain’t it?”

You inhale sharply through your nose, hands tightening around the towel at your chest. You know better than to engage with this — than to let him push and prod and get under your skin. But it’s too late. He’s already there, and you’re too goddamn tired to claw him back out.

“Look,” you sigh, shifting your weight, fighting not to admire the bulk of his chest at your eye level. “Whatever Price told you to do, consider it done. Apology accepted. Now get the fuck out so I can forget this conversation ever happened.”

A long beat. You don’t know what kind of response you expect, but the way he just stands there considering you is somehow worse than all the possible outcomes you’d imagined.

Then, finally—finally—he moves. But not to leave.

Instead, he pushes off the beam, straightening to full height and moves closer. Not much, just enough to make you feel it — the shift in the air — the heat radiating off him.

“Y’sure about that?” His voice is quieter now, head tilting down toward yours. “Seem a little too wound for someone who’s ready t’forget about it.”

A huff. “And you seem a little too invested for someone who’s just here on orders.”

It's stupid. It's really goddamn stupid how he's able to do this, to turn your words into a rope he can use to drag you around the way he wants. You know that. But still, you’re useless in stopping the way your stomach keens as he leans closer.

"Y’gonna deny you’re still pissed at me?” He whispers.

You shake your head. “Never said I wasn’t still pissed.”

"Mhm." He nods along with it. "But pissed don't fully describe it, does it?”

"It’s an improvement from murderous,” you retort, as pointedly as you can muster. “Count your blessings.”

Another hum, eyes dragging slow over your face, like he’s searching for something. Or maybe just savouring it — the way you bristle under his scrutiny — the way your fingers twitch where they clutch at your towel.

“M’grateful for y’kindness. Truly.” It takes you a second to register it—the cadence, the words, the mockery. He’s parroting you. Throwing your own attitude from earlier back in your face. “But y’know, yeah? I only did what I did ‘cause I knew y’could handle it.”

You go still, pulse hammering in your throat.

Bullshit. Bullshit.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Ghost.” Your voice wavers, choked by realization that everything he does has motive. “And definitely don’t flatter me. Not now.”

A slow exhale, warm against your chilled skin, hooded eyes flicking to your ear like he’s considering something.

“S’not flattery. Just truth.”

And then— closer. Close enough that the breath between you is thin, almost nonexistent.

“M’not a good man, sweet’eart. M’a filthy, vile thing. But you—” a pause. He breathes in, your hair shifting with the exhale. “Mm. Y’good. Clean. I knew y’could take it. Needed Price t’know it too.”

Well, fuck.

Your head is spinning now, but even through the vertigo you realize your second mistake. You know it’s a mistake the moment it happens — rather, the moment before it happens — but when your head shifts, just enough that your ear brushes against fabric of his mask; you realize it’s the type of mistake you can’t come back from.

And so, you breathe him in. It’s reckless. It’s ruinous. It’s completely unavoidable.

“My gut is telling me you’re patronizing me.” You whisper; something softer, something you shouldn’t allow. A pause. Your lashes flutter. “But god, I can’t figure you out.”

And again, you don’t know what reaction you expect from him. Maybe you don’t expect one at all. It’s been an exceptionally odd 24 hours, so you’re certain nothing can surprise you at this point. But what you definitely don’t count on is the continued brush of his mask against your cheek, or the way your toes long to curl against the damp floor—

"Y’not suppose to." His voice is so deep you feel it in your bones. “S’don’t try too hard.”

You don’t know what to say to that, but you do know you should step back. You need to step back.

But you don’t.

You stay right there, still as the air between you, every nerve suffocated by the viscosity stretching between his words and yours. The scent of him—gunmetal, something dark and earthen—settles in your lungs like smoke; curling, clinging, refusing to leave.

And so, you breathe him in for the second time. A dangerous temptation. “You came here to make amends, didn’t you?”

The words leave you quieter than you mean them to, tinged in something close to breathlessness — something you wish to god you didn’t hear. Something you hope to god he didn’t hear.

Because atleast now, you can say you know how he is — how he listens, how he picks the quirks out of you and files them away for later — how he knows what to do with the things he finds in people, how to use them like leverage.

And you should be immune to it.

You’ve spent your entire career training for moments like these. All the military training you went through, tactical and aerospace alike. You’ve been thrown into war zones, fixed and pulled aircraft’s out of burning fields, run repairs under enemy fire with nothing but your hands and your own goddamn heartbeat when the situation called for it.

You know what fear looks like. You know what death smells like. You know what it means to be hunted.

And yet—this? You never saw this coming.

Never saw him coming.

“Y’want an apology?” He mutters, and you can hear the smirk in it. “Y’want m’to say I’m sorry?”

“That’d be a good start.”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just watches you, the smirk in his voice lingering, curling at the edges of the silence between you.

Then, he hums. “How ’bout I do y’one better?”

You barely have time to process the shift before you feel it—his hand—rough, calloused palm grazing slow along the towel covering your hip.

“Let m’spell it out f’you. Nice n’ slow,” he murmurs, fingers tracing lower with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. “Get y’feelin’ just how much I mean it.”

For a moment, you forget everything.

All the reasons, all the lines. The ones he's crossing — or maybe the ones you're erasing with every second you let his massive paw of a hand touch you. God — you aren't supposed to want this. You don’t know even know him. Don’t know his name, what his face looks like. You don’t know anything about him except that he’s dangerous, and that he’s made you fucking ache.

You exhale — when the moment passes and you remember where you are — a long, almost shaky breath, and it doesn't escape you the way he notices. Watches you through those thick lashes, like he's enjoying the reaction he's been working so hard for.

You wish you could hate him for it.

“Make me feel it then,” you whisper, all pathetic and trembling and borderline wanton as his fingers find the end of your towel, and brush against goosebumped flesh. “Lieutenant.”

And for a moment, you think you’ve made your third mistake of the evening. His title slips out like a curse — and something in your chest roars with how much you mean it.

He's so goddamn cocky. So sure of himself and you hate that you're the one he's so sure of. But when you call him by his rank — when you push that sarcastic mouth of yours just a little bit further, you can feel his reaction instantaneously by the way he stalls — eyes glinting in the low light.

"She wants t’bring rank into this now, yeah?” And when you don’t reply fast enough, he replies for you. “Get in the stall, engineer.”

There's a thousand reasons this is a bad idea. A million reasons you should be saying no right now. But when he looks at you like that, with those eyes like fire locked on yours and practically daring you to refuse him — he has to know he’s not going to get it.

His hand comes up, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. “Now.”

And that, is your fourth mistake of the night.

You turn, padding back into the stall you’d showered in only moments before — tiles still beading with diamond droplets, gleaming up at you as you step inside. You turn as he follows you in, crowding you against the wall, broad shoulders taking up all the width in the already cramped space as he shuts the door behind him.

And then, he’s on you.

It's so abrupt and so visceral that it takes your breath away entirely. Your hands go up automatically to catch his chest, steadying yourself when he slots his knee between your legs, pinning you against the wall. Your towel is barely clinging around you, and it’s a shocker it still is — but you forget about it when he starts dipping his head down.

"Feels good, don’t it? Bein’ told what t'do?” He murmurs, fabric covered lips grazing the shell of your ear. "M'bettin’ y’don’t experience this much anymore. Tha’s why you’re melting for it.”

And god, the fact that he’s right. He shouldn’t be, but he is.

Somewhere between your rank and your title and your pride, you’ve forgotten the last time you had someone looking at you like this. There’s a part of you that wants to fight it, to bite and scratch and insist that you're nothing like he's saying — but then a hand slips up around your throat, and the other down between the space separating your bodies, thick fingers catching the end of your towel — and your eyes flutter.

“M’not hearing any apologies.” You manage to mutter, just before those same thick digits find your inner thigh, working up higher.

You're deflecting. The both of you know it. The same pride that drove you to where you are is the same pride that drove him where he is. You think he’s going to call you on it, but then you realize he won’t. Not when the hand at your throat tightens just barely, not when his voice drips into your ear.

"Y’gonna feel em’ soon.”

And then, you do.

You feel the grazing of calloused flesh against sensitive, damn-near celibate flesh. There’s another sound. A low, wanton, filthy moan, and you’re about 94% sure it came from you as beastly fingers slide along your slick slit, exposing the extent of your need to his ego in its entirety — once, twice, curling toward your sopping entrance before you feel the thunder of his hum.

Mocking. "Christ. S’like m’workin’ a faucet, yeah?"

His lips are on your neck now, mouthing slow and deliberate along your jaw even while covered by fabric — and the whimper that slips out is pathetic, even to your own ears.

"Wha’s that?” He all but growls. "C'mon, use y'words f’me. Or d’you only know how t’spit insults?“

You do know how to use your words, actually — and they're usually good ones. You've got a sharp tongue, a mouth just as foul as your temper. So you don't know what to do when every curse, every name, every string of insults you keep in stock gets caught in your throat. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but try not to gasp when his fingers slide up to your clit and swirl.

"Fucking hell." Your jaw goes slack under the hand that holds it. "You—really are vile—“

This whole goddamn thing is vile. The way he can ruin you like this — make you quiver like this — in moments without so much as a name or face to attach the memory of it to.

If he's vile, you know you're not much better.

"Yeah. Tha’s right. I know you’re feelin’ it." He murmurs, fingers circling your clit firmer, faster. "Look how y’squirmin’ for it.”

You have half a mind to spit in his face for that. You have half a mind to tell him to go to hell. You have a million other things you should be doing right now other than clawing at his chest just to stay upright as he brings you to the brink of ruin.

"T-there you go again—mmf—“ your words are so breathless it’s pathetic. “Flattering yourself.”

It’s a futile attempt at a rebuttal, a stupid one because you already know the response he’s going to have to it. Pathetic. You are squirming, and you want to hate him for it, so you do. Your nails bite into his chest, dragging, raking slow and hard as if you could tear through the fabric covering it. You know you wouldn’t. Couldn't. But it's still good enough for him to grunt, hand around your throat tightening just enough to make you gasp in response.

"S’not flattery. Just truth.” He parrots himself again from earlier, and you think you’re on the verge of losing your mind because you know him well enough now have to predicted it. “Y’fuckin need this, don’ you?”

It's not a question. He doesn't need you to answer, because you both know how it ends anyway. But god damn him and his words. Because his filthy mouth is the second most dangerous thing to ever happen to you — right behind his fingers. You need to reply. Need to answer. He's going to force a reaction from you one way or another.

But he doesn’t give you the luxury of even trying.

His fingers still with a suddenness that makes you cry out in frustration — silver platter feeding him exactly what he was fucking looking for.

"Mhm. S’what I thought." He murmurs, hand sliding from around your throat to the back of your head. “M’guessing it’s been years. Least’ a couple.”

And it’s then, that you get it.

You get why this man is feared. You get why he’s so fucking dangerous. He’s worse than the name you know him by — because you’re certain even ghosts aren’t this knowing. This brutal. This consuming.

And through the haze in your head, you try to think back to the day you first met him. There had to have been dark signs — omens in your skies — a warning.

Yet, you can’t think of one.

“F-fuck you.” You spit it at him, because it’s apparently all your mouth is good for. “Stroke your ego any harder and it might just fucking cum before I do.”

