#high net work individuals

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How the kleptocrats and oligarchs hunt civil society groups to the ends of the Earth

It's a great time to be an oligarch! If you have accumulated a great fortune and wish to put whatever great crime lies behind it behind you, there is an army of fixers, lickspittles, thugs, reputation-launderers, procurers, henchmen, and other enablers who have turnkey solutions for laundering your reputation and keeping the unwashed from building a guillotine outside the gates of your compound.

The field of International Relations has studied the enemies of the Klept in detail: the Transnational Activist Network is a well-documented phenomenon. But far more poorly understood is the Transnational Uncivil Society Network, who will polish any turd of sufficient wealth to a high, professional gloss.

These TUSNs are the subject of a new, timely scholarly paper by Alexander Cooley, John Heathershaw and Ricard Soares de Oliveira: "Transnational Uncivil Society Networks: kleptocracy’s global fightback against liberal activism," published in last month's European Journal of International Relations:

https://ora.ox.ac.uk/objects/uuid:5e5a3052-c693-4991-a7cc-bc2b47134467/download_file?file_format=application%2Fpdf&safe_filename=Cooley_et_al_2023_transnational_uncivil_society.pdf&type_of_work=Journal+article

The authors document how a collection of institutions – some coercive, others organized around good works – allow kleptocrats to take power, keep power, and use power. This includes "wealth managers, company providers, accounting firms, and international bankers" who create the complex financial structures that obscure the klept's wealth. It also includes "second citizenship managers and lawyers" that facilitate the klept's transnational nature, both to provide access to un-looted, prosperous places to visit, and boltholes to escape to in the face of coup or reform. It includes the real-estate brokers and other asset facilitators, who turn whole precincts of the world's greatest cities into empty safe-deposit boxes in the sky, while ensuring that footlose criminal elites always have a penthouse to perch in when they take a break from the desiccated husks they've drained dry back home.

Of course, it also includes the PR managers and philanthropic ventures that allow the klept to launder their reputation, to make themselves synonymous with good deeds rather than mass murder. Think here of how the Sacklers used charity to turn their family name into a synonym for culture and fine art, rather than death by opioid overdose:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

Beyond providing comfort to "Politically Exposed Persons" and "High Net-Worth Individuals," TUSNs are concerned with neutralizing TANs. Activists in these transnational networks play an inside-outside game: in-country activists will recruit peers abroad to bring attention to the crimes of their local kleptocrats. These overseas partners target the klept in the places they go to play and spend, spoiling their fun – and if they succeed in getting corrupt leaders censured abroad, then in-country activists can leverage that bad press to fight the klept at home.

To fight this "Boomerang Effect," TUSNs seek to burnish corrupt officials' reputations abroad, getting their names on humanitarian prizes, beloved sports teams, cultural institutions and great universities. They seek to capture international governance institutions that might wrong-foot kleptocrats, co-opting them to enable and even celebrate looters.

When it comes to elite philanthropy, TUSNs are necessarily selective. Kleptocrats' foundations don't fund anti-kleptocratic groups – they stick to "education, public health, the environment and the arts." These domains steer clear of human rights questions that might implicate their benefactors. Russian oligarchs love children's charities and disability rights – provided they don't target the Russian state.

If charitable giving is reputation laundering's carrot, then "reputation management" is the laundry's stick. Think of organized copyfraudsters who clone websites that have criticized their clients, then backdate the articles, then accuse the originals of infringing copyright in order to get them de-listed from Google or taken offline altogether:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#dark-ops

Reputation managers also spend a lot of time in court. In the UK – the world's leader in libel tourism, thanks to a legal system designed to let posh monsters sue muckraking journalists into silence – Russian oligarchs have perfected the art of forcing their critics to shut up and go away:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/04/londongrad/#enablers

Indeed, London is a one-stop shop for the global klept, a place were forelock-tugging Renfields will buy you a Mayfair mansion under cover of a numbered company, sue your critics into silence, funnel your money into an anonymous Channel Islands account:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/07/the-klept/#pep

They'll sell you whole galleriesworth of "fine art" that you can have relocated to a climate-controlled container in a Swiss or Irish freeport:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/14/poesy-the-monster-slayer/#moneylab

They'll give your thick-as-pigshit progeny a PhD and never check to see whether he wrote his thesis himself:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LSE%E2%80%93Gaddafi_affair

Then they'll hook you up with a cyber-arms dealer to hunt your enemies by capturing their devices:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/27/gas-on-the-fire/#a-safe-place-for-dangerous-ideas

But don't let Brexit stop you from shopping for bargains on the continent. The Golden Passports of the EU – available in a variety of flavors, from Maltese to Cypriot to Portuguese – offer the discerning failson access to the luxury good shops and fleshpots of 27 advanced economies, making it a favorite of the Khmer Riche – the junior klept of Cambodia's ruling faction:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/cambodia-hunsen-wealth/

But golden passports are for amateurs. Skilled klepts travel on diplomatic passports, which offer the twin benefits of free movement and consequence-free criminality, thanks to diplomatic immunity. The former Kazakh dictator's son-in-law enjoyed a freewheeling diplomatic life in Vienna; one daughters of the dictator of Tajikistan had a jolly time as an envoy to DC; another, to London (where else?).

All this globetrotting serves a second purpose: when rival elites seize power back home and force the old guard into exile, those ex-monsters can show up in the lands they called their second homes and apply for asylum. It turns out that even bomb-the-boats UK will welcome any asylum seeker who enters via the private jet terminal at City Airport (to be fair, these "refugees" have extensive properties in Zone 1 and country places in the Home Counties, so they won't need housing).

This stuff works. After Kazakh state goons murdered at least 14 protesters at a Zhanaozen oil facility in 2011, human rights groups around the world took up the cause. But they were effectively neutralized by TUSNs, with former UK PM Tony Blair writing on behalf of the Kazakh government to the EU condemning any kind of international investigation into the mass killings (add "former Prime Ministers" to the list of commodities for sale in the UK to sufficiently well-resourced murderer).

The authors close their paper with two case-studies. The first is of the daughters of Uzbek dictator Islam Karimov, Gulnara and Lola. And President Karimov was indeed a dictator: he trapped his population within his borders, forced them to use unconvertible scrip in place of money, and ordered the murder of hundreds of peaceful protesters, plunging the country into international isolation.

But while Uzbeks were sealed within their borders, Gulnara Karimov became an international player, running a complex network of businesses that mixed the products of the nation's oilfields with her family's fortune. She solicited – and received – bribes from Teliasonera, MTS and Vimpelcom, who were all vying for the contract to provide service in Uzbekistan. All told, she extracted more than $1b in bribes, laundering them through Latvia, Hong Kong and New York. She acquired real-estate in France and Switzerland, and her spree continued until her father collaborated with Uzbek security to seize her assets and place her under house-arrest.

Lola Karimova-Tillyaeva was Gulnara's estranged younger sister. She and her husband Timur Tillyaev ran the Dubai-based SecureTrade, which did extensive business with "opaque Scottish Limited Partnerships," laundering more than $127m in a single year to offshore accounts in the UAE and Switzerland. They acquired many luxe assets – a jet, a Californian villa, and an LA perfumier.

Lola styled herself as the face of the Karimovas abroad, a "philanthropist and cultural ambassador." She was a UNESCO ambassador and commissioned works of monumental art – and also sued the shit out of news outlets that reported factual matters about her family repressive activity at home. She organized AIDS charities in the name of Uzbekistan ��� even as her father was imprisoning a writer for publishing a book explaining how to have safer sex.

The second case-study is on Isabel dos Santos, "Africa's richest woman," daughter of Angolan dictator Jose Eduardo dos Santos. Isabel's vast fortune stemmed from her personal capture of vast swathes of the third-largest economy in Africa: "telecommunications, banking, diamonds, real estate and cement, among many others." Isabel enjoyed seemingly limitless access to state credit and co-investment, and was given first crack at newly deregulated industries. Foreign firms that invested in Angola were required to "partner" with Isabel's businesses.

Isabel claimed to be a "self-made woman" – a claim credulously parroted by the western press, including the FT. She used her homegrown fortune to become a major player abroad, especially in Portugal, where she was represented by the leading Portuguese law-firm PLMJ. Her enablers are who's who of corruption-loving lickspittles: McKinsey, Ernst and Young, Boston Consulting Group, and the Spanish BigLaw firm Uri Menendez.

Isabel cultivated a public facade of philanthropic giving and public spirited activism, serving as head of the Angolan Red Cross. She attended Davos and spoke at the LSE (she was also invited to Oxford, but her invitation was subsequently rescinded). On social media, she dismissed critics of her wealth and corruption as "colonialists," decrying their "racism" and "prejudice."

Isabel dos Santos's corrupt sources of wealth were finally, irrefutably exposed through the Luanda Leaks, in which the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists mapped the network of "top banks, management consultants and legal firms that were central to dos Santos’s operations."