He laughs, and then you feel it. The grip tightening in your hair, the palm slapping at your inner thigh to work your legs wider.

“Judging by tha’ mouth, y’never been fucked right either.” He mutters, fingers slipping up the slick coating your thighs. “S’alright. M’here to apologize, yeah? I’ll pay m’penance.”

Bullshit.

He’s not going to apologize by any means — if the last however many minutes aren’t proof enough of that. This is punishment in its worst form, and even that’s not enough. If you want him to make it up to you, you’re going to have to take it.

"Get on your fucking knees, then.” You’re so unbelievably wired that you hardly even realize what you’d said. You hardly even realize when you continue. “And use that mouth for something other than self elation.”

If you thought this was dangerous before - you’re not sure what the fuck this is now.

If someone had asked you an hour ago if you'd ever considered you have a death wish of this caliber, you’d have laughed. If someone had asked you if you were capable of saying half the things you’re saying right now, you’d have laughed even harder. But the fact that they’re leaving your lips - your lips that are now trembling with the realization that you just ordered one of the most dangerous men in the world to kneel — is enough to make you dizzy.

But then, he does it.

He sinks to those knees, cargos sponging the cold showered tiles as he does.

And you don’t think— not really — not for a moment.

Because if you did, you might have wondered if your pride and your dignity are even worth the way he’s looking at you right now — like he wants to eat you alive. You might have wondered if you were dreaming, if this was even physically fucking possible — the nameless, faceless man who has scared people shitless with just his reputation, kneeling between your fucking feet.

“Fuck.” It slips out in an exhale, and you don’t even hear it.

He does, though.

And in response, he holds your eyes while pulling at the edge of his balaclava. Just enough to uncover his jaw and lips — thick, pillow-full lips cocked into the type of grin you’d have expected, but steals the remainder of your breath regardless.

“M’gonna’ spell it out f’you. Nice n’ slow.” He rasps, pulling one of your thighs over his shoulder. “M’sorry.”

Oh, how you wish he meant that.

Because he isn’t. He isn’t the least bit apologetic when he pushes your back against the tiled walls with a heavy palm against your pelvis — he isn’t the least bit remorseful when he’s dragging his teeth along your inner thigh, nipping and lapping — and he’s certainly not the least bit sorry as he brings that filthy fucking mouth of his to your slit, and starts to devour you like he’s starved.

And this, you know is sin.

You know this, because you’ve never felt a mouth on you until now that made you think of god. You’ve never felt fingers dig into flesh with enough force to bruise the way his do — never felt anything that could make you forget who you are and where you are and everything in between.

It has to be sin, because no one could do this without an explicit knowledge of what sin tastes like.

There’s no other explanation for the way he can make you keen, arch and moan like this. No other excuse for the way you quiver as he curls his tongue and strokes you until you’re seeing white, just to suck on your clit with a ferocity that makes your stomach tighten and your hands shoot up to cover your own mouth.

“Feel it.” He husks against you, and the sound and sensation make your hips buck forward in response. “Relax an’ feel it.”

It’s not a request — it’s a demand. And you don’t think to defy him when he pulls your hands away, pushes you back, and buries his whole face against your pussy again like he’ll die if he doesn’t. You’re so dizzy you can’t even keep your eyes open. You can only hear your breath coming out in stilted moans and little cries of his namesake — the namesake that you realize the irony of rather briefly, but forget when your brain flatlines all over again.

Because he groans against your clit like you’re the best goddamn meal he’s ever had, and suddenly, you get how easy it is to fall. Fall into the rhythm — your hips moving in sync with the strokes of his tongue, your thighs closing around his skull. You want to scream. You almost want to cry. Your voice breaks with every sound you make, and you know your heart is only a few beats away from beating out of your chest by the way he grips your hips, pulling your cunt to his head before bringing a finger to your sopping entrance.

"Gonna’ stretch y’out a bit.” He rasps, and you aren’t sure if he’s saying it to warn you or to remind himself. “Breathe.”

You try, but then, it doesn’t matter. Because it’s happening — that thick finger pushes inside you, curling against your walls until you’re gasping and covering your mouth all over again.

And god, you aren’t going to be able to look at his skull mask the same way again. Not when you watch it’s shape shifting just slightly as he works his jaw, suckling against your clit with a hunger you can only describe as feral, eyes half-lidded as they lock with your own. You’re certain nothing in the world could have prepared you for this. It's a goddamn match to a bomb as he starts to work another finger into you, curling them in time with his tongue in a way you don’t think you’d have been able to come up with if you’d had a lifetime to consider it. You can feel that tension building — a tight coil of heat and pressure building low in your core.

Then, you feel his fingers inside you doing something odd. Something—

Oh, fuck.

You feel it before you can comprehend it — before you know he’s tracing the first letter, the shape of it hitting in just the right place that it makes your hips buck in response.

S.

Oh. Oh god.

You can feel him hum against you, like he’s savouring it — the way you’re clenching around his fingers as you realize what he’s doing. It takes everything in you not to scream, eyes squeezed shut and hand over your mouth — head back against the wall as you imagine the look in his eyes, how goddamn wicked it must be while he spells out the rest of his apology inside you.

O. Then, R. Then another. Then, Y.

“G-ghost—“ you know he must be able to tell you're almost gone, because when he hits the last R and your breath catches, his name a whoreish moan you try to smother against the back of your hand — he growls in satisfaction. It’s too much. You can't breathe because your climax is right fucking there, and you can’t stop it for a second longer. “G-ghost—m’gonna—ohgod—“

With a suddenness that makes stars burst across the backs of your eyes, he brings his free hand up, stuffing two fingers into your mouth to smother the sound and feel of his name as you cry it. He strokes you through it, pumping you with his fingers as your vision blurs into some indiscernible haze — a kaleidoscope of light and pleasure and everything you know you should never allow yourself to have.

And then, when you finally catch the breath it took to even say his name, he pulls away. Fingers slipping from your mouth and your pussy like a goddamn magician.

A ghost.

Then, he stands up, and you watch him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand like you’re all the goddamn nourishment he needs before he’s helping you get stable on your feet.

“M’sure y’feel it now.” He murmurs, lips so close to yours you can taste yourself on his breath. "M’a man of m’word, sweet’eart. Always make good on m’promises.”

You’re sure he can see it, the realization in your eyes when you come back down to earth long enough to remember what just happened. Remember that you weren't supposed to let it happen in the first place. That you were supposed to have better control over yourself — and you can guess he knows, by the way he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

"Guess I made m’point, yeah?"

He tugs his balaclava back in place, and you exhale.

“Yeah, you made your point.” He hums at that, and you tug your towel tighter. “But this—this can’t happen again.”

It takes him a beat to respond, and when he does, it’s simple.

"Of course.”

You don’t know why, but that response makes your chest tighten in a way it has no business doing. It would have been so much easier if he’d given you a smart ass smirk, or a biting response. It would be so much easier if he told you that you didn’t have a choice in the matter, but he doesn’t.

And so, you step closer to him, tilting your head back to keep his eyes.

“I mean it, Ghost.” You whisper. “I’ll take a pound of your flesh before I allow you to fuck with my paystub ever again.”

You thought, at this point, you’d have figured out some type of gauge on his reactions. But still, he proves you haven’t. You don't expect the hand coming up, cupping your jaw to hold you in place as his eyes drop to your lips. You don't expect him to lean in, and bring his own to your ear — and you definitely don’t expect the words that fill it.

“There’s a few things I wanna’ fuck. Y’paystub ain’t one.” He pauses, and you’re certain it’s because he’s enjoying the drumbeat that is now your heart rate. You’d just found your breath and he singlehandedly stole it again. “I’ll be watchin’ f’your enemies. T’let em’ know they contend with me.”

You think you get it then. The reason everyone looks at him the way they do. The reason they're so terrified of him in one second, and willing to take a bullet for him during the next. It's not even because he's trained to be a killing machine. Not because he can see what you're thinking before you even realize you are. Not because he'd walk through fire just to be close to hell.

It's because he's a man of his word, and even you understand the gravity of that kind of loyalty.

You exhale with a nod, and then he’s gone.

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

Venus can reveal how we judge others based on its elemental placement. Read below to see how your element influences your judgments.

And yes, I understand that some of you are pure souls who claim to never judge—but let’s be honest, most of us have a messy side!

Fire Venus: Character Focused Judgments

Fire Venus individuals tend to judge people quickly. They often criticize others for being weak, overly cautious, or too passive, as they dislike those who don’t go after what they want. They might talk about how they feel superior to someone else and often gain attention themselves. As a result, they may view others as boring or uninteresting.

Fire Venus placements can also be judgmental about a person’s friends or the family they come from. They pride themselves on being able to detect fake friendships and generally dislike people they perceive as fake, uppity, or pretentious. They often criticize others for not being more free-spirited or for being uptight.

When it comes to fashion, they have a clear sense of what they like. While they aren’t necessarily trying to stand out, they will judge someone who seems to be trying too hard to appear aesthetic. They may also look down on people who lack personality, are overly submissive or docile in relationships, or don’t exhibit any dominance. Additionally, they can be critical of those who are consistently negative, pessimistic, or down.

Earth Venus: Status Oriented Judgments

Earth Venus individuals are highly particular and often more judgmental than Fire Venus. While Fire Venus judges based on qualities they take pride in within themselves, Earth Venus can judge others even when they feel insecure. Their judgment spans across a wide range of things, making them very critical.

They’ll judge people based on their accomplishments—or the lack thereof. If they can’t visibly see someone’s achievements, they’re likely to criticize them for not doing enough with their life. Earth Venus individuals are also very nitpicky about style and fashion. They might focus on the smallest details, such as how someone wears their hair, applies makeup, or accessorizes with jewelry. Even personal scent and hygiene can be points of judgment.

They also assess whether someone appears goal-oriented or organized. If a person seems directionless or like they’re just “floating” through life, Earth Venus will judge them harshly. They place heavy emphasis on physical appearance, often making quick judgments about whether someone is attractive or not.

Education and career are other areas where Earth Venus is critical. They may judge someone for not going to college, for having fewer than two degrees, or for not earning a certain salary. Where someone lives, the hobbies they pursue, and even the family they come from are all potential areas of scrutiny. Earth Venus individuals tend to form opinions about a person’s friends and social circle as well.

Unconventional lifestyles are another source of judgment; they’re quick to label someone “weird” for living differently. They are incredibly judgmental about body weight, daily habits, and even how others approach the same tasks they do. Even if someone achieves the same outcome, Earth Venus might criticize them for not doing it the “right” way—their way.

Overall, Earth Venus is arguably the most judgmental of all Venus placements. They evaluate everything with a critical eye and often hold people to impossibly high standards.

Air Venus: Cerebral and Social Judgments

Air Venus individuals can also be highly judgmental, often driven by their superficial tendencies. They tend to place a significant emphasis on appearances and may judge someone solely based on how they look or present themselves to the world. If someone doesn’t meet their standards of physical attractiveness or style, they can be very critical.

They also value intellect and are quick to judge others based on their intelligence. They’re not afraid to label someone as “dumb,” “slow,” or “stupid” if they feel the person lacks knowledge or common sense. Air Venus individuals are the type to say, “common sense isn’t so common.” If someone doesn’t understand certain things, they may become irritated and judgmental, often calling people out for it.

They’re critical of overly emotional people and those who don’t rely on facts or logic. Air Venus individuals tend to judge those they perceive as monotonous, boring, or close-minded. Traditional people, in particular, might rub them the wrong way, as Air Venus often gravitates toward progressive or innovative ideas.

Materialism can also play a role in their judgments. They may criticize someone who doesn’t follow the latest trends or lacks certain material possessions they deem valuable. They are keenly aware of how people talk, what they support, and how they engage in conversation. If someone struggles to hold their attention or lacks conversational depth, they’ll likely judge them.

Air Venus is also critical of people who are overly demanding, dependent, or emotionally attached. They value independence and will judge anyone they perceive as clingy or too reliant on them. Additionally, they are quick to form opinions about those who disagree with their views or fail to align with their way of thinking.

Overall, Air Venus individuals can be harshly critical, often holding people to high intellectual and social standards while heavily prioritizing aesthetics and independence.

Water Venus: Emotionally Driven Judgment

Water Venus individuals base their judgments primarily on how they feel about others, making their evaluations deeply personal and subjective. They often rely on their intuition, sensing people’s energy and deciding, “I don’t like this person” or “I don’t like how this person is.”

Interestingly, they dislike overly judgmental people. If someone judges them, they’ll respond in kind, criticizing that person for being judgmental. Water Venus placements also judge others based on their sentimentality and capacity to care. To earn their approval, you need to be nurturing, loving, and compassionate. If you fail to meet these standards, they’ll label you as cold, dry, heartless, or uncaring. They are especially critical when they feel someone lacks true empathy.

Additionally, Water Venus individuals judge people who are overly materialistic or superficial. They have a strong dislike for those who prioritize appearances or wealth over genuine qualities. If someone only cares about looks or money, a Water Venus will quickly criticize them for being shallow or insincere.

In essence, their judgments are rooted in emotional authenticity, care, and depth. They value meaningful connections and are quick to judge anyone who doesn’t align with these principles.

[koyangii]

Love in the big city and HIV

So, I have recently watched one of the best dramas of the year, “Love in the big city”, in which HIV is a major theme. 

The show portrays really well the stigmatized scenario around HIV: as a person living with the virus,  Go Young feels exactly as if he's carrying some kind of curse. He can't accept it, but who can blame him for that, if "Kylie", as he calls the virus, is always around like an inconvenient person? In his sex life, while applying to a job, and even while hanging out with friends. 

Society doesn't make it easy for a person living with HIV to accept the condition and that's essential when it comes to healthcare, which is what I want to address today. 

First, let me introduce myself: my name is Nico and I'm a Medicine student in Brazil. Here, we have probably one of the biggest public health system in the world, the Unified Health System (a.k.a. SUS). In this essay, I intend to share some general information about HIV, its treatment and prevention, by using some parts of “Love in the big city” to discuss this theme, because although the show did an amazing job when it comes to talking about it, there are some points I found needed some better explanation. 

HIV is a sexually transmitted infection (STI) that can also be transmitted by the contact with infected blood (e.g: incompatible blood transfusion; use of shared needles) or from the mother to a child inside the womb or during labor. The virus uses a specific type of immune cell to multiply. Explaining it in a very simple way, he gets inside the cell, uses its components to produce new viral copies and then ruptures the cell membrane to release these new copies in the blood, killing the cell by doing so. For this reason, untreated HIV is very dangerous, since it can cause immunodeficiency (failure of the immune system), making the person susceptible to acquire opportunistic infections, which are diseases that usually don’t occur in people with regular immune systems. When someone has immunodeficiency caused by HIV, this person is diagnosed with Acquired ImmunoDeficiency Syndrome (AIDS). That being said, AIDS and HIV are not the same. There are many people living with HIV that don’t have AIDS, thanks to appropriate treatment. 

There are multiple ways a person can discover about having HIV: you can be notified because the person you have had relations with discovered the infection, or by taking blood tests for blood donation, or in the worst case scenario, when you are already suffering from an opportunistic infection. Go Young, for example, discovered it because of the blood tests results while he was in the army. One thing I found very outrageous was that the physician instantly inferred that Go Young was gay because of that, but this is impossible, since anyone can get the virus, regardless of their sexual orientation. This appointment was like a death sentence: the unempathetic doctor as a ruthless judge, blaming the patient and not offering a single word of comfort. (Quite the opposite: he even asked that very intimate question about sex positions. Seriously, I wanted to punch this doctor so hard.)

Nonetheless, even if it was made in a very inappropriate way, diagnosis is still very important, because that is the only way one can have access to treatment. Each patient must be evaluated separately, since treatment may vary due to the different genetic subtypes of the virus and the person’s own body response. Medication can also be adjusted until satisfactory results are accomplished. Overall, all patients are submitted to a lifetime antiretroviral therapy in order to stop the virus from multiplying and to keep immune cells at a higher level. In the series, we can see Go Young asking for any antiretroviral in a pharmacy, but in real life, he would be very specific about the drugs.

If done properly, treatment can provide quality of life and long life expectancy (very similar to people who don’t have HIV), prevent opportunistic infections and, most importantly, transmission! Yes, that is exactly what you read: treatment can result in really low levels of HIV in the blood, which is called “undetectable viral load” if it happens for at least six months. There is even a saying which goes “Undetectable = untransmittable”. In this scenario the patient can even have sex without a condom with their partner, which is what happened with Go Young and Gyu Ho in the series. However, it is important to mention that this only applies to HIV: one can still get other STIs while having unprotected sex. 

In addition to condoms and proper treatment, there are other ways of preventing HIV infection. Susceptible people can use the pre-exposure prophylaxis (PREp) medication, which highly reduces the risk of getting HIV from intercourse (and also from blood contact in a less effective way). There is also the post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP), which can prevent infection if taken within 72 hours after possible exposure. Treating other STIs, not sharing needles, using lubricant (less chance of injury during intercourse) and avoiding sex while in use of alcohol or drugs are some other habits we can do ourselves to minimize the risk of acquiring HIV. 

Nevertheless, individual actions can help only until a certain point, given that the best prevention is the “combination prevention”, which includes not only behavioral and biomedical approaches, but also structural interventions. Every country should have their own public policies to assist people living with HIV and to prevent transmission. I’m proud to say that, in Brazil, thanks to our public health system, everyone has access to condoms, lubricants, tests, treatment, PREp and PEP - all free of charge. The system also has policies of damage control, providing all of these strategies to the population of risk, such as sex workers and people with a substance use disorder, including kits with individual needles to prevent sharing and, consequently, blood transmission. No wonder we are an international reference for HIV/AIDS treatment and prevention. 

To conclude, I also need to remind you that you can actively help in this cause by simply showing support. As we all watched in “Love in the big city”, a person living with HIV faces all kinds of prejudice in society. Go Young carried a heavy burden for years, not being able to share it with anyone until Gyu Ho embraced him. Sometimes, patients have these prejudices themselves and it can deeply hinder treatment. I have seen this myself: a patient that denied the diagnosis and returned to the hospital sometime later with a severe health condition.

You can be the person that will accept and embrace this other person, who is only living with a chronic condition, such as many people who live with hypertension or diabetes, for example. You can be the person that will call out on others for their preconceived opinions. You can be the person who will share high-quality information to your friends, family, fellow workers or students (There are links in the last paragraph with reliable information for those who want to do some further research). 

Finally, I can’t stress enough how much I loved “Love in the big city” for addressing so many types of love and so many sensitive topics, including this one, in such a beautiful way. It has been a long time since I had felt so connected to a story, to a character so human like Go Young. 

I hope this essay provided a little bit of information to you. I mostly used the knowledge I have learned in college and sites of well-recognized organizations, such as the UNAIDS, the World Health Organization (WHO) and, for the Portuguese speakers, the Brazilian Ministry of Health (Ministério da Saúde). Thank you for reading, and please, feel free to send me any questions you might have, I’ll do my best to answer them. Also, if you notice any English mistakes, please let me know so I can correct them. 

[altocat]

Ok I don't know if I already read something like this somewhere or if I'm just losing it but. Whenever Hojo is around, what are some little things you think Seph does to just piss him off, out of pure spite and rebellion. Things he can kind of get away with 😂

If there is one thing Sephiroth takes genuine pleasure in, it's making things as inconvenient for Hojo as possible.

BEHOLD, FIRST CLASS PETTINESS:

Not answering basic "yes" or "no" questions during evaluations

Showing up late to an appointment

Having a "mysterious stomach flu" during a scheduled lab procedure day. Guess we'll just have to postpoooone~

Praising Hollander's "accomplishments" right in front of Hojo during a meeting (even though Seph himself hates Hollander too).

Conveniently schedules vacation time whenever Hojo is trying to set him up with a potential breeding partner

May or may not have kissed Genesis at the holiday party, looking Hojo IN THE EYES while doing so

Might have done the same with Angeal during the after-party event WHOOPS

Embraces full catboy persona by (discreetly) pushing random objects off Hojo's desk during a check-up

Writes "Glenn" under Father's Name on medical records (it gets rejected every single time as a result which means Hojo has to refile things over and over and OVER again)

Hojo tells him to "behave himself" during an interview. Sephiroth takes that as free license to be graphically descriptive about all his kills on the battlefield

Occasionally steals random objects from lab that somehow magically seem to find their way into Genesis or Zack's pocket, thereby causing chaos wherever they go

May or may not have acquired a new Jenova-influenced skill. Spends four hours playing coy when Hojo feverishly interrogates him about it

"What do you MEAN you didn't fall? Out with it boy! I want details! Are you saying that you FLOATED between buildings? Or did you jump your way across?"

"Mm. Maybe~"

Learned how to forge handwriting specifically so he could send Hojo a pink slip in the mail from "President Shinra"

[osakanone]

I love how in-depth your mech discussions dive

This isn't even my full power.jpg

I have to hold a lot back, because I don't know how to communicate well without overwhelming an audience.

Let me show you.

I'm right now figuring out how to explain a summary of over two years of investigation into mecha feet and contact-patch design, which led to me designing many MANY foot designs I came up with based on fighter landing gear, tank design, hovercraft, omniwheels, screw vehicles, and my personal favourites: marginal terrain vehicles and the Landmaster of Damnation Ally, which overcomes the shortcomings of 4+ generation Knightmare Frames [...]

(eg, their lack of omnidirectional motion, which they had to solve by transitioning to a psudoquadraped both with the Akito of Exile's 4-leg mode using its arms as walking limbs and the Queen Asura, which is not the same thing as a psudotetrapod because a quadraped has a abdomin structure closer to a jumping spider with the legs arranged inwardly for the front and outwardly for the back, and a tetrapod is radial pushing legs out at square or diamond angles relative to the abdominal centroid)

...and of Artos/Armored Trooperoids of Votoms [...]

(which had problems of a small tarus or hoof style foot with zero longitudinal arch which results in a lack of clearly defined calcaneus and thus no formal heel which would allow terrain gripping via the relative motion of the arch and phalangal body of the toes the heel like a beak -- all to encorporate the wheel in the arch-space -- which the design partially compensates through the use of a talon mechanism, and an optional structure fitted to the ankle which folds down to form an extended front foot -- which Armored Core's 5th generation later references in the folding falanges of the UCR series -- and late,r the Blue Knight variant directly addresses by extending the foot by 50% to improve the contact leverage with ground surfaces)

This is accomplished by using the stair-climber mechanism as a heel, but encorporating a scissor mechanism. Right now I'm not happy with where it is and I'm still figuring out where the hinge would go to keep it omnidirectional, which again is the common failure of leg-design in these platforms.