Both case studies shed light on the network of brilliant, driven enablers and procurers without whom the world's greatest monsters would falter. It's a rare window on a secretive world, one that is poorly understood even by its inhabitants. As Michael Mechanic wrote in Jackpot, his 2021 book on vast, intergenerational fortunes, the winners of the lucky orifice lottery often lack any real understanding of how The Money is structured, grown and protected:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#affluenza

This point was reiterated by Abigail Disney, in a brave piece on what it's like to grow up subject to the oversight of these millionaires who babysit the children of billionaires:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/19/dynastic-wealth/#caste

This is an important contribution to the literature. We naturally focus on the ultrawealthy individuals whose reputations and fortunes are the subject of so much attention, but without the TUSNs, they would be largely helpless.

Going to Burning Man? Catch me on Tuesday at 2:40pm on the Center Camp Stage for a talk about enshittification and how to reverse it; on Wednesday at noon, I'm hosting Dr Patrick Ball at Liminal Labs (6:15/F) for a talk on using statistics to prove high-level culpability in the recruitment of child soldiers.

On September 6 at 7pm, I'll be hosting Naomi Klein at the LA Public Library for the launch of Doppelganger.

On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/24/launderers-enforcers-bagmen/#procurers

Image: Sam Valadi (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/132084522@N05/17086570218/

CC BY 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

--

Colin (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palace_of_Westminster_from_the_dome_on_Methodist_Central_Hall_(cropped).jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[reasonsforhope]

"An endangered bird famous for its elaborate leaping courtship displays is being reared in a special facility where the animals are able to develop their wild instincts.

With less than 600 individuals left in the wilds of Cambodia, conservationists have shown that the Bengal florican can successfully grow up in semi-captivity, raising hope that a safe and stable population can be reintroduced to prevent further declines.

A large facility inside the 144 square miles of forest comprising Phnom Kulen National Park is the world’s first assurance colony of this florican’s Indo-Chinese subspecies. As the name implies, it’s native to Bangladesh and India, where it is also endangered.

Amid waist-high grass, soft mesh netting divides areas for these members of the bustard family to grow up in seclusion. Minimal visual contact with their keepers ensures that these birds have room to practice all the important skills they’ll need for wild living—like foraging, keeping a lookout for predators, but most importantly for a florican, how to find a mate.

All species of floricans look to dazzle prospective mates with a remarkable courtship display. Standing in high grass, they will leap between 6 and 9 feet off the ground whilst striking a heroic pose that involves tucking their legs up and leaning back.

Hardly flightless, their goal isn’t to take to the wing, but to stay airborne enough to attract the attention of a female, before falling back to the ground and disappearing among the grasses.

Unfortunately, these birds need grasslands to live in, but grasslands in their native range are rapidly being turned into agricultural land by a developing South Asian population.

Leaping into action

The Angkor Centre for Conservation of Biodiversity (ACCB) established the captive colony in 2019. Cambodia has a high degree of threatened biodiversity, with over 400 species listed as Endangered or Vulnerable on the IUCN Red List, and 56 considered Critically Endangered.

The Bengal florican is just one of 30 such species held at the ACCB for future protection. The florican has just one remaining wild population of fewer than 600 individuals among the Tonle Sap Floodplains.

Conservationists from the ACCB work mainly to educate community members, especially Buddhist communities and students, about the plight of these ground-nesting birds.

“By engaging with diverse groups, we hope to bridge the conservation gap across generations,” Christel Griffioen, ACCB’s Country Director, told the IUCN.

These connections with the community have proved vital to the ACCB’s work. During the florican breeding season, the ACCB is notified where and when a wild florican nest is located. Depending on the timing in the season and the placement of the nest, ACCB biologists may choose to leave the eggs alone, but if the conditions aren’t optimal for chick mortality, they will safeguard the eggs, hatch them in their facility, and rear the birds in captivity for eventual reintroduction into the wild.

So far, the 11 surviving birds hatched at ACCB from eggs laid in the wild, along with four wild-hatched birds that have been taken in for one reason or another, are living and developing well.

“A full-time team at ACCB is dedicated to hand-rearing newly hatched chicks until they’re old enough to feed alone. They’re then moved into a facility that mimics their habitat where they remain, with limited to no human contact, safely cocooned in taller grass and soft ceilings that allow the males to practice their mating display,” writes the IUCN, noting that Christel and her team are always trying to transfer what they know about these birds in the wild to their conditions at the facility.

The conservationists hope to form a captive breeding program to further stabilize the animal’s numbers."

-via World at Large, January 10, 2025

[mariacallous]

In 2024, wealth concentration rose to an all-time high. According to Forbes’ Billionaires List, not only are there more billionaires than ever—2,781—but those billionaires are also richer than ever, with an aggregate worth of $14.2 trillion. This is a trend that looks set to continue unabated. A recent report from the financial data company Altrata estimated that about 1.2 million individuals who are worth more than $5 million will pass on a collective wealth of almost $31 trillion over the next decade.

Discontentment and concern over the consequences of extreme wealth in our society is growing. Senator Bernie Sanders, for instance, stated that the “obscene level of income and wealth inequality in America is a profoundly moral issue.” In a joint op-ed for CNN in 2023, Democratic congresswoman Barbara Lee and Disney heiress Abigail Disney wrote that “extreme wealth inequality is a threat to our economy and democracy.” In 2024, when the board of Tesla put to vote a $56 billion pay package for Elon Musk, some major shareholders voted against it, declaring that such a compensation level was “absurd” and “ridiculous.”

In 2025, the fight against rising wealth inequality will be high on the political agenda. In July 2024, the G20—the world’s 20 biggest economies—agreed to work on a proposal by Brazil to introduce a new global “billionaire tax” that would levy a 2 percent tax on assets worth more than $1 billion. This would raise an estimated $250 billion a year. While this specific proposal was not endorsed in the Rio declaration, the G20 countries agreed that the super rich should be taxed more.

Progressive politicians won’t be the only ones trying to address this problem. In 2025, millionaires themselves will increasingly mobilize and put pressure on political leaders. One such movement is Patriotic Millionaires, a nonpartisan group of multimillionaires who are already publicly campaigning and privately lobbying the American Congress for a guaranteed living wage for all, a fair tax system, and the protection of equal representation. “Millionaires and large corporations—who have benefited most from our country’s assets—should pay a larger percentage of the tab for running the country,” reads their value statement. Members include Abigail Disney, former BlackRock executive Morris Pearl, legal scholar Lawrence Lessig, screenwriter Norman Lear, and investor Lawrence Benenson.

Another example is TaxMeNow, a lobby group founded in 2021 by young multimillionaires in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland which also advocates for higher wealth taxation. Its most famous member is the 32-year old Marlene Engelhorn, descendant of Friedrich Engelhorn, founder of German pharma giant BASF. She recently set up a council made up of 50 randomly selected Austrian citizens to decide what should happen to her €25 million inheritance. “I have inherited a fortune, and therefore power, without having done anything for it,” she said in a statement. “If politicians don’t do their job and redistribute, then I have to redistribute my wealth myself.”

Earlier this year, Patriotic Millionaires, TaxMeNow, Oxfam, and another activist group called Millionaires For Humanity formed a coalition called Proud to Pay More, and addressed a letter to global leaders during the annual gathering of the World Economic Forum in Davos. Signed by hundreds of high-net-worth individuals—including heiress Valerie Rockefeller, actor Simon Pegg, and filmmaker Richard Curtis—the letter stated: “We all know that ‘trickle down economics’ has not translated into reality. Instead it has given us stagnating wages, crumbling infrastructure, failing public services, and destabilized the very institution of democracy.” It concluded: “We ask you to take this necessary and inevitable step before it’s too late. Make your countries proud. Tax extreme wealth.” In 2025, thanks to the nascent movement of activist millionaires, these calls will grow even louder.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORD COUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Fluff, mentions of death, being hunted, vulgar language, price in a tunic (yes this is a warning by itself), awkwardness, nakedness, suggestive (?), implied age gap, etc.

A/N: I'm feral over this AU, ong. A million kisses to the Anon that brought this to my attention-btw this is definitely becoming a mini-series.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your family told you to never go beyond the deep waterways of the cove, never to brave the open sea. Times were changing. The Harpies, when they weren't as shrewd about their feathers getting wet, would fly down from their tall mountain spires and tell stories—ones about the hunting ships. 

They’d seen them, they said as your family listened on in horror from the rocks, dragging all manner of Merfolk up from the waters in large nets made of iron and hard steel. Spears that tore scales to take for profit. In other instances, the unlucky individuals were even sold to royalty to become showpieces in displays of high wealth and standing. 

But it wasn’t just Merfolk. It was all manner of mystical beast and being. Hunted. Sold. Humans, your parents had told you, were not friends. They were greedy and selfish; more than often cruel. 

And so they started to do the same unto them. Your family would lure them with their voices to the ends of the great ships that were brought close to your cove—watch as they hurled themselves from the sides into the grasp of the ruthless waves. They did it for you, they explained. To try and keep you safe. 

For years they did this until they were gone too. 