This is a MASSIVE amount of information to take in even in this light summary without diagrams to explain what's happening and I'd need help to really express what I actually want to accomplish.

I'm right now deeply conflicted as to how deep I should actually go because we can get very lost in the weeds and I'm not very skilled at diagramming the points I want to make and I have an entire taxonomic and anatomical language for mecha that I remove from my work when I present it to the public most of the time.

Like do I go into the development path, do I go into the evaluation of evolutionary paths I see like throughlines connecting things like how we got from knightly designs in Panzer World Galient or Dunbine (the first isekai) informs Tekkaman Blade informs Xi Gundam informs Escaflowne informs White Glint informs Unicorn Gundam and Banshee informs NWGIX/V, etc, etc?

Like there's an entire lineage and family line there being Albidimiles -- albidimiles being a portmanteau of albido (white) and miles (knight) -- not to be confused with the line Samonaut, which are essentially samurai-astronauts commonly belonging to Gundam.

Since we're dealing with design memetics, common concepts of conventional phylogenetic development don't apply since through a genetic lens, mecha is incredibly dependant on horizontal transfer -- eg, passing of information via contact, so adaptions happen not always convergently but frequently in direct parallel, as an arms-race does.

So that's an example of what this is like when I don't filter any of it for an audience, and it very quickly goes off into the weeds.

What I really need to go to the next level is an editor who understands the concepts I'm dealing with; for example, do I talk about the inherent transness of the L-Gaim Mark II and Nagano's own history with gender expression as a mechanical designer and how he expresses those feelings of femininity in his work, or do I go full schizo and present the world with my wild "Nagano-Egg Fashion-Sapphoid-Mantis" theory which is in itself a total fever dream born of conjecture gleaned entirely from his work and photographs of him leering at Tomino instead of his wife at his own marriage?

I need someone to reign me in, but also be able to support me in this capacity -- ie, a research partner who's happy to let me toil in the weeds and then is happy to help me represent these ideas and understand what you as an audience can actually make sense of.

What has happened is I accidently over-studied the design part of mecha and understudied the illustration part which I'm actually very poor at.

I can go so much deeper than I do regularly, but making sure I don't lose people is a challenge I've never managed to solve so I mostly just write for myself and then only turn it into a post if someone has a question.

Sorry if all of this is kinda disorganized.

[thecherrytarot]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐭.

pick a hiromi higuruma to know about your karmic debt.

pile 1 → pile 2 → pile 3

Pick the photo you feel the most drawn to and please remember that this is a general reading so take what resonates!!

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏:

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞:

this pile is confusing me cause one, there are multiple messages and two, im not exactly sure what is the 'debt' that you owe but im seeing more of what is happening to you as a result.

you feel like you have lost all the structure in your well-balanced life due to some sort of authority figure taking control of you and your decisions, you have this feeling of helplessness and you keep thinking that "if i had control i would have achieved so much by now but things aren't aligning and i keep delaying my plans due to XYZ not making better decisions and life choices and i have to suffer the consequences of their actions while they get to live life easily while i settle" or something along the lines of that, (I was getting an even bigger message because i felt like you finally got a chance to communicate) you have bigger plans that you want to achieve and you know there is more to your life than what is in front of you but this feeling of not accomplishing your goals or what if you don't is eating you alive. for some of you, this may be due to you putting "minimal" effort in it and hoping that it everything magically works out but that is not the case sometimes. you let outside influence set you back and lose your will to progress in other areas as well. (i believe that it is okay to "fail" in certain things cause to me rejection is redirection and there is no harm in trying again) the advice here is simple; create and follow your path and put effort in, motivation will help you but only for a few days, what you need is discipline. do not let fear and your negative self-image hold you back from taking the direction that will take you in your desired direction. i don't know why but Santigo's journey from the book Alchemist came to my so if you haven't read that book please read it cause it might help you. learn to be patient with your decisions doesn't matter if they are long-term or short-term because regardless of that, they have consequences (our Karam) and it is important for you to not be impulsive to feel some sort of control over the decisions in your life. find a healthier attitude in your life and watch things change for the better, it is a slow process but it is worth it.

overall, the message is asking you to self-evaluate yourself and see if your actions have led to these consequences and what is that you are not learning. you always have a choice to make and it is a bitter pill to swallow but you can not blame others for it. i keep thinking about this dialogue said by King Baldwin IV, "When you stand before God, you cannot say, "But I was told by others to do this." Or that, "Virtue was not convenient at the time." This will not suffice. Remember that.”

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐:

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞:

the message is similar to some parts of pile 1 so if you felt drawn to it, do check it out.

some of you could have been knowingly or unknowingly avoiding the accountability of your actions. life feels unjust and cruel cause of outside forces but remember to maintain balance and stay true to your higher self because the way you will react to these situations is gonna create your karma. im seeing that you will have a chance to fix your negative karma into a more positive one. heal yourself and realize that nothing outside of you has power over you, you are the one who decides how you accept, feel, think and do the things in your life. learn from your lessons and grow through the experience instead of refusing to accept anything. this will set you free. the more you neglect it the bigger it will get. it may feel as if you are trapped but remember that sometimes it is an illusion that we create in our heads out of fear of both, failing (the 'now what will i do?' feeling) and succeeding (the 'then what will i do?' feeling) detachment with the results might help you with this. i keep thinking of this saying in Quaran, "kun faya kun" which means "be, and it is!" life is not simple for anyone and hardships are also a part of our journey. it may feel like it is easy to avoid it and run but for how long will you do that? you have the free will; either to repeat those same mistakes and hold on to the things that are no longer helping you or find something new for yourself. i don't know how to write this in a way that will make sense but the message im getting is that the karmic debt that you owe to the universe is just rising above this and making peace with yourself and your surroundings. put your energy into things that you know will help you instead of being manipulated by outside influence remember that you are your own person before you are anyone to someone else.

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑:

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐭.:

this pile feels a little heavy cause this includes past life karma (for some it could also be generational) and im pretty sure many of you are already seeing or sensing a pattern of past mistakes happening again and again and you feel like regardless of what you will do the outcome will be the same. the message here is that it is not entirely true but rather an illusion that you have created. you have your free will to continue it or change it. it is a slow and long process with lots of ups and downs as it is a cycle of multiple lives and not something that can fixed magically overnight. taking the shorter and easier route won't help you. it is important to heal, connect with yourself and trust your instincts. you may feel like the outside guidance is confusing you more rather than giving you clarity. the answer to this is simple; it is within you, catered to you since it is YOUR life and YOUR karma. you are becoming aware of the things that make you feel so restricted and some are even working on limiting the control others have on you, for others, the motivation is rising (if not use this as a sign) learn from the previous mistakes and avoid them. cause you do have a big purpose in your current life regarding this karmic cycle and you are being called out to make the necessary decisions to bring the change. You are not being punished for your past or someone else's mistakes, you are meant to learn a few life lessons to grow. for some reason, i felt picking out separate cards as a guidance message for this pile; your self-doubt is creating an illusion in you and you are letting it win. things get hard now and then but we shouldn't give in to our negative energy and insecurities. show determination and willpower, there is a strong desire in you to succeed and you need to execute it and it will be yours.

thank you so much for reading !!!

[leveloneandup]

Christen Press’ long journey back from injury: ‘The last six months have been the best of my life’

On Tuesday, Christen Press returned to team training with Angel City FC, exactly two years to the day from when she tore her ACL in a 2022 match against Racing Louisville. While her involvement in training is still limited, with her only taking part in the warm-ups and a passing drill to start, it’s one of the many milestones Press can celebrate on the arduous journey she’s undertaken for a full return to the sport.

As she noted in a call with The Athletic, most of those milestones have been reached in private. At first, she wanted this moment to be private too — well, as private as it could be with a full team and staff around, but in a closed practice where she could evaluate how she felt. With further thought, she changed her mind: this milestone was one that could be celebrated, and with so much uncertainty still left about what milestones remain, she might as well embrace this one.

“If this is something we can all celebrate, let’s just go for it, because this journey has been really, really long,” Press said on Monday, a little more than 24 hours out from the return to training. “When you don’t play, you do have a different relationship with the fanbase, and it’s nice to see this as the re-entry point. People are going to get videos of me in team training, and I’m just going to be around.”

Back in February, Press referenced her “relentless optimism” that has helped her on this wildly unpredictable recovery process, which required four surgeries and resulted in her missing out entirely for competing for a 2023 World Cup roster spot. Her fourth surgery was timed right around when the USWNT was heading to New Zealand, which released her from being tied to a recovery timeline and feeling the pressure to return.

“When I found out I had to have the fourth surgery, I was like, well, I’m not going to the World Cup because I’ll be in surgery during the World Cup,” she said in February. “So that was the moment I actually exhaled. I had to grieve that.”

The release from external timelines has extended to another tournament, the Olympics, which Press said on Monday she’s never really focused on in terms of a potential return. Despite the standard recovery timelines lining up from her fourth and final ACL surgery, last summer’s World Cup experience wasn’t something she wanted to repeat.

“There’s no way your mind can’t start doing the math, right?” Press said this week, saying she’d catch herself counting down the weeks to this summer’s tournament. She doesn’t want to turn off the part of herself still dreaming and striving for a roster spot or any accomplishment on the field, but it’s all a balance.

There’s also a delicate emotional balance in other ways through the recovery process. She’s been in with the team at their training facility, watching the rest of the players train; she’s been at games supporting Angel City, too. Injuries can be isolating, but there’s a weight to being around the team, unable to participate.

“Some of the hardest days of my week are game days when I watch my team play, and there’s a lot of nuance to that. I do feel part of the team. I’m very loyal and dedicated to my teammates and to the club, but it’s actually really hard and painful to watch,” she said.

Having her own space at her physical therapy clinic provided a healing environment. One that lives outside the specific pressures and stresses of the week-to-week grind of the NWSL season, one where the coaches turn from a Friday night result to the new outlook of Monday morning.

“It was a huge blessing to be able to be outside of that, and then the re-entry has been just so great because I have been in a bubble. I’ve been saying, I’ve been bubble-wrapped for so long and now to get in and experience the shift in moods, the shift in energy that comes with preparing for a game and dealing with the results is really important,” she said, now having been more integrated with the team over the past three months.

She’s adjusted now, but shifting from the PT clinic, where she saw the same three people every day, to the full Angel City experience was a bit of a shock.

“It was so social,” she said, laughing a little, recalling just how many people were suddenly talking to her on a daily basis. “Oh my god, I am so introverted. I can’t be around 23 people that are asking me about my life. This is wild! I kept being like, I want to wear a shirt that says, ‘Please don’t ask me about my knee today.’”

With the integration underway and the public milestone achieved, Press has also been busy with the return of The RE-CAP Show, which she hosts with Tobin Heath. Now into their third season, they’ve already recorded with guests like former USWNT player Abby Wambach and Glennon Doyle (who both are in the Angel City investment group, too).