Suddenly the cove seemed more like a prison than a safe spot, and the Harpies no longer came to converse or tell news. Killed or taken you had no idea, but it was becoming fairly obvious that even interactions with your own people were impossible. Were you the only mermaid left? It was a good question to ask and one that you could never answer. All that you knew was that you had been alone for a very long time. 

That was, before you first laid eyes on the fisherman. 

You watch him now, yet again, from behind the sharp jutting body of the rocks; the water delicately bobs you up and down as your vibrant tail hangs limp in its otherworldly throes. Eyes softly wide and mouth parted in wonder. 

He’s walking along the deck of a small ship—not the large and intimidating ones of the other men that sail the seas—with a strong form. A hat on top of his head of brown hair and a well-trimmed beard of the same color made him look gruff in appearance. 

Your hands shift over the sharp black stone, and the nakedness of your top is covered by the long strands of your wet, uncut, hair. This man wore a plain white tunic and brown pants stuffed into large boots. Even as far as you were, you heard the soft whistled tune dancing in the shell of your ears. Delicate eyes watch, head slowly peeking out more and more. 

He was tending to the nets he had on the bow and as you studied him you were mystified. 

“Fascinating,” you whisper, unknown emotions swirling in you. 

His muscles strain, large and expansive shoulders lead down to a tapered waist; legs that you blink at before glancing at your tail under the rippling water. There’s a large grunt before the fisherman’s net is thrown in a beautiful arc, hitting the water with a slap and a spray of liquid as it begins to sink. Startled, you flinch back, gasping loudly.

With a racing heart, you quietly scold yourself for the childish reaction, flicking your tail in annoyance. Slowly but surely, your head peaks back out with water dripping down the flesh of your shoulders. 

But when you shift back into the open, you find a deep set of stormy blue eyes digging into your field of view. You freeze, seeing his lids go back in surprise and shock as your jaw slackens. A cold fear enters your veins at the new attention brought to you but you find yourself unable to look away. 

The Fisherman is the picture of utter stillness, just as you are, like twin mountains of ancient stone. Your nervousness only seems to grow as he doesn’t do anything—teachings and lessons about those who walk on two legs and sail in ships poking holes into your mind. 

Gawking and spying were one thing…but being seen meant death. You swallow stiffly and go tense, shifting to half-hide behind your rock. 

“Oh, no,” your mouth murmurs, self-hatred and fear lining the tone. “Oh, no, no, no.”

And yet the Fisherman had not moved, nor made any attempt to pull his sinking net back into his boat. Fish panic in the rope grave they’ve been ensnared in. His eyes….why are they so curiously locked on you?

You spare one last glance before shoving away from the rock and disappearing under the water with a violent splash; making off for the deep underwater caves that offer salvation. 

When you’re down there—in the darkness with only silent ripples of light to guide your eyes—you find it hard to stop thinking about the Fisherman and his strong jaw. His genuine awe at the sight of you. 

Had he not heard the stories of the Merfolk of this region? Or…or were you truly the last of your kind? 

The thought troubles you, and, riddled with anxiety, you go over to your store of shiny trinkets that you’d collected over the years; grabbing them in your hands and fiddling with them to try to put your mind at ease. The walls of the caves bare down on you and you hope you’d not just signed over your own death warrant. 

Maybe he’ll go away, you offer yourself, face tight and tail curled close, maybe he’ll be afraid and won’t come back. 

It was a pointless belief. They always come back—driven by greed or a righteous authority. Humans were cruel. 

But your brain goes back to stormy blue eyes like pebbles and softly parted lips. Orbs glinting with wonder and shock. No attempt to shout or grab for the large knife you’d seen strapped to his belt. 

A fisherman, you told yourself, who hesitated to go after the biggest fish of them all. 

You didn’t quite know if that made you more afraid or more intrigued. 

—

It was only after you’d spent three weeks in the underwater caves of the cove that you’d finally decided the coast was clear. You’d cautiously gone back through the winding seaweed and schools of marine life to hide in your little rock fort; afraid but brave. From under the waves in the calm of the water you’d scanned the surface for the shadows of a boat, anything to indicate that the man had returned. 

Nothing. 

Tension leaves your shoulders and you travel upwards, vibrant scales shimmering like jewels. You were quite close to the mainland, you would say, back to the shore to look out over the open entrance to your home. At the first sign of danger, the rocks would be your first point of shelter if you wished to remain hidden but continue to watch.

Ears popping as your head surfaces, you only look out with the water swaying below your eyes; nose and chin hidden. Sand from behind you shifts.

“Knew I’d seen something, then, eh?” Your heart lurches—brain flashing to hooks and nets; you shove yourself back under the water with a garbled gasp.

Fish around your form dash away as you frantically look back at the surface, your scales shining as the light hits them. Fingers tense in the water, you shift your body so that your form has its back to the floor of the cove and breathe quickly in your own mermadian way with shaking fins. 

On the very edge of the shore, you see the shadow of a sitting body in the sand. He hadn’t moved, this Fisherman. Was waiting as inanimate as an empty shell.

What had he said? You ask yourself, hair disturbed by the flow of the waves above your head. A gentle back and forth. After a moment of contemplation, the large muscle in your breast slows itself and a nervous curiosity grows.

Yet still, the shadow stays completely motionless beside the occasional itch and brush as facial hair. Waiting. 

Waiting to attack, your hand twitches in the water and you flutter your tail to take you closer to the open air, or waiting to see me?

Taking what you can describe as a deep breath, the top of your head once more breaks the top of the water; lashes dripping salty tear-drops as you blink away the sting. Every part of you is ready to disappear once more if things go south. 

And then you lock eyes once more. 

The Fisherman sits in the sand with his boots pushing up the granules—his right hand rests over his bent knee while the other keeps him up in a relaxed position from behind his back. You stare, the sun reflected in your eyes with a small glinting and hair in your vision. A foreign heat builds in your face when the man’s head tilts; tiny eyes narrowing as if he’d just proven a point to himself. 

Why doesn’t he seem surprised?

There’s a moment of a smirk that slashes his hidden lips but it’s gone in a fraction of a second. His mustache moves as he speaks and your face slightly bobs lower instinctually. The Fisherman doesn't seem hostile—he has a kind of stern comfort to him. 

Stubborn gruffness. And his accent only amplifies that fact.

 “Well, wasn’t expecting to find you here,” his chest rumbles with his words. You find you quite like the sound of it. Shells grinding against each other and pearls that clatter in palms. Your eyes widen with innocence. The Fisherman clears his throat, still watching carefully as the water sloshes over his boots. “Else I would have stayed clear when I still could.” 

Your hands tread water around you, tail flickering in small movements. 

The man's gaze darts down to stare as well as he could through the ripples. 

“Bloody Christ,” he murmurs to himself, returning your eyes once more, “thought you were all mostly extinct. Fuckin’ hell.”

“Extinct?” Your lips flinch, chin caressing the waves as brows pull up. The Fisherman blinks as if surprised to hear you speak. To be honest, you were half afraid you couldn’t either—how long had it been since you’d had a conversation above water? You spent most of your time passing comments to rare traveling Hippocampus and Sea Serpents.

Not that they could respond, of course.

By now your face had entirely left the water, that word startling you. Your chest tightens.

“What do you mean,” you ask the older man, this strange Fisherman who was shifting his weight in the sand, “extinct?” 

Dark brows furrow and his back slightly straightens itself. 

“You aren't exactly what I’d be calling common, Love. No one’s seen one of your kind in years.” Your face stills. 

“Years?” Head angling itself down, you stare at your reflection in growing fear. 

The Fisherman makes a move to stand, and you dart back swiftly. A pale hand is held in the air as if to sedate you.

“Easy, now.” It’s said softly, a grunt stuck at the beginning. A small moment passes before the man fully stands up, dressed similarly to when you’d seen him before. 

Top, pants, hat. There’s also a flash of metal around his neck, some piece of jewelry hidden on the chain under the layer of his thin, flowy, tunic. Hands go to cross over his chest in a display of muscle gained from a long time of hard work.

You nervously plead for an explanation, “B-but that…that doesn’t make any sense! I’m not the only one left!”

“No,” the Fisherman slowly states, taking off the hat from his head and delicately placing it on the ground. “No, you’re not the last.” 

His eyes dart along your visible body, trying to catch a glimpse of that tail that was in all stories about your kind. 

“Your name, Ma’am,” he asks, blue returning to your own sights, “what is it.”

“Well, what’s yours?” You counter, getting snappy in your anxiousness. “You come into my home and expect me to answer to you? And where’s your fishing boat anyways—unless a male Selkie has suddenly managed to brave the deep sea?” 

Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, but you had sworn the Fisherman had smiled at you; it was a swift slash of something that pulled his mustache back and wrinkled his face. An amused thing it was. A sort of tiny tease, in its own right.

Your heart beats steadily at the sight, eyes watching. 