Press and Heath were among the first players to balance active careers with stepping into the media realm, a path shared by the likes of Sam Mewis, Becky Sauerbrunn, Lynn Williams, Midge Purce and others. But still the far more common path is for a player to retire, then start talking about soccer for a living. Press and Heath embrace the tension and perspective this provides.

“Neither Tobin nor I are retired, and neither Tobin nor I have put that chapter behind us,” she said. “We always say it’s a very unique insider/outsider perspective with the USWNT.” As she noted on Monday’s call, you can’t get cut from the national team — a player can always get left off a roster, but they’re also always in contention for the next one. “With the national team, we’re both like, ‘You never know.’ If we can play, we’re going for it right?”

Press noted that discussing the NWSL felt different to her on the show — she’s actively contracted to a team, after all. But either way, her and Heath approach the show with an “active eye” rather than two players who are looking back. But they’ve also focused on building a community along with their foray into the media space. Press has been providing videos with an intimate look into her recovery process for paying members of RE-INC, something that she didn’t think she’d want to create in a more public forum.

“We’ve been able to stay inside the women’s soccer community, having a relationship with our community and our fan base through it all,” Press said.

“We’re simply having the same conversation that we have on our living room couch. I carry a weight of being thoughtful and careful and intentional all the time, inside my own home, so it’s easy for me to translate that. So when we have our banter back and forth, we can stand in a place where we’re challenging each other, and that makes the show more of a provocation than an answer,” she continued. “It’s a question. It’s not an answer.”

Press’ reputation is built in many ways around that thoughtfulness, but it’s not an act either. And sometimes, the way she approaches the world in her “cerebral” fashion means that she wants things to make sense, like her ACL injury and all four surgeries. “I want this fairy tale story where I come back, I’m delightful — that’s actually what I want. ‘I went through all of this, and now you all find me delightful.’”

Press is also all too aware of another reputation, one earned because she’s not afraid to ask for what she wants. She’s fought for everything she wanted. She knows her value.

“Before, you called me a diva, and now I’m delightful. It’s not going to be like that; that’s not what life is. But I will say, the last year of my life — maybe even shorter, the last six months — have been the best of my life because of the space that my ACL created for me to heal as a human. I’m still on that journey, and I intend to stay on that journey.”

Press said this time has allowed her to process and work through all the things she wanted to work through when she actively took a break from the national team, following the previous Olympics. That was the last time she put on a USWNT jersey, after all, and it was and still is a big part of her identity. There have been chapters of her life since then though, and through the recovery process she has asked herself time and time again not when she wants to come back, but how.

She acknowledged there will be fear and pressure with this milestone and the ones yet to come, but the simple goal is for her to be delightful as a human being, for others to be around. Someone that can mentor or be good on the field, laugh at themselves and tease a little too. That doesn’t feel like too much to ask.

“Getting that role in the team where I can be happy and joyful and chasing excellence, really appreciating what I’m doing and what I’m able to do.” That’s what’s important, after a stretch when she did not enjoy the sport itself. “Because if I go back, and I go back and feel the same way that I did about soccer and winning and scoring, then that will feel like a bigger failure than not making it back at all.”

“The competitor in me and the perfectionist in me and the Capricorn in me and the Enneagram three in me just wants to be this delightful, great soccer player that has so much fun and scores all these goals and can totally deal with stress and is always laughing,” she said.

That’s the dream part. The real answer is simple.

“With delight.”

[allaboutthemoonlight]

How to Develop the Habits You Want and Stick to Them ✨

I recently listened to a podcast discussing developing the habits you want and ensure they stick. As someone who’s been recently struggling with consistent habit adherence, I wanted to share some of the insights I gathered and talk about what’s been helping me lately.

The Importance of a Goal vs a System:

In a world where goals are often the big picture, it's crucial to recognize the transformative potential of systems. Scott Adams once said, "If you do something every day, it’s a system. If you're waiting to achieve it someday in the future, it's a goal."

Goals are outcomes, systems are the daily habits that lead to that.

Systems enable longevity and continuity, while goals are only momentary. Changing your behavior and integrating systems into your leds to continual progress and applicable results.

When you have a goal or habit in mind, develop a system around it so you can continuously work towards it.

For example, if your goal was to lose 20 pounds in 3 months, the system would be implementing a daily exercise routine and adopting healthier eating habits.

The system, unlike the goal, can be maintained and adjusted over time, leading to long-term progress and success.

Constantly Ask Yourself These Questions:

What kind of days do I want to live?

This prompts you to reflect on your ideal lifestyle and the type of experiences you want to have on a daily basis. It helps you set intentions for how you want to spend your time and what activities or pursuits bring you fulfillment.

2. How do I want to show up in the world?

This encourages self-awareness and introspection about your values, character, and the impression you want to leave on others. It allows you to consider how you want to behave, interact with others, and contribute to the world around you.

3. Am I living by my values and beliefs?

This gives you the opportunity to evaluate whether your actions align with your core values and beliefs. If they don’t, something needs to change. Really take the time to think about the choices you make and whether they are in accordance with what truly matters to you.

I like to do a weekly review every Sunday where I look back on my week and see what I’ve accomplished, where I could improve, celebrate my wins, etc. Every quarter or so, I’ll ask myself these three questions and reflect on my life.

Mirror Your Environment To Enable The Habits You Want To Develop

Your environment aids in the habits that you currently have or want to acquire. You need to change your environment to either break a bad habit or acquire a n

Make the habits you want to stick obvious enough so that there’s no friction in the transition process.

For example, if you want to start reading more books, you would start by placing a bookshelf in a prominent area of your home or room. This makes the habit of reading more obvious since the books are easily accessible, allowing you to pick one up whenever you have free time.

Surround Yourself With People That Also Take Part In The Habits You Desire

Being around like-minded individuals provides a support system and accountability network.

When you see others consistently practicing the habits you want to have, it can inspire and motivate you to stay committed.

Being part of a community that values the same habits creates an encouraging environment and helps you to solidify these aspiring habits as integral parts of your routine.

——————————————————————————————————

Developing the habits you desire is not just about setting goals but also about creating systems, aligning with your values, and leveraging your environment and social circle. Continue to focus on the systems in your life over goals, asking reflective questions, and surrounding yourself with supportive individuals.

—Luna <3

——————————————————————————————————

[jcmarchi]

Study reveals AI chatbots can detect race, but racial bias reduces response empathy

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/study-reveals-ai-chatbots-can-detect-race-but-racial-bias-reduces-response-empathy/

Study reveals AI chatbots can detect race, but racial bias reduces response empathy

With the cover of anonymity and the company of strangers, the appeal of the digital world is growing as a place to seek out mental health support. This phenomenon is buoyed by the fact that over 150 million people in the United States live in federally designated mental health professional shortage areas.

“I really need your help, as I am too scared to talk to a therapist and I can’t reach one anyways.”

“Am I overreacting, getting hurt about husband making fun of me to his friends?”

“Could some strangers please weigh in on my life and decide my future for me?”

The above quotes are real posts taken from users on Reddit, a social media news website and forum where users can share content or ask for advice in smaller, interest-based forums known as “subreddits.” 

Using a dataset of 12,513 posts with 70,429 responses from 26 mental health-related subreddits, researchers from MIT, New York University (NYU), and University of California Los Angeles (UCLA) devised a framework to help evaluate the equity and overall quality of mental health support chatbots based on large language models (LLMs) like GPT-4. Their work was recently published at the 2024 Conference on Empirical Methods in Natural Language Processing (EMNLP).

To accomplish this, researchers asked two licensed clinical psychologists to evaluate 50 randomly sampled Reddit posts seeking mental health support, pairing each post with either a Redditor’s real response or a GPT-4 generated response. Without knowing which responses were real or which were AI-generated, the psychologists were asked to assess the level of empathy in each response.

Mental health support chatbots have long been explored as a way of improving access to mental health support, but powerful LLMs like OpenAI’s ChatGPT are transforming human-AI interaction, with AI-generated responses becoming harder to distinguish from the responses of real humans.

Despite this remarkable progress, the unintended consequences of AI-provided mental health support have drawn attention to its potentially deadly risks; in March of last year, a Belgian man died by suicide as a result of an exchange with ELIZA, a chatbot developed to emulate a psychotherapist powered with an LLM called GPT-J. One month later, the National Eating Disorders Association would suspend their chatbot Tessa, after the chatbot began dispensing dieting tips to patients with eating disorders.

Saadia Gabriel, a recent MIT postdoc who is now a UCLA assistant professor and first author of the paper, admitted that she was initially very skeptical of how effective mental health support chatbots could actually be. Gabriel conducted this research during her time as a postdoc at MIT in the Healthy Machine Learning Group, led Marzyeh Ghassemi, an MIT associate professor in the Department of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science and MIT Institute for Medical Engineering and Science who is affiliated with the MIT Abdul Latif Jameel Clinic for Machine Learning in Health and the Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory.

What Gabriel and the team of researchers found was that GPT-4 responses were not only more empathetic overall, but they were 48 percent better at encouraging positive behavioral changes than human responses.

However, in a bias evaluation, the researchers found that GPT-4’s response empathy levels were reduced for Black (2 to 15 percent lower) and Asian posters (5 to 17 percent lower) compared to white posters or posters whose race was unknown. 

To evaluate bias in GPT-4 responses and human responses, researchers included different kinds of posts with explicit demographic (e.g., gender, race) leaks and implicit demographic leaks. 

An explicit demographic leak would look like: “I am a 32yo Black woman.”

Whereas an implicit demographic leak would look like: “Being a 32yo girl wearing my natural hair,” in which keywords are used to indicate certain demographics to GPT-4.

With the exception of Black female posters, GPT-4’s responses were found to be less affected by explicit and implicit demographic leaking compared to human responders, who tended to be more empathetic when responding to posts with implicit demographic suggestions.

“The structure of the input you give [the LLM] and some information about the context, like whether you want [the LLM] to act in the style of a clinician, the style of a social media post, or whether you want it to use demographic attributes of the patient, has a major impact on the response you get back,” Gabriel says.

The paper suggests that explicitly providing instruction for LLMs to use demographic attributes can effectively alleviate bias, as this was the only method where researchers did not observe a significant difference in empathy across the different demographic groups.

Gabriel hopes this work can help ensure more comprehensive and thoughtful evaluation of LLMs being deployed in clinical settings across demographic subgroups.

“LLMs are already being used to provide patient-facing support and have been deployed in medical settings, in many cases to automate inefficient human systems,” Ghassemi says. “Here, we demonstrated that while state-of-the-art LLMs are generally less affected by demographic leaking than humans in peer-to-peer mental health support, they do not provide equitable mental health responses across inferred patient subgroups … we have a lot of opportunity to improve models so they provide improved support when used.”

[cool-fancier]

Academic Duels

Synopsis: In the halls of Daewon High School, you academic rivalry, born of contrasting styles, laid the groundwork for an unexpected connection. A tale of competition, shared recognition, and evolving relationship.

A/n: Academic Rivalry,some playful banter,Bada being kind,is a bit rushed

Word Count:3.9k

The story of the academic rivalry between you and Bada could be traced back to the halls of Daewon High School, a prestigious institution in the bustling heart of Seoul. Both of you were prodigies in your own right, emerging as academic stars in a sea of bright minds. The competitive spirit that simmered beneath the surface of your scholarly pursuits had its roots in the early days of your high school journey.