“Well, I suppose you’re right, then.” He scratches at his beard with one hand, still studying you with a tilt of his head. As if weighing what he should tell you. There was an air of intrigue but that did nothing to hide the hesitance. “I docked my boat in the sea cave, thought it would do more harm than good to leave it in the open. If you’d seen it, you wouldn’t have shown, eh?” The Fisherman points and you look to the deep indent in the mountainside, the tiny ship visible as it stays stationary. You blink at it slowly. 

“And you can call me whatever it is you like, I don’t bloody care, but I’m not inclined to tell one of the Merfolk my name—I may have come ‘ere, but I’m not fuckin’ daft, now.”

It was true, what he spoke of. Names to your people have a stark and violent purpose. To know one's name is to own a piece of that person’s soul. Songs gain more power, words grow into orders followed without thought. Not that it was your intention.

You glower, brows pulling in. 

“A simple fisherman does well to know that it’s rude to speak ill like such in another’s home.” The man smirks, cheeks rising. 

“Simple, am I?” The already expansive build of his shoulders widens as he leans back on his heels, water sloshing at his boots. His eyes glimmer like lighting with humor. The look makes your cheeks burn with warmth, throat swallowing saliva.

“Why are you here?” You avoid the question, treading water and letting your tail drift. Willing the water to cool your senses. It was obvious that this man wasn’t a hunter—foolish, perhaps, but no hunter.

Or maybe just confidently brave. 

The Fisherman hums under his breath, grunting in the way you’d already come to associate with him. Rugged fellow, really. Weathered like a pile of old rope but still handsome, the sinews under the stain of dirt pure of color. You found yourself, however apprehensive, enjoying the squareness of his face; how the brunette’s hair would sweep in the warm breeze. 

He was attractive.

“Fishing, Ma’am.” A broad sweep of one of his hands, “You have a proper cove. Plenty of places to cast.” 

Your tight arms somewhat loosen. 

“Just fishing?” Your voice darkens. “Then why is it you’re here on shore and not doing just that.” Tail flickering, it lightly brings you back from him, eyes always darting away to stare into the background of his form—at the dark shadows of trees behind the dark rocks. At the open mouth of the cove in case of extra ships. 

If what he told you earlier was true, you were in danger just by living. 

Extinct? Not seen in years? No, that can’t be right. A deep knot forms in your stomach.

“I may be human, Ma’am, but I believe myself to be above intrusion.” The Fisherman splays his hands by his waist and shifts his thighs. He seems serious again, like a wave going forward and back he seemed to always revert to a crafted visage of firm resolve. “This is your home, and I’m asking to ferry my boat here when able. Nothing else.” 

You blink in surprise, brows pulling back. 

He was…asking you? 

“I…own the cove no more than the Manticore owns the desert,” your voice stutters, oddly touched by his sincerity. You pause and push yourself farther above a wave. This large man didn’t seem cruel to you. “I have no claim on the waters—they have been here longer than I. Do as you wish.” 

While that should have been the end of it, you found his blue eyes continuing to watch you, head tilted like a shaggy dog. Thinking deeply with a slight parting of his lips and rising to his lids. 

At the intensity of his silent wonder, your head goes light. Had you said something strange? No, it was just the truth. Then…why was this man’s face going to a modest pink shade? Why were his eyes darting away from yours and his feet shifting? 

You narrow at him before he speaks, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.

“Alright,” the Fisherman mutters, chest rumbling. 

A silence falls where your ears twitch to the lapping of the sea-foam and the feeling of blood in your veins which mirrors such movements. As you saw him do to you, your vision falls to the man’s body; looking across the tapering of his waist and the rolled sleeves of his tunic—showing off years of muscle 

“I don’t suppose…” Your tail flinches from the sudden noise from the brunette, expecting him to swim over to his boat and get to his business. You stare and listen, and for the first time, you believe a mermaid has been entranced by another's voice. “That I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again?”

The Fisherman speaks slowly, hands shifting on his biceps; thighs tense and settle. You allow the waves to connect and slide around your body and a feeling reminiscent of warm rocks in the sun grows in your heart. 

Strange, this man. This serious-faced Fisherman who asks one of the Merfolk for permission over the waters we don’t control. You tilt your head to teasingly mirror the brunettes. He humphs in his throat at your action. I enjoy him. 

At the first sign of danger you’d leave—but for now…talking felt good.

“Perhaps,” you say, lips twitching into a smile. “Would this nameless Fisherman enjoy the company of a mermaid? Not many would say yes.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not like those many, then, yeah?” He smiles, a small twitch of his lips. You begin backing up, getting to deeper water while maintaining eye contact. “I don’t care what you are, just that we have an agreement.”

“Very well,” your neck dips under the waves, tail momentarily peaking above the surface. Blue flickers to it, shoulders lowering in hidden awe. The Fisherman’s lungs still. 

He hears your giggle before you dive under, disappearing swiftly down to your caves with a splash. 

It’s a long while before the brunette picks up his hat and begins walking the length of the shore—strong steps taking him back to his ship with a tiny smile brightening his ruggedly handsome face. 

He runs a hand over his chin and chuckles.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

—

You perch on the side of the Fisherman’s boat, golden comb in your grip as you run it over and over through your locks. Tangles and knots are rendered useless to the fine and beautiful make of the object, the handle covered in small barnacles and seaweed. A nice breeze wafts in the air, and behind you, the padding of feet goes across the deck. With the sliding of nets and a small whistling from the Fisherman, you feel your tail gently sway from side to side; the bottom under the water whose waves rise and lower the vessel. 

It had been a week since your first meeting and you had become more relaxed about this man’s presence. He had been truthful—every day he would come and fish. 

At first, you’d watch from the black rocks, sitting atop them and studying. More than once you’d see the brunette raise a hand in greeting when his boat had entered the cove; an acknowledgment that you were there and nothing more. No expectation for you to come over or speak to him. 

Day after day you’d see the net being thrown from the side only to be reeled back by large arms, legs apart and firm to the deck. 

On day four, you swam over and grappled onto the side of the ship, curious. Before you could even realize he instantly knew you were there—despite his back being to you—the Fisherman spoke in a cheeky tone.

“Come up, then, if you’re that interested. No use watching from the water.” So you had, with a bit more fire to your cheeks than you thought mermaids could handle.

Now it was routine. The human man would pull into the cove and you would sit on the side of his fishing boat, doing whatever you wished as he worked. 

You pull your comb through the ends of your hair, placing it down after and closing your eyes before your hands grab the shiny strands, twisting them. Under your breath, you hum in tune with the Fisherman’s whistled song; the notes like a growing symphony in your head. 

Song to Merfolk is sacred and revered—everything sings, in its own right, and deserves careful crafting to fully understand. 

“You seem to enjoy that,” you startle to a stop, eyes popping open. Sharply looking over your shoulder, you pause your hands. Staring, the man has completely stopped his work; nets at his feet with slapping fish of all colors stuck in the rope’s limp weavings. 

He squints at your confused face.

“Rhythm.” 

“Oh,” you offer a smile and watch him look away only to kneel down and begin separating his quarry. “If you’re worried I’ll sing around you, think nothing of it—I know what that could cause.” 

The Fisherman hums, amused at you, “I’m not. I was complimenting you,” the knife at his belt glints in the light. “You have a pretty voice, Love.” 

You shyly watch him, hair partly covering your visage, and catch a glimpse once more at the necklace he seems to always wear. Silver and shiny but still hidden. 

“If you knew about my species, you wouldn’t be saying that.” Explaining lowly, the man grunts, sending a look your way as he tosses a Cod farther up the deck—you watch it flop around for a moment. 

“Well,” the Fisherman explains, hands pausing and body leaning closer as one of his knees connects to the wood. It’s a teasing whisper that slides into your drum, and you find yourself nearly shivering from it. Blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “I did. No worries, I’ll never tell.”

A deep chuckle joins a lighter one, and your tail shimmers in the open light; scales vibrant and rich-looking. From what the brunette can see on the deck—the smaller plates that extend all the way up your navel to stop at your belly button—you know he stares at them. 

Not a greedy, evil, stare…just one of hidden admiration. It was of no surprise to you that he found it beautifully uncanny.

You have no idea how to read this Fisherman; have no idea what he wants. You think he doesn’t want anything. On your face, a strange calm settles. 

“Tell me, Fisherman,” his gaze snaps from your scales to your face, momentarily stopping at the dip of your neck as you turn as fully to him as you’re able from your perch. Your hand rests at your side; spine twisted halfway. “Who are you? No, I don’t mean your name. I want your person. You don’t act afraid of me—of what I am.” He stays kneeling and lets the net rest for now, his heart beating steadily in his breast. “There is more to you than a human at sea, surely.” 

Your words are not accusatory, they lacked any sort of confrontation. Curiosity, though, like enclosed treasure, was stuck behind your tongue. He surprises you by standing and beginning to walk over, boots thumping. 

As he nears, he sits down with a huff on the edge, right next to you. 

There’s a moment when you both stare into each other's eyes as you feel the world shift. Blinking up at him, at the closer range you take into account the ancientness of his eyes and how it seemed, for such an alone man, it was making him look far older than he was. Still older than you, yes, but the sentiment still stands.

With his hat having been retired not five minutes earlier onto one of the many ship’s barren tops, you saw the streaks of sun-bleached strands in his brown hair. You unconsciously reach for your comb but stay your fingers as they flinch over the gold.

Storm-blue carefully glances away before coming back to you. 

“Not much to know, Love,” the Fisherman’s brow raises, “you understand?” 

“No,” you say, honestly, head tilting at him. He looks surprised, breath hitching. 

“It’s just…there’s not much to tell, Sweetheart.”

Humans are strange creatures.

Not knowing this word game, you take your hand away from the comb and bring it to his chest, slipping under the neck of his tunic to grasp at the necklace he always wears. A hand snaps to your wrist almost immediately—a startling speed that makes you flinch. 

Above your heads, seagulls squawk at you, but all you can gaze into are those pure blue orbs. They trap you, drag you down far faster than a whirlpool into the briny depths of hypnotic appeasement. 

Perhaps you were naive to the magical whims of males that walk on two feet.

The Fisherman’s jaw clenches, eyes tightly narrowed at you in hesitance and veiled threat. You blink at him softly, not doing anything besides twitching your fingers and widening your sight. Before long, his hold loosens but doesn’t leave, allowing you on whatever it was you were doing yet still touching your damp flesh.

Lips parting, you don’t make a fuss. Instead, you hum under your breath and allow his calluses to scrape you. The toughness becomes a stark contrast to your own make-up. 

Feels nice.  

Your digits peel out the article of jewelry and you shift closer to look; bare chest brushing against his. You can feel his pulse through the brunette’s tunic, the way his throat shifts in a tense swallow of nothing. 

The necklace held two pieces of small, round, silver and said the following. 

“Jonathan Price, Captain, 141st company under the King.”

As you read, your tail gradually begins brushing his leg in its swaying. Through it all, the large Fisherman only slants his chin down and watches, breathing half through his mouth and half through his nose. You hear his throat clear; feel his grip squeeze your wrist. 

It is a small and taken-aback kind of noise. He doesn’t move his hand.

You are happy he doesn’t. 

“You’re a…Captain?” Asking, you look up shocked and aren’t taken aback by how close your face was to his. Even if your cheeks begin to burn at the beard bristles itching your nose. 

“...Yes,” breathe puffs over the lower half of your face. Your fingers detangle from the Fisherman’s necklace and let it thump to his chest. “I was. Left.” 

Blinking, you whisper, steadily, “What’s a…Captain…?” 

A small sound is made in the back of his throat and he releases your wrist and pulls back before a loud bark of a laugh jerks his chest. You stare in innocent confusion, hair falling over your shoulders.

“What?” Gripping his mouth, Jonathan Price grounds himself by gripping his thigh as he chuckles.

“No, no,” he takes a deep breath and releases his face, smoothing down his beard quickly with amusement stuck in his smile. “Bloody hell, it’s nothing. Nothing at all, Love.”

He sends you a warm side glance and you huff, moving back and picking up your comb, getting back to brushing your locks again. You are acutely aware that you now know the Fisherman’s name, but refrain from saying anything until he does. Now you know why he reacted in such a way.

Your tail twitches in the water as fish brush past it and the brunette begins with a soft look. 

“I was in charge of a small group of men—we had a ship. Far larger than this old girl,” he pats the deck, and you slow your motion to show that you are listening, intrigued. “We did what was needed of us, but there was a thin line that needed to be drawn to keep every bastard sane.” 

Blue meets your eyes and the man’s expression darkens. Your fingers twitch as the breeze ravages his hair, chest tightening. 

“And yours?” You ask softly, entranced and open, “What was your line, Captain Price?” 

He hums after a small silence, sighing deeply. Along the hull of the boat, the waves rock the vessel gently side to side, and your mythical attention seems to entrap him far better than your voice could. His face loses that dark edge, well-trimmed beard relaxes as his jaw does. 

The past it seems, looms over him like a tsunami.

Reaching up a slow hand, his fingers brush the tendrils of hair that had slipped out of your hold and were dangling in front of your face; the Fisherman blinks and pushes them back behind your ear. By now your brush had long stopped and your breath was held in your chest. For the first time in your life, you think you feel yourself shiver at the delicate scrape of his skin on yours.

“John,” he mutters, and you suck down a shallow breath as he watches you like you were an idol of the Gods, “Just John.” 

Your smile leaves his fingers pressing deeper into your scalp and, perhaps a bit naively, you welcome him to you like a bird to the sky. You liked his gruffness—his beard and his face. The lines on his forehead that you could imagine tracing as if they belonged on a map instead of the squareness of this Fisherman’s profile. Tiny sockets that hold sapphire stones.

“Maybe I left because I couldn’t stand seeing such beautiful creatures being put to the hook, eh?” Your eyes widen, tiny gasp leaving your lips. 

Merfolk swooned with flattery, truth be told. They enjoy being doted on and praised; given gifts of both words and objects. You were no different. 

Oh…did he call me beautiful?

John smirks at your reaction, taking his hand off of you and standing with a low chuckle. Your tail flutters at the sudden absence, head following after him as he walks back to his net with a sway in his step. You blink in astonishment. 

“You’re a strange human, John,” calling to him, you grimace at the blatant disappointment in your bones at the lack of his skin on yours. At his humored hum, you sense your growing attraction to the grind of his vocal cords. His voice. “I don’t know what to think of you.”

“Then think nothing of me,” he explains easily, casually, re-gathering his nets in his toned arms. You try not to let your jaw slacken at the bulge under his tunic when he carries them. “I’m not offended by it, Love.” A sly look, “Do as you wish.” 

Your tail twitches so violently you’re afraid you might break the side of the ship. 

And so this strange dance between the two of you continued well into the longer months—John would come in his ship nearly every day and you would join him on the side of the deck. Sometimes you would hum for him and he would whistle a tune back, others there were long bouts of conversation about the ways of humans and beasts. John told you that the King had ordered the total extinction of all manner of ‘strange and unordinary’ creatures to secure his line safely to the throne. 

When he had explained it, the mad had gone red with anger.

“Fuckin’ muppet,” he’d spit, fiddling with his knife as you watched a small distance away, playing with his silver necklace in your hands. You twiddled it around and liked how it shimmered like your scales did in the light. “Bloody thought I would just go along with the deaths of innocent beings. He had no facts—no proof to back up his claim. I’ve done things. Horrible things,” John explained to you, sending you a stiff look, “but I’ve not forsaken my damn mind to reality. Takin’ the piss.” 

Muttering the last sentence to himself, you had felt your lips curve into a smile. “You have a proper conscience, John, done bad or not.” 

“Yeah, well, Sweetheart, I’ll be done in soon enough.” You only stared with care-drowned eyes and caressed his necklace. When he had seen this, his body had deflated with an exasperated grunt. 

You shared a chuckle and he got back to work; feeling his melting gaze drawn back to you every so often. 

Later, yet again, you found your form on his boat, this time with his hands across the small of your back as you studied the blade of his knife.

“Careful, now. Don’t run your finger along the edge.” His free grip points to the sharp side—breath fanning your ear. You feel your throat tighten and nod, caressing a thumb on the leather handle. 

John’s hand is hard on your bare skin and you sense his heat drilling past your veins into the very marrow of your bones. You unconsciously sigh when his fingers slide slightly higher, traveling the length of your spine; his scars catching on every knob of bone. Your exploration stills and your pupils widen. 

His breath is on your neck, nose tilting as his jaw does just above the meat of your shoulder. 

“Why’d you stop?” You stare off into the metal, lashes fluttering when his fingers finally curve at the swell of your neck. Lips drag on your flesh before a deep grumble of affection stems from John’s chest as he kisses your rapid pulse. “Distracted? Hm.” 

“It’s,” you breathe out, scales reflecting light as your lower body shifts on the wood. His opposite hand circles your waist, drawing your back to his chest. Skin burns and thoughts go to liquid as you feel his roving muscle. “It’s g-good. Pretty—” 

Words fail you as his lips continue to slowly travel.

“Could say the same,” John grunts; beard scraping down your flesh. 

Your eyes flutter, head tilting to give more room at the same time you whisper out, violently shivering at the compliment, “John…” 

“What is it?” The grip moves to run over your scales, right where your upper hips would be; the sensation of him caressing you with gentle, deep, rubs of his thumb was all it took for you to give in completely to him. “Go on, Love, speak.” 

You take a breath and feel his heart beating steady along your back—the texture of his tunic. “What…are you doing?” 

John moves your hair and places open-mouthed kisses on the back of your neck. He breathes in your scent and you turn your light head to stare unabashedly at his flushed face. Your tail sways, limp, over the side of the boat. 

Blown pupils hide that sea-storm blue like a lock and key to dangerous thoughts and attraction. 

In answer, his eyes flicker down to your lips hungrily and your gaze widens; a small sound in the base of your throat. 