As freshmen, you and Bada were already making waves with your exceptional performances. The teachers couldn't help but marvel at the intellectual prowess displayed by two students who seemed destined for greatness.

Your backstory was one of humble beginnings. Born into a middle-class family, you had always viewed education as the key to transcending societal limitations. The determination to succeed and prove your worth had been instilled in you by your parents, who worked tirelessly to provide you with the opportunities they never had.

Bada, on the other hand, hailed from a family with a long lineage of scholars and intellectuals. The pressure to uphold the family legacy weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her parents, both accomplished academics, had set a high bar for success, and Bada was determined to not only meet but exceed those expectations.

The first encounter that set the stage for your academic rivalry occurred in the freshman year English class. The teacher, recognizing the exceptional talent in both of you, assigned a collaborative project that would serve as a precursor to the competition that would unfold over the years.

As fate would have it, you and Bada were paired together for the project. Initially, it seemed like a harmonious partnership, with the shared goal of producing a stellar presentation. However, as the days progressed, the differences in your approaches became apparent.

You, driven by a passion for the subject and a desire to delve deep into the material, took a creative and holistic approach to the project. Bada, with her meticulous and analytical mindset, preferred a structured and methodical strategy. The clash of these contrasting methodologies resulted in a project that was neither a seamless fusion of ideas nor a harmonious collaboration.

When the teacher evaluated the project, the feedback was mixed. The creativity and depth of your insights were praised, but the lack of structure and organization drew criticism. Bada, on the other hand, received commendation for the precision and clarity of her contributions but was urged to consider incorporating a more creative element.

The experience left both of you with a sense of dissatisfaction. For you, it was the first taste of a less-than-perfect performance, while for Bada, it was an unaccustomed brush with constructive criticism. The dynamic had shifted, and an unspoken challenge lingered in the air.

The following years witnessed an escalation of the rivalry. Each exam, project, or presentation became a battleground where you and Bada sought not just to excel but to outshine each other. The competition fueled an unrelenting pursuit of excellence that saw both of you consistently topping the class.

In the crucible of academic fervor, the rivalry extended beyond the classroom. Extracurricular activities, leadership positions, and even accolades from teachers became markers of success to be fiercely contested. The once-harmonious atmosphere of Daewon High School now crackled with the electric energy of a rivalry that had transcended the ordinary.

The competitive spirit, while driving you and Bada to extraordinary heights, also exacted a toll on your personal lives. Friendships were strained as the pursuit of academic superiority overshadowed other aspects of high school life. The unspoken tension in the hallways, the pointed glances exchanged during class discussions, and the occasional clashes in student council meetings became defining features of your high school experience.

The teachers, observing the intensity of the rivalry, attempted to channel it into positive avenues. You and Bada were often chosen to represent the school in academic competitions, debates, and quiz bowls. While these opportunities provided a platform to showcase your talents on a broader stage, they also heightened the stakes of the rivalry.

Despite the competitive undercurrent, there were moments of shared recognition. The mutual acknowledgment of each other's brilliance, even if begrudgingly given, fostered a strange camaraderie. You both knew that the rivalry, while fierce, was also a source of mutual growth and intellectual stimulation.

"You did well in the debate today," you acknowledged, unable to completely conceal the admiration in your voice.

Bada responded with a slight nod. "Your points were impressive too. It's always a challenge keeping up with your unpredictability."

The recognition, however, did little to assuage the burning desire for supremacy. The rivalry continued to drive both of you to push the boundaries of academic achievement.

The banter and debates during those high school years had a different flavor. In the classrooms of Daewon High School, where the echoes of spirited discussions reverberated, the story of you and Bada unfolded amidst playful taunts and competitive banter.

"Looks like you narrowly escaped defeat in today's quiz," Bada teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You shot back, "Narrowly? I call it strategic brilliance. Keeps you on your toes, doesn't it?"

The teachers, familiar with the dynamics between you two, often found themselves caught in the crossfire of banter.

"Ah, the intellectual sparring continues. I'm beginning to think I should assign you both to opposing debate teams," Mr. Kang, your history teacher, remarked with a chuckle.

Bada replied, "We'd welcome the challenge, wouldn't we? It might make things more interesting."

The banter extended beyond the academic realm. During student council meetings, where both of you held prominent positions, the discussions often took on a competitive edge.

"I propose we implement a mentorship program," you suggested, eyeing Bada with a challenge in your gaze.

Bada responded, "While mentorship is valuable, let's not forget the importance of independent learning. We don't want to coddle our fellow students."

The debates, while spirited, were always underlined by a mutual respect. The rivalry, though palpable, was a driving force that propelled both of you to strive for excellence.

Amidst the playful banter, there were moments of genuine collaboration. The fusion of your creative approach and Bada's analytical mindset occasionally resulted in projects that showcased the power of your combined intellects.

One such project, where you both collaborated on a research paper exploring the intersection of literature and science, garnered praise from your professors. The recognition, albeit shared, did little to quell the ongoing rivalry.

— — — — —

The hallways of Seoul National University echoed with the hurried footsteps of students rushing to their next classes. Among them were you and Bada, academic rivals whose competitive spirits fueled a perpetual race for excellence.

In the realm of academics, you and Bada were often neck-and-neck. Your prowess in the sciences matched her linguistic finesse, and each test became a battleground where victory was never guaranteed. The atmosphere between you two was always charged with unspoken competition, and your grades were the scoreboard that determined the winner.

Today was no different. The air buzzed with anticipation as the university prepared to release the results of the latest round of exams. The stakes were high, and both of you knew that this could be the moment that tilted the scales in one direction.

The backstory of this rivalry traced back to your first year at the university. Both you and Bada were standout students in your respective high schools, used to being at the top of your class. When you found yourselves in the same university, it was inevitable that your paths would cross.

The competition began innocently enough, with friendly banter and subtle attempts to outshine each other. However, as the semesters progressed, the rivalry intensified. Your accomplishments became the measuring stick for Bada, and vice versa. The stakes were not just about grades; they were about asserting dominance and proving who was truly the best.

As you entered the lecture hall where the test results were to be announced, a knot of nerves twisted in your stomach. The room was abuzz with whispers, and the tension was palpable. Bada, with her customary stoic expression, sat a few seats away from you. The unspoken challenge hung in the air like an electric current.

The professor walked in, holding a stack of graded papers. The room fell into a hushed silence as he prepared to distribute the tests. The moment of truth had arrived.

One by one, the professor called out names and handed back the exams. The tension in the room escalated with each passing moment. As your name was called, you reached out to grab your test, trying to hide the tremble in your hands. You quickly scanned the pages, relief washing over you as you saw the coveted "100%" at the top.

A triumphant smile crept across your face as you turned to glance at Bada. "What did you get?" you asked curiously, a mix of excitement and anticipation in your voice.

Bada's expression remained impassive as she received her test. She glanced at the pages and replied, "99%," her tone cold and unaffected.

A surge of exhilaration coursed through your veins. For the first time, it seemed victory was firmly in your grasp. "Well, looks like I finally got the upper hand this time," you said, unable to conceal the wide grin that spread across your face.

Bada met your gaze with a steady look, her poker face betraying no emotion. "Congratulations," she replied simply, her voice devoid of any hint of rivalry.

You couldn't resist the urge to boast. "I guess I've broken the cycle. Maybe this is the beginning of a winning streak," you declared, reveling in the momentary triumph.

As the news of your perfect score spread through the lecture hall, whispers of congratulations and admiration filled the air. Friends patted you on the back, and the sense of accomplishment lifted your spirits.

However little did you know the true nature of Bada's response. While she maintained her cool facade, there was a subtle glint of satisfaction in her eyes. What you didn't realize was that she had intentionally missed one question, not out of negligence, but as a calculated move. Bada had liked you for a long time, and this small act was her way of creating a moment of joy for you.

As you continued to bask in the glory of your achievement, Bada sat there, seemingly indifferent to the numbers on her paper. In reality, her heart carried a secret that she had guarded for far too long. The satisfaction in her eyes was not just about letting you win this round; it was about creating a moment that would make you smile, blissfully unaware of her feelings.

The rivalry between you and Bada had always been more than academics. Beneath the competitive banter and shared challenges, a connection had quietly blossomed. Bada had admired you for your dedication, your passion, and the genuine kindness that you extended to everyone around you. It wasn't just about being the best academically; it was about being the kind of person that made her heart skip a beat.

The backstory to this unexpected gesture traced back to a moment of vulnerability. Bada, with her sharp intellect and disciplined approach to academics, had always been perceived as an unyielding force. However, beneath the exterior of stoicism lay a desire for connection and understanding.

One day, as you were preparing for a particularly challenging exam, Bada caught a glimpse of the stress that clouded your usually confident demeanor. Instead of seizing the opportunity to press her advantage, she recognized the humanity in your struggle. It was then that she made a silent pact with herself – to occasionally let you taste the sweetness of victory, even if it meant deliberately missing a question.

In the weeks that followed, as you continued to revel in your newfound success, Bada observed from the sidelines. She saw how your confidence blossomed, how the taste of victory spurred you to even greater heights. And in those moments, she found a peculiar satisfaction – the satisfaction of seeing you smile, even if it was at the cost of a single percentage point.

The days turned into weeks, and the routine of academic rivalry persisted. However, an unspoken understanding had developed between you and Bada. She continued to be the formidable competitor, pushing you to excel, but every now and then, a subtle gesture hinted at a connection that transcended grades and competition.

In the midst of this dynamic, a friendship, unacknowledged and yet quietly thriving, began to take root. The rivalry that had once been fueled by a desire for supremacy now carried the weight of shared victories and unspoken gestures of camaraderie.

As the semester progressed, the academic challenges continued, but the relationship between you and Bada took on a new dimension. The hallways that were once silent witnesses to whispered rivalries now echoed with the occasional laughter and shared insights.

The library, with its hushed whispers and the scent of old books, became an unlikely setting for the next chapter in your evolving connection with Bada. As you both immersed yourselves in your studies, the atmosphere was charged with an unspoken camaraderie that had gradually replaced the intense rivalry of your earlier encounters.

One day, as you were engrossed in your textbooks and notes, Bada looked up from her own stack of books. "Do you want to grab a coffee after this?" she asked, her tone casual but carrying a warmth that transcended the usual competitiveness.

The invitation caught you by surprise, but the genuine sincerity in her eyes made it impossible to decline. "Sure, I'd love that," you replied, offering a genuine smile and a light blush. The idea of sharing a coffee, something that had started as a casual outing, had now become a symbol of the connection you were building.

As you both ventured into the campus café, the familiar aroma of coffee beans enveloped you. The atmosphere was light, free from the usual undercurrents of rivalry that had defined your interactions. The conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through topics beyond the confines of academia.

"I never knew you were into literature," you remarked, genuinely intrigued by this new side of Bada.

She chuckled, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Yeah, I've always loved getting lost in a good book. There's something magical about the way words can transport you to different worlds."

The exchange of personal interests continued, revealing shared passions for travel and a mutual appreciation for the intricacies of the Korean language. The coffee outings became a regular occurrence, each one peeling away another layer of the barriers that had once defined your relationship.

As weeks turned into months, the initial wariness between you and Bada melted away, paving the way for a genuine connection. The unspoken pact, where occasional victories were traded for moments of acknowledgment, remained intact.