“You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” He says and you let him lean in closer to your face, eyes threatening to close when you take in the musk of human flesh and sweat. Rope and wood oil. John’s words make you shiver again, hairs standing on end—responding to that deep growl with a roaring in your ears. 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. Shouldn’t be enjoying his lips or his tight grip; his…his rough, large, hands that encapsulate your body and drown you. It terrifies you, this heart-stopping magnetism. You can’t get enough of him.

John presses his firm lips to yours, groaning into the connection as you sigh and part your mouth. Fingers shaking, you twist and place your hands on his chest, gasping mutely as his teeth nip into your lower lip and pull back before pushing back forward. Sparks of subdued pain mix with pleasurable agony at the scrape of his beard hair.

 “Every inch of you…” John’s grip captures you closer, hands ensnaring you against his chest like deeply intertwined strands of fabric, squeezing as he licks his upper lip. He catches his breath shallowly. Blue eyes burn through you. “...is fucking perfection.”  

You grab at his necklace and drag him back in, feeling him not waste a single moment to grip the back of your head and keep you trapped to him, tongues slipping out of mouths to tangle together like seaweed. Perhaps it was foolish, but a part of you knew that this Captain, this strange Fisherman—this Johnathan Price—was the only man or being on this planet, land or sea, who could make you feel like you could walk and fly all at once. 

When he lifts you in his arms and drops you in his lap as if your body weighed as much as a pebble, you knew you’d brave the open ocean for this man in an instant. His arm drips with water as it slips under the joint of your tail; where your knees would be if you had them, and you whine into his mouth at the slip of his fingers. 

Intoxicated, drunk off of his scent and his pressure. 

A dangerous mix of two different lives. 

It couldn’t last.

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[mindfulstudyquest]

❥﹒♡﹒☕﹒ 𝘄𝗵𝘆 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗳𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁?

have you ever noticed how quick we are to minimize our accomplishments or hesitate to act on our abilities? this phenomenon is not uncommon and may even have a psychological basis. according to research, fear of our own success is often linked to what psychologists call self-sabotage.

the psychology behind talent-related fear

studies suggest that fear of success stems from deep-rooted insecurities, perfectionism, and societal expectations.

dr. valerie young, an expert on imposter syndrome, explains that highly competent individuals often internalize self-doubt, leading them to feel unworthy of their achievements. instead of viewing success as an opportunity, they see it as a risk — a chance to be judged or exposed.

additionally, behavioral scientists highlight how comfort zones act as psychological safety nets. breaking out of this zone to pursue one’s potential often triggers the brain’s fight-or-flight response, fueling anxiety and hesitation.

a study published in the « journal of personality and social psychology » found that people often underperform or shy away from their potential to avoid the perceived threats of failure or criticism associated with high expectations.

the cost of playing small

constantly shrinking yourself can lead to a diminished sense of agency, reduced life satisfaction, and even burnout, according to findings in the field of positive psychology. martin seligman’s theory of learned helplessness suggests that repeated self-limitation can reinforce the belief that you are incapable, which ultimately restricts personal growth.

what science says about overcoming this fear

1. reframe your beliefs

imposter syndrome often thrives on fixed mindsets — the belief that our abilities are static and failure is a sign of incompetence. to combat this, psychologists recommend adopting a growth mindset, as outlined by dr. carol dweck. a growth mindset sees mistakes as opportunities for learning rather than proof of inadequacy.

actionable tip: when self-doubt creeps in, question it. ror instance, instead of thinking, “i don’t belong here,” reframe it as, “what can i learn from this experience?” over time, these subtle shifts can transform self-perception.

challenge begative self-talk: replace “i was lucky” with “i prepared well,” or “anyone could do this” with “i worked hard to make this happen.”

2. incremental action

imposter syndrome often paralyzes us because the expectations we set for ourselves feel overwhelming. research shows that breaking large goals into smaller, actionable steps reduces anxiety and builds confidence.

james clear, author of atomic habits, explains that small, consistent actions create a compound effect over time, leading to lasting change.

sart small: take manageable risks in your work or personal life. for example, share one idea in a meeting or take on a small challenge outside your comfort zone.

build evidence of success: each completed task — no matter how small — creates a track record of achievements. over time, this undermines the belief that your accomplishments are accidental.

3. self-compassion

people with imposter syndrome often hold themselves to unrealistic standards. kristin neff’s research on self-compassion shows that treating yourself with kindness during moments of failure or doubt can reduce stress and enhance resilience.

self-compassion involves acknowledging your struggles, understanding that imperfection is human, and responding to yourself as you would to a friend.

practice self-kindness: when you make a mistake, instead of saying, “i’m so incompetent,” try saying, “everyone makes mistakes, and i can learn from this.”

normalize imperfection: remind yourself that even the most successful people have moments of doubt and failure.

self-care as a tool: engage in activities that recharge your mental and emotional energy, whether that’s journaling, meditation, or spending time with loved ones.

by reframing your beliefs, taking small steps, and showing yourself compassion, you can gradually dismantle imposter syndrome. remember: confidence is not the absence of doubt but the decision to move forward despite it.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

I've been saying the whole pandemic: "Covid is a class issue."

“COVID is still going on,” says Ishtiaque Fazlul, lead author of the study and an assistant professor in both University of Georgia’s School of Public and International Affairs and UGA’s College of Public Health. “Long COVID is very much a problem that is affecting people’s lives right now. And it’s affecting people from all walks of life in terms of financial hardship.”

The COVID-19 pandemic panic that characterized the early 2020s may be gone, but the SARS-CoV-2 virus is continuing to wreak havoc on some Americans’ finances, according to a new study.

The researchers found that long COVID-19 is making it harder for people to pay their bills, buy groceries, and keep their utilities on.

The study suggests much of that financial hardship is the result of lost jobs and reduced working hours. And the researchers found that the negative economic effects of the illness are present regardless of socioeconomic status.

“COVID is still going on,” says Ishtiaque Fazlul, lead author of the study and an assistant professor in both University of Georgia’s School of Public and International Affairs and UGA’s College of Public Health. “Long COVID is very much a problem that is affecting people’s lives right now. And it’s affecting people from all walks of life in terms of financial hardship.”

But long COVID is particularly hard on the finances of individuals with lower incomes.

The study found that for individuals in the lowest income bracket, having long COVID increased the likelihood of food insecurity by 10 percentage points. They also were at higher risk of losing important utility services due to not being able to pay their bills.

Even those in higher income brackets faced similar difficulties.

Almost 18 million Americans are living with long COVID. It’s a chronic condition triggered by the COVID-19 virus that can leave people suffering from extreme fatigue, memory problems, and a variety of other unpleasant and sometimes incapacitating symptoms for months to years on end.

The present study relied on nationally representative data from a Centers for Disease Control and Prevention survey of more than 270,000 Americans across 40 states.

Of the participants, about 20,000 reported having long COVID. The individuals in lower income groups and those without college degrees were disproportionately affected by the condition.

Previous studies have shown that people with lower incomes have a higher risk of contracting COVID. And when they do get the virus, they tend to be sicker and even die at higher rates than their high-income counterparts.

When illness gets in the way of work, particularly for long stretches of time, higher-earners are sometimes able to work from home or rely on savings and various safety nets to keep themselves from running out of cash.

But low-income Americans may have a harder time staying afloat.

“Lower income groups probably have less savings and less to fall back on if something happens with their job,” Fazlul says. “Lower socioeconomic groups also tend to have more hands-on jobs that have less opportunity to work from home.

“If their income decreases even by a little bit, they may cross a threshold that makes them food insecure and makes it difficult to pay bills.”

Having more flexibility in both hours and work from home policies could help long COVID sufferers keep their jobs and health care coverage. Improving access to health care services to help patients manage symptoms of the condition could also make a real difference.

Increasing job security and access to credit is another option to increase long COVID patients’ financial stability, the researchers say.

“People’s financial well-being is being affected by long COVID,” Fazlul says. “That’s something we should care about.”

The study appears in Health Services Research.

Additional coauthors are from the University of Georgia and Augusta University.

Source: University of Georgia

Study link: onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/1475-6773.14413

[violasghost]

Adding to the discussion about why the Chenford breakup has apparently been swept under the rug (for now), Rookie episode 7x02 discussion.

Have been reading some thoughts recently about how some think the reason Tim and Lucy are so amicable post breakup is because they are over one another, or the writers have decided to gloss over everything and ignore their chemistry and just let them stay friends instead, or simply cheapen their relationship. But I think this is where we as the fans have to pay closer attention to the actors who are showing us just as much if not more in the moments when they are not saying anything to one another, versus the moments when there is dialogue. The banter, the competition, that is where they are comfortable, but its also when they fall back in to old habits. Despite Lucy's character being pro-therapy, neither she nor Tim have ever been good at expressing their own emotions and when they were together they stumbled through most serious conversations about feelings. So that said, they likely didn't have that talk-yet.