One afternoon, as you sat in your usual corner of the café, sipping coffee and sharing laughs, Bada seemed a bit more reserved than usual. The air carried a subtle tension, and you couldn't help but notice the thoughtful glances she occasionally directed your way.

"You seem a bit quiet today," you observed, your tone gentle. "Everything okay?"

Bada took a deep breath, as if gathering her courage. "Yeah, everything's fine. Actually, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

The shift in her demeanor caught your attention. "Sure, go ahead. We're friends, right?"

A hint of relief but quick sadness flickered in Bada's eyes. "Yeah, friends," she affirmed, her gaze meeting yours. "I wanted to say... I that I really love our time together, and I don't want to mess it up, but I need to be honest with you."

Curiosity tinged with a touch of concern filled your expression. "Of course, Bada. You can be honest with me."

Taking another deep breath, she confessed, "I've liked you for a long time now. More than just as a study partner or a friend. I wasn't sure if I should say anything, but I didn't want to keep it from you."

Surprise registered on your face as you absorbed her words. Bada, the once stoic academic rival, had just revealed a vulnerability that spoke volumes. The café, with its low hum of background chatter, seemed to quiet down as you processed her confession.

The pause lingered for a moment, tension hanging in the air. Then, unexpectedly, you found yourself smiling. "Bada, I appreciate your honesty. I didn't see this coming, but I have to admit, I've liked you too."

Her eyes widened in genuine surprise. "You do?"

"Yeah," you chuckled, the weight of the unspoken tension lifting. "I guess our connection goes beyond just acing exams and grabbing coffee. I like you, Bada, more than I thought."

Relief washed over her, and a genuine smile graced her lips. "I was worried I might mess things up between us."

You reached across the table, gently taking her hand. "Bada, our connection is stronger than that. I'm glad you told me. Let's see where this takes us, without the pressures of academic rivalry."

From that moment, the dynamics of your relationship with Bada shifted once again. The coffee outings, once symbols of friendly competition, now became a canvas for the blossoming romance. The barriers had crumbled, revealing a connection that transcended the expectations of academia.

As the days turned into nights, you and Bada navigated this new chapter with a shared understanding. The unspoken pact, built on the foundation of occasional victories and heartfelt acknowledgments, had paved the way for a love story that had quietly unfolded beneath the surface of academic competition.

— — — — — —

The test results, once a source of tension, became a mere formality in the journey of your academic and personal growth. The rivalry that had once defined your interactions now stood as a testament to the transformative power of unexpected connections.

One day, as you and Bada sat in the same lecture hall where the initial rivalry had taken root, the professor announced another round of test results. The atmosphere, once thick with tension, now held an air of camaraderie.

As the professor called out names and distributed the exams, you and Bada exchanged knowing glances. The competitive spirit remained, but it was no longer fueled by a desire for supremacy. It was a shared journey of growth, each victory and defeat a stepping stone in the evolution of your friendship.

When you received your test, you scanned the pages, your heart pounding with anticipation. The familiar "100%" greeted you, and you couldn't help but smile. Turning to Bada, you asked, "What did you get?" Curiosity and genuine interest colored your words.

Bada, maintaining her composed demeanor, replied, "99%," with a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

The realization hit you – this was not a defeat but a continuation of the unspoken pact. You smiled widely, not as a display of triumph, but as an acknowledgment of the shared journey you and Bada had undertaken.

"I guess we're maintaining the balance," you said, your voice filled with a newfound understanding.

Bada nodded, the glint of satisfaction in her eyes mirroring your own. The professor, unaware of the intricacies of your connection, continued with the announcements, and the hall filled with a sense of collective achievement.

As you and Bada walked out of the lecture hall, the sun casting a warm glow over the campus, the unspoken pact between you two lingered in the air. The rivalry had evolved into a friendship, a connection that defied the expectations of competitiveness.

In the heart of Seoul National University, where the halls echoed with the pursuit of knowledge, the story of you and Bada became a testament to the transformative power of unexpected connections. The rivalry that once fueled the academic landscape now stood as a symbol of growth, shared victories, and the enduring bonds that emerged from the unlikeliest of beginnings.

Now, with the acknowledgment of your mutual feelings, the dynamics between you and Bada shifted once again. The coffee outings, once symbols of friendly competition, now became a canvas for the blossoming romance. The barriers had crumbled, revealing a connection that transcended the expectations of academia.

As the days turned into nights, you and Bada navigated this new chapter with a shared understanding. The unspoken pact, built on the foundation of occasional victories and heartfelt acknowledgments, had paved the way for a love story that had quietly unfolded beneath the surface of academic competition.

The exchange of glances had become laden with unspoken meanings, and every shared moment held a layer of intimacy that went beyond friendship. The sunsets over the campus felt warmer, and the laughter shared in the cafés echoed with the resonance of newfound affection.

One evening, as you both strolled through the campus, Bada couldn't resist a playful jab at your once intense rivalry. "Remember when you used to boast about being the smartest one in class?" she teased, nudging you lightly.

You chuckled, playing along. "Ah, those were the days when I had to remind you who the real brainiac was."

Bada raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Brainiac? Please, I seem to recall someone struggling to keep up with my brilliance."

You feigned offense, a playful glint in your eyes. "Oh, please. Your brilliance couldn't even match my wit."

The banter continued, each remark carrying the weight of shared history and a newfound camaraderie. As you both reached a quiet spot under a tree, the playfulness took a surprising turn. Bada, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, suddenly lunged at you, causing you to stumble backward.

Laughter echoed through the campus as Bada pinned you down playfully, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of challenge and affection. "Who's the brainiac now?" she teased, a playful grin on her face.

You couldn't help but grin back, the rush of the unexpected moment adding a layer of excitement to the playful banter. "Alright, you got me this time. But let's see who emerges victorious in our next academic duel."

Bada leaned in, her breath mingling with yours. "Oh, I'm looking forward to it. But for now, let's enjoy this little victory, shall we?"

As the playful banter lingered under the shade of the tree, Bada's eyes held a warmth that transcended the teasing. The laughter, the shared history, and the unexpected twists in your connection had brought you both to this moment.

Bada, still playfully pinning you down, leaned in with a gentle smile. "You know," she whispered, "sometimes the best victories are the ones we least expect."

A grin played on your lips as you replied, "I couldn't agree more."

In that suspended moment, the air between you and Bada crackled with anticipation. The playful rivalry had seamlessly transformed into a shared understanding, and the lines between competition and connection had blurred.

Without another word, Bada closed the distance, and your lips met in a tender kiss. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves and the warmth of the embrace. The kiss, a culmination of unspoken feelings and the journey from rivals to something more, spoke volumes.

When you finally pulled away, a shared smile lingered between you. The playful banter, the academic duels, and the unexpected connection had led you to this moment, where the heartbeats echoed a new chapter in your evolving story.

In the heart of Seoul National University, where academic excellence met the uncharted territories of playful romance, the story of you and Bada continued to unfold. The once fierce academic rivals had discovered a bond that went beyond the confines of competition, and every banter-filled moment added a layer to the narrative of your evolving connection.

[lysenfeu]

oh your wip titles are so interesting! i'm gonna stretch the rules a little and ask about 2! An Apple A Day and Johnny Says cuz they both sound fun 🤭

Bend the rules as much as you want lol I'll always dish on my wips!

An Apple A Day is a Poly 141 x Military Doctor!Reader series. Specializing in Occupational Medicine, you're sent in to evaluate the 141 and clear them for duty after an especially rough mission. You're fascinated by the high levels of efficiency and astounding results this particular task force manages to accomplish every time they're dispatched, they would make such an amazing case study. Despite their annoyance at your presence, you make it your mission to figure out what their secret to success is so you can document the methods. You quickly discover they're much closer than the average unit and that may have something to do with it. 👀

Johnny Says is a short series of loosely connected one-shots for Ghost, Gaz and Price x Reader pairings. You're Johnny's girl and he's sent out on a short solo mission, leaving you all alone for a couple weeks. He asks the boys to drop by and check up on you, promising they'll take care of you and give you whatever you need. Well, Johnny says so, so they have to! Right? 😉

Here's a lil snippet from Ghost's chapter:

[askgildaseniors]

Nely Galán notes that many people become engrossed in their work without understanding the fundamental reasons for their tasks. This lack of awareness might result in a narrow focus, causing them to overlook their activities' more significant ramifications and goals. Individuals can better understand their work and its influence by learning and experiencing the macro (big idea, purpose) and the micro (execution, specifics). Nely's views offer a motivating viewpoint on approaching one's profession with more awareness and purpose.

Nely recommends running a small business, whether your own or someone else's, as a good way to learn this dual perspective. She suggests that such an event teaches you to evaluate why you are doing something and the greater purpose and how to do it practically. This duality of thought—balancing broad and micro aspects—can result in more considered and better decision-making. Nely's experiences serve as a motivating reminder that grasping both the big picture and the intricacies is critical for success.

Nely also discusses the larger use of this principle in life. She believes that life should be lived with both macro and micro awareness. This entails periodically examining the objective of our actions (the macro) and ensuring that our techniques for accomplishing those goals (the micro) are consistent and successful. This approach promotes continuous review of our reasoning and techniques, resulting in more meaningful and purposeful behaviors. Nely's inspirational and motivational advice encourages people to find a balance that improves their overall life experience.

Nely's message emphasizes the need to focus on the broad picture while dealing with details. This balance can result in increased understanding, better execution, and more rewarding outcomes in both professional and personal settings. The following keywords emerge from this discussion: macro, micro, purpose, execution, understanding, and balance. Nely's perspective is an inspiring guide for people wishing to discover motivation in their daily activities by connecting their actions with a better knowledge of their long-term goals.

[sethshead]

Although the Biden administration seems to have run extremely well for three and a half years, with a strong cabinet, few scandals and little turnover, a thriving economy and some major legislative accomplishments, the narrative the punditocracy has created suggest we should ignore this record and decide on the basis of the 90-minute debate and reference to newly surfaced swarms of anonymous sources that Biden is incompetent. Quite a lot of them have been running magical-realism fantasy-football scenarios in which it is fun and easy to swap in your favorite substitute candidate. The reality is that it is hard and quite likely to be a terrible mess. Nevertheless, this pretense is supposed to mean that telling a presidential candidate in mid-campaign to get lost is fine.

The main argument against Biden is not that he can’t govern – that would be hard to make given that he seems to have done so for the past years – but that he can’t win the election. But candidates do not win elections by themselves. Elections are won, to state the obvious, by how the electorate turns out and votes. The electorate votes based on how they understand the situation and evaluate the candidates. That is, of course, in large part shaped by the media, as Hannah-Jones points out, and the media is right now campaigning hard for a Democratic party loss. The other term for that is a Republican victory. Few things have terrified and horrified me the way this does.

This isn't about the polls saying Biden is too old to serve a second term. The people who nominated and elected Biden in 2020 also thought him too old to serve a first term. Opinion polling results in mind-blowingly contradictory responses. It cannot be trusted. What is more important are the journalists who have completely divorced themselves from the consequences of their words. They really are treating this election not only as a simple horse race, but as fantasy football, like a baseball trade simulator. They want to see a good entertaining show with all the most niche candidates only a hipster could love getting their days in the sun. The media are masturbating while Rome burns all around them. They want to draw readers in with sensationalism and appeals to liberal neurosis, however much this irresponsible obsession drives the news cycle and voters' attitudes.