From a personal perspective, I've had some awful coworkers over time (one or two that started out as friends) who I would have loved to poof away into oblivion, but because I like my job, I had to take the high road simply to be able to do my work well and play nice with peers, and the fact that sometimes you have to coexist with people that you don't always like or respect. So you do your job and work with those individuals when necessary, but nothing more. Not that I'm saying they cant stand one another, but more that they are simply...coping.

I think when it gets down to it, they are avoiding the BIG elephant in the room because its easier to just go with the flow for now. And they are afraid of going down that road because perhaps there may be some doubt, on Lucy's side about Tim's motivations for the breakup in the first place. And maybe on Tim's side about realizing how he hurt Lucy and worrying about how she might never forgive him. So the friendship thing is a safe crutch for both of them. They know at least this way they still have each other as a safety net. I still think its coming. The longing looks, the playful banter. Tim is trying every trick in his book to stay close to Lucy, and Lucy is taking his bait, hook, line, and sinker. And she's flirting with him too, whether she knows it or not. They just cant help themselves. Anyone who couldn't see it would likely have to be blind. Heck the whole first few minutes of the episode with the ladies in the locker room, Lopez, Harper, and Juarez tease Lucy about it so-yeah they know, and they are teasing/baiting our dear Lucy and the audience with this knowledge.

That last scene with the three TO's, Nolan, Tim, and Lucy hanging out after work for drinks and then Nolan confesses how he really respects Nyla and wants to send her more gifts of thanks and Lucy simply tosses her eyes and glances at Tim for a moment. You can see a twinkle in both their eyes and even Nolan recognizes in this moment that he's the third wheel, so he excuses himself, but Tim and Lucy don't yet want to admit that there is anything more, even though there is a long pause between them before either one speaks. I'm telling you, its about the moments 'in between.' Watch Eric and Melissa's faces. They always knock it out of the park.

Needless to say, looking forward to the long slow burn this season. I'm hoping for many more angsty, flirty, cute, hot, steamy, action-packed, sexy, and loving Chenford scenes in our future. <3

[kayr0ss]

Phishing Attack [Sulemio Fanfic]

[Gundam: The Witch from Mercury / GWitch, Sulemio, Fluff & Humor, post-canon, married, miorine is down bad, lmfao, self-inudlgent office shenanigans] AO3 Link

Summary: Unfortunately for her, Miorine falls for the IT department's phishing attack test email and has to go through GUND-ARM, Inc's mandatory security training. Fortunately for her, it seems her wife, of all people, was the one teaching it.

-

"Uhm—"

This poor kid. Miorine was going to have a talk with Nuno about this, because there was absolutely no reason for him to send the newest tech support hire to her office for something he could have emailed her about. She wonders if he and Ojelo placed a bet on whether or not he would do it. That wouldn't do. She'd have to give them an earful after all this.

Or, even better, she'd tell Lilique. No one liked to get on Lilique's bad side.

"Is everything okay?" She crossed her arms, trying to school her expression into something... nicer? It didn't look like it was working, because he visibly gulped.

"P—President! I'm here because you—uh. Email."

"Email?"

He looked down towards his feet, his voice barely over a whisper. "...test email that IT had sent out."

Miorine pinched the bridge of her nose, doing her best to even out her breathing. "Hey. It's okay, I don't bite. I can barely hear you."

"You clicked on a phishing test email! That—that IT sent out. Kargan-san told me, to tell you, that you have to attend mandatory training or else your email access was going to get revoked."

She frowned, eyes flitting to her laptop, unable to keep an incredulous huff at bay. Phishing email? She was usually really careful about this, when did she even—she paused.

She remembers now. Last night, while working late from home, she received an email from what she thought was a travel agency. She had been looking into booking a vacation for their family, and wanted to sign up for their newsletter and so she—oh. She clicked a link.

She sighed, deep and weary, leaning forward on her desk. "Thank you," she waved at the young man. "I'll go talk to Nuno."

He sighed in relief, said his greetings, and left.

-

"He looked terrified! Why would you do that?" She growled across the lunch table towards Nuno, who was holding up his tray in defense. "You could have told me yourself!"

"But how was he supposed to learn? Besides, it's a good time to work on rapport-building, for you!"

"That doesn’t make any sense." She slammed down her coffee mug, visibly irritated. "And also totally targeted. You knew that I was planning a vacation for us."

"What, did you think phishing attacks were just randomly cast nets? These things have gotten more sophisticated! Especially for C-suite individuals like you. Do you know what kind of cybersecurity liability it would have been if your email got compromised?"

"I know that!" Miorine groaned in frustration. "Fine, I'll do the training. But really? Revoking my email access?"

"Hey—you signed off on the ops manual yourself!"

"You have to set an example for following the rules, Miorine-san." Aliya laughed.

And she was right. And Miorine hated it. But she always resented authority who didn't play fair, so she was going to do her best to set a good example. She went back to eating, stabbing at her potato wedges with unnecessary force, making Nuno and Ojelo grimace with each stab.

"By the way," he elbowed Ojelo, who was dejectedly playing with his salad. "You owe me. I told you she'd fall for it."

"You two are impossible!"

-

"There's no way they got you too." Miorine deadpanned, looking at the only other person seated in the conference room. It had several long tables, arranged in a U-configuration, and had high-backed leather office chairs that rolled themselves back to place when you clapped. She thought it was a bit much, but... Nika liked over-engineering things, so here they were.

Nika smiled sheepishly. "They sent me an email for a parts sale. I clicked the link without thinking too much."

"A sale?" Miorine almost laughed. "Nika, your department has the highest budget."

"No, not for work—it was uhm. For mobile suit figures?" She twiddled her thumbs. "The little models I like to build?"

Miorine couldn't even be upset. She actually laughed this time (“They were full mechanics! I couldn’t resist!”). Everyone had their weaknesses, it seemed.

"So this is the training video we made for all the new hires, and whoever else needs it." Ojelo was setting the screen up. "It's about an hour long—"

"An hour?" Miorine slammed her palms on the desk.

"Yes, an hour!" He barked back, crossing his arms. "Obviously, since you two are here—our literal president and the person who designs all our prototypes—we need it! I can hardly think of two worse people to fail this test."

Miorine sighed, covering her face with her hands, because he was right.

"Let's just get this over and done with."

The holo-screen flickered to life, Ojelo waved them goodbye, and then Miorine's jaw dropped because—

[Hello there, GUND-ARM, Inc.!]

She knew that voice. It was only the title screen, without showing the speaker, but she knew. 

Then the video feed finally came on, and she swallowed: it was Suletta. She was smiling sweetly at the viewer, wearing a business suit that had GUND-ARM, Inc's pin on the blazer’s lapel. She felt the air rush out her lungs, and jolted upright from her seat.

[Welcome to the first module of Cybersecurity 101! My name is Suletta Mercury-Rembran, and I���]

Miorine felt her mouth dry up because why?

She whipped her head towards Nika. "Why is my wife teaching the cybersecurity training?!"

She briefly remembers Suletta mentioning something about getting filmed for a GUND-ARM, Inc. video. It was quite a while ago, and Miorine figured it was just another marketing campaign, but she didn't realize that it might have also been this.

"I mean," Nika shrugged. "She is a literal teacher. I imagine out of all of us she's the most qualified to conduct a training."

Which. Okay. Fair—it made sense! But still—why?

Miorine ran her hand through her hair, grounding herself. Why did she look so good even on screen? Who's idea was it? Did she want to thank them or throttle them? 

Why on this ridiculous Earth was she so goddamn attractive?

(A rhetorical question, for sure: she knew with absolute certainty that that was simply a truth of this world.)

[Let's start with the basics: What exactly is a phishing attack?]

-

[14:47 SEST] Nika : It kind of feels like I should leave T_T

[14:47 SEST] Ojelo: lmaooooooooooo

[14:49 SEST] Nika: please let me leave

[14:53 SEST] Nuno: I'm sorry but u are also literally a security risk until u learn this so u can't

[14:54 SEST] Nika: fml

-

It was almost impossible to listen, but also impossible to look away. Miorine put an honest effort into taking down notes, into remembering the tell-tale signs of a fake domain name and the most common typing mistakes made in phishing emails. They even had little quizzes in between that they had to take on their phone before moving onto the next section. Apparently, failing those meant having to take the training again and... and, well, that was both pleasant and terribly embarrassing.

At the halfway point, Miorine had crossed her arms, flushed deeply, and sighed.

"You okay, Miorine-san?" Nika poked her on the shoulder.

Suletta had just flashed another charming smile on screen, congratulating the viewer for finishing this section.

"She's so—" Miorine slowly tipped over, leaning forward, and planted her face on the table, muttering. "—pretty."

-

[Don't forget! Urgent language and unsecured links are really good tells! Are you feeling ready for your next test? Once again, please check your company phone's training app, and—]

Miorine pulled out her phone. She was so ready for this quiz. She had been locked in and could probably recite company policy backwards at this point.

Nika, for the fifteenth time within the past forty-five minutes, tried not to keel over laughing.

-

[Still there?]

Sang Suletta's sweet, whimsical voice.