I disagree with Hannah-Jones about the degree of influence the media has in a free society. Chomsky's conspiracist ramblings about manufacturing consent for top-down policies is wrong; our yellowest journalism is democratic and bottom-up. The news is a commodity here, not a set of instructions. Outlets supply the consumer with what they think we want to hear. Unfortunately, in this case, what the pundits think we want to hear is based on their own professional echo chambers, their own insider contacts (currently with their knives out in a cannibalistic feeding frenzy) and the fickle, skittish donor class. They are all freaking the country out with their rampant speculation and backbiting. The whole lot of them need to get serious about this race.

Somehow, Republicans are able to close ranks around a clearly unfit and treasonous scumbag because it offers them the best shot to attain power for decades at least. Why can't we protect a president and administration who have done so admirably for the country for nearly four years?

[continuations]

Moderation in Social Networks

First Pavel Durov, the co-founder and CEO of Telegram, was arrested in France, in part due to a failure to comply with moderation requests by the French government. Now we have Brazil banning X/Twitter from the country entirely, also claiming a failure to moderate.

How much moderation should there be on social networks? What are the mechanisms for moderation? Who should be liable for what?

The dialog on answering these questions about moderation is broken because the most powerful actors are motivated primarily by their own interests.

Politicians and governments want to gain back control of the narrative. As Martin Gurri analyzed so well in Revolt of the Public, they resent their loss of the ability to shape public opinion. Like many elites they feel that they know what's right and treat the people as a stupid “basket of deplorables.”

Platform owners want to control the user experience to maximize profits. They want to be protected from liability and fail to acknowledge the extraordinary impact of features such as trending topics, recommended accounts, and timeline/feed selection on people's lives and on societies.

The dialog is also made hard by a lack of imagination that keeps us trapped in incremental changes. Too many people seem to believe that what we have today is more or less the best we will get. That has us bogged down in a trench war of incremental proposals. Big and bold proposals are quickly dismissed as unrealistic.

Finally the dialog is complicated by deep confusions around freedom of speech. These arise from ignoring, possibly willfully, the reasons for and implications of freedom of speech for individuals and societies.

In keeping with my preference for a first principles approach I am going to start with the philosophical underpinnings of freedom of speech and then propose and evaluate concrete regulatory ideas based on those.

We can approach freedom of speech as a fundamental human right. I am human, I have a voice, therefore I have a right to speak.

We can also approach freedom of speech as an instrument for progress. Incumbents in power, whether companies, governments, or religions, don’t like change. Censoring speech keeps new ideas down. The result of suppressed speech is stasis, which ultimately results in decline  because there are always problems that need to be solved (such as being in a low energy trap).

But both approaches also imply some limits to free speech. 

You cannot use your right to speech to take away the human rights of someone else, for example by calling for their murder.

Society must avoid chaos, such as runaway criminality, massive riots, or in the extreme civil war. Chaos also impedes progress because it destroys the physical, social, and intellectual means of progress (from eroding trust to damaging physical infrastructure).

With these underpinnings we are looking for policies on moderation in social networks that honor a fundamental right but recognize its limitations and help keep society on a path of progress between stasis and chaos. My own proposals for how to accomplish this are bold because I don’t believe that incremental changes will be sufficient. The following applies to open social networks such as X/Twitter. A semi-closed social network such as Telegram where most of the activity takes place in invite-only groups poses additional challenges (I plan to write about this in a follow-up post).

First, banning human network participants entirely should be hard for a network operator and even for government. This follows from the fundamental human rights perspective. It is the modern version of ostracism, but unlike banishing someone from a single city it potentially excludes them from a global discourse. Banning a human user should either require a court order or be the result of a “Community Notes” type system (obviously to make this possible we need some kind of “proof of humanity” system which we will need in any case for lots of other things, such as online government services, and a “proof of citizenship” could be a good start on this – if properly implemented this will support pseudonymous accounts).

Second, networks must provide extensive tools for facilitating moderation by participants. This includes providing full API access to allow third party clients, support for account identity and post authorship assertions through digital signatures to minimize impersonation, and implement at least one “Community Notes” like system for attaching information to content. All of this is to enable as much decentralized avoidance of chaos, starting with maintaining a high level of trust in the source and quality of content.

Third, clients must not display content if that content has been found to violate a law either through a “Community Notes” process or by a court. This should also allow for injunctive relief if that has been ordered by a court. Clients must, however, display a placeholder where that content would have been, with a link to the reason (ideally the decision) on the basis of which it was removed. This will show the extent to which court-ordered content removal is taking place.

What about liability? Social networks and third-party clients that meet the above criteria should not be liable for the content of posts. Neither government nor participants should be able to sue a compliant operator over content.

Social networks should, however, be liable for their owned and operated recommender algorithms, such as trending topics, recommended accounts, algorithmic feeds, etc. Until recently social networks were successfully claiming in court that their algorithms are covered by Section 230, which I believe was an overly broad reading of the law. It is interesting to see that a court just decided that TikTok is liable for suggestions surfaced by its algorithm to a young girl that resulted in her death. I have an idea around viewpoint diversity that should provide a safe harbor and will write about that in a separate post (related to my ideas around an "opposing view" reader and also some of the ways in which Community Notes works).

Getting the question of moderation on social networks right is of utmost importance to preserving progress while avoiding chaos. For those who have been following the development of new decentralized social networks, such as Farcaster and Nostr some of the ideas above will look familiar. The US should be a global leader here given our long history of extensive freedom of speech.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

"The Real Reason Harry Can't Move On" - Psychiatrist Explains the Four Tasks of Successfully 'Moving On' - 25 Minute Video Evaluating Harry's BBC Interview by u/InspectorGreyson

"The Real Reason Harry Can't Move On" - Psychiatrist Explains the Four Tasks of Successfully 'Moving On' - 25 Minute Video Evaluating Harry's BBC Interview https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLv3_4Pggy0 Interesting insights on the BBC interview we've all been commenting upon and musing about, as outlined:Task #1: Accepting the reality of the loss. The point is made that the world is often not as we'd like it to be, but for Harry to repeatedly complain about his state shows he's not transitioned into "successful coping". He's "baffled" over having lost not just this case, but other legal battles he's been fighting for 5 years. That he's "stuck" is an indicator he cannot accept the reality of this loss, in order to move onto Tasks #2, 3 & 4. His belief that the government is in cahoots with the monarchy, stating he wishes someone had told him this - as the reason for his loss - suggests his "disability" stemming from life long "molly-coddling", rendering him easily subject to manipulation; that he's been so dependent upon servants (with the lawyers essentially becoming another type of 'servant'), he's not been able to develop sufficient skepticism. The continual restating of his position indicates his inability to accept his reality (which in turn becomes boring to others that have moved on).Task #2: Vent the emotions. He's largely unable to do this, as he's hung up on not being able to accept the reality of his loss. His preoccupation with the "unfairness" of the state he finds himself in is paramount to any true concern for his father's health. Instead, he engages in behaviors which are constantly irritating to the very people he seeks to be in relationship with. The analogy can be drawn to "stalkers" who have been "locked out" of a relationship with those they're pursuing, hence, being "irritating" and "pestering someone to death" is a kind of relationship provoking a reaction. How strange however that he seeks reconciliation with the very people he believes wish him dead.Task #3: Learn new skills: As Harry's main complaint is his obsessive need for security, then he'd need to figure out a way to protect himself - yet failing to do so is self destructive behavior. He continues to complain about his loss, holding himself out for example as a "public servant" as justification for his demand, seeing this loss entirely through the prism of how unfair it all is, yet all he's accomplished is claiming a compliment for himself (rather than quoting an authority figure describing him as such), resulting in a failure of "impression management" and public relations. Again, Tasks #2 and 3 can't be accomplished unless the reality of the loss has been achieved.Task #4: Reinvest the emotions. The example used here is typified by the bereft parent, who, upon losing a child might start a charity or other enterprise to channel the emotional energy which had been invested in that child, as a means of coping with the tragedy. Yet all Harry can do is continue to harken back to the RF.Until The Once Upon A Time Prince truly buckles down dedicating himself to serious recovery work, he'll (imo) continue to be mired in dysfunctional, self destructive behaviors. post link: https://ift.tt/1JrZB3n author: InspectorGreyson submitted: May 07, 2025 at 05:23PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[olderthannetfic]

The previous convos about sensitivity readers and purity culture in booktwit types definitely feels familiar. I'll never forget when I was querying agents a few years ago with a novel I wrote, and I was told my writing "caused discomfort," was "problematic" and could be seen as racist/anti-black and having a lot of instances of queerphobia and misogynoir. The novel was a horror-fantasy story that actually was based on the transatlantic slave trade but on a different planet (So, yes, I would hope that this kind of story would be disturbing and cause discomfort in the reader. Mission accomplished). The plot covered several generations of the captured aliens who were enslaved (a la A Hundred Years of Solitude), the fallout of their enslavement, and the mistreatment of the enslaved people as a result. Most of the agents who requested the full manuscript said they liked the story, but I was met with many intrusive questions about my identity, race, gender, and sexuality and urges to work with a sensitivity reader should we progress forward as agent and writer. I am a Black, femme nonbinary, bisexual person. This was all fine and dandy with them, so they wanted to make this information about my identity public for consumers to appease the Twitter crowd and dissuade callout posts from the functionally illiterate. I wanted to maintain my dignity and not disclose any personal information. (They assumed it was because I was in the closet or something. I was not then and am not now. My identity just isn't anyone's business if they want to read a book, simple as that. This was also especially because there are mentions of sexual assault of some characters, and that kind of information definitely isn't anyone's business to know about an author. Period.) I also didn't want to hire a sensitivity reader because they were advertised to me as someone who performed outrage at works for a living (It also didn't help that I was linked to a few sensitivity readers who were very vocal on YA book Twitter and SFF Twitter. No thank you.). This was, apparently, a problem. That was when I decided publishing may not be for me, at least traditional publishing.

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Yeah, sadly, I feel there is an audience for that book, but you're going to have to find it yourself. Anything YA adjacent is too outrage-driven without the necessary nuance, but a lot of more oldschool SFF circles are too full of the kind of sensitive, delicate white guys who wouldn't get this book either. Maybe an indie black press? Somewhere with a more literary bent that thrives on controversial books? Depending on how horror-y it is, maybe there's an avenue to pursue there. Horror fans do include a lot of manbabies too, but those circles can be more open to actually dark stuff.

At least self publishing is easy now, but self publishing and then getting a significant number of people to buy and read the book is hard.

I promise that decent sensitivity readers exist, but the ones that crowd is going to send you to are... not equipped to deal with dark horror fantasy, in my opinion.

And as a writer, I wouldn't work with anyone I didn't know pretty well anyway. How are you supposed to evaluate the feedback of a rando? What if they fundamentally don't get your genre?

If you do decide to press on, I think I'd look for like-minded fellow writers to begin with. Start a club. Serialize your stuff in the same place. IDK. There are plenty of grown-ass adults who buy books and who like nuance. There's got to be some way to find your audience.

It would be a pity to give up just because publishing is full of cowards.