[Thanks for sticking with it! Good job, we're almost through! You're doing great!]

Miorine had nearly snapped her stylus in half, blushing, but she powered on in the name of professionalism and—spite. For Nuno and Ojelo, of course. Not Suletta.

She checked her watch. They weren't kidding about it taking no less than an hour. She leaned back into her chair, unable to deny the fact that it was nice to take a short break from paperwork and checking spreadsheets all afternoon.

-

She had bolted out the room as soon as the training was done.

"Leaving in a hurry?" Sabina caught her haphazardly stuffing all her things into her leather folio.

"Yes."

It was a Thursday, which meant Suletta didn't have an afternoon class to teach, which meant she was already home by now.

"I'll call for the car, then." She hummed.

"Thank you."

Miorine almost forgot her keys, fishing them out her drawer before grabbing her coat off the back of her chair. It was probably windy, but she was in too much of a hurry to bother putting it on, instead bundling it in her arms with her folio.

-

Suletta was surprised to hear the jingle of Miorine's keys so early in the afternoon. 

She looked up from the book she was reading, happy to see the front door swing open. She carefully got up, a smile on her face.

"Miorine! You're home early—" she stopped in her tracks. "You look mad. Why do you look mad?"

And—in the most confusing three seconds of her life—Miorine had pulled her in by the collar, gotten up to her tip-toes, and kissed her. 

Honest to god kissed her.

"Whoa," she mumbled against Miorine's lips in a daze. She leaned forward a little, settling her free hand on Miorine's waist, bending down so that her wife didn't have to struggle reaching her.

Finally pulling back, Suletta gave her a hesitant smile. "I missed you too?"

"I clicked a stupid phishing email."

What? Suletta blinked, stupefied, wondering what that had to do with the fact that Miorine was shrugging her coat off and kissing her—again.

"An—" she took a breath "—email?"

"Yeah." Miorine pushed them towards the hallway, and Suletta awkwardly stumbled along with her. "How are you so—so—"

"Eh?” Suletta’s brows furrowed. “Me? What do you mean?"

“So…” Miorine had a frown and the prettiest blush Suletta had ever seen. "Beautiful. In the training video."

There was an almost-audible click in Suletta's head. 

She finally put two and two together. 

"Oh!" She gasped. "Oh no, they made you watch the training video?" She laughed. "That must have been funny. I was so embarrassed filming it!"

"I think you did great." Miorine was still pushing her, having kicked off her shoes now.  She fished the book out of Suletta's hand ("Hey!") and placed it on the nearest table. "But I might have already forgotten the whole thing."

Miorine hastily felt for the door knob to their bedroom, swinging it open and pulling Suletta in by her shirt.

"Miorine!"

"You should remind me again."

-

fin

-

A/N:

Thank you to @saltypyrotato for once again beta reading this! You're the best broski! This is basically some self-indulgent office shenanigans that I can't help but imagine would happen lmaoooo

[foxbirdy]

hi!

just saw your pictures of you doing some marine biology fieldwork and i just wondered if you have any stories about the experience that you would like to share. Im in 1st year uni right now and i have no idea what im gonna specialize in other than “science!!” but i work on boats for my job right now (tallships, very cool stuff) and so marine environment work really appeals to me. If you have the time, I would love to get a picture of what the work you’re doing entails.

(What does the day-to day of marine biology research look like? What kind of stuff are you studying/information are you gathering? Whats it like? Is it awesome? feel free to answer none of these also)

thank you!!

OH, I'm jealous - it's a dream of my mine to get to work on a tallship. & I love to talk about this stuff!

In all honesty, the day-to-day changes pretty dramatically depending on what project work is available. Right now, as a student, a lot of what I'm involved in ties into coursework or research that's happening at the university! I volunteer with a couple different labs, and there's a huge variety of stuff to get in on. For example:

Last Saturday, I spent about six hours pulling otoliths and gonads out of eighty invasive roi, taape, and toau caught by local spearfishermen. Otoliths are the ear bones of fish, and similar to the rings of a tree, they have ringed annuli that can give a lot of information about the life history of the individual species. We cast these otoliths in resin, and then cut cross-sections to look at them under the microscope. The hope is that this information will help us understand when these species become reproductive, and how to control their populations.

The last several Fridays, I've been involved with an effort to collect some water quality and plankton data after a lot of heavy rain. This work was out on the boats, and we used deep and shallow drogues, YSI, light meter, secchi disk, and a couple plankton nets, moving out from the swollen rivermouth and into deeper, saltier water.

Last month, I spent a lot of time on invertebrate snorkel surveys, mostly looking for presence/absence in the nearshore. Next Tuesday, I'll be doing fish surveys in the same location. The Wednesday after I'm hopping on a wetlands restoration project & removing invasive bull grass, and a night snorkel afterwards. Next Friday is a lab day, working to process the plankton samples we've collected, and I'll be in the coral nursery afterwards. That's the really fun thing about university - there's so much different work going on, all the time!

In the summers, outside of school, that work is just as varied. I've really enjoyed having jobs that allow me to do a little bit of everything, and thus far, my supervisors have been very supportive of me in that. Here's some other projects I've gotten to work on, all within just one position:

Servicing passive monitoring systems! These are pictures of my replacing a SEABIRD logger, which has been taking a water temperature measurement every thirty seconds for the past 360 days. This helps conservation managers track heatwaves in sensitive ecosystems. We prepped new loggers with batteries and SD cards and waterproof tape to prevent biofouling, and then used snips and zipties to make the switch.

Scientific fishing! This helps get life history and population data for our target species, large pelagic fish. We collected biopsy samples, placed tags, and released primarily ahi, but also ono, and mahi. (Full disclaimer: this picture is from a subsistence fishing trip and not a scientific one, where people generally have too many things in their hands & are moving too quickly to take pictures. He was a very delicious dinner for our crew, though.)

Other marine tagging! I got to assist with bluewater cetacean tagging of several different dolphin and small whale species, and shark tagging for galapagos, blacktip reef, grey reef, and dusky sharks. Cetacean tagging was done with an air rifle, not easy at high speeds on the boat. Shark tagging was more hands-on, as we had to manually apply the tags.

Coral reef monitoring! The mission of these surveys was to track coral health through heat stress events, and to identify harmful species. I'm looking under the coral head in these pictures for crown-of-thorns starfish, one of the most urgent species threats to reefs in the Pacific.

This is the bastard. Notice the dead coral around him.

Oh I'm about to smack into the photo limit, huh. Please hold!

[the-most-humble-blog]

Cancel Culture Starter Pack: How to Get Outraged Online

Welcome to the Art of Outrage

Congratulations! You’ve decided to become a fully-fledged member of the Cancel Culture Club—where moral high ground meets internet fury, and everyone’s an expert on everyone else’s mistakes. Cancel culture isn’t about fixing systemic issues or fostering productive dialogue. No, no. It’s about quick outrage, performative hashtags, and demanding accountability from people you didn’t even follow until yesterday.

In this satirical starter pack, we’ll walk you through the steps to master the fine art of canceling someone online. Warning: Side effects may include echo chambers, bad faith arguments, and the sudden realization that maybe, just maybe, you’re part of the problem.

1. Choose Your Target Carefully (Or Don’t)

The first rule of cancel culture? You need someone to cancel. But who should it be? Here’s a handy guide:

Option 1: A celebrity who said something problematic 10 years ago. (Because clearly, no one grows or evolves.)

Option 2: A random TikTok user who got too popular for their own good.

Option 3: Literally anyone who disagrees with you on the internet.

Pro Tip:

The less context you have about the situation, the better! Outrage thrives on partial screenshots and out-of-context quotes.

2. Gather Your Receipts

You’ll need “receipts” (a.k.a. evidence) to fuel your takedown. These can include:

Old Tweets: The more embarrassing, the better. Bonus points if they’re from an account that’s been inactive for years.

Video Clips: Preferably ones edited down to 5 seconds to remove any nuance.

Hearsay: If someone says they did it, that’s basically proof, right?

Warning:

Fact-checking ruins the fun. Stick to emotional reactions over logical conclusions.

3. Post Your Hot Take ASAP

Speed is key in cancel culture. The faster you join the pile-on, the more engagement you’ll get. Craft a tweet or Tumblr post that’s equal parts outrage and self-righteousness. Examples:

“This is disgusting. How did we let this person have a platform?”

“I’m sick of people excusing this behavior. Cancel them immediately!”

Pro Tip:

End your post with “Do better.” It’s the cancel culture equivalent of dropping the mic.

4. Rally the Mob

No cancel campaign is complete without a crowd. Encourage others to share your outrage. Use phrases like:

“Let’s make sure they never work again!”

“We need to hold them accountable!”

Pro Tip:

Create a hashtag for the cause, like #Cancel[InsertName]. Even if it doesn’t trend, it makes your outrage feel official.

5. Demand an Apology (And Then Reject It Anyway)

When the target inevitably apologizes, it’s your time to shine. Here’s how to respond:

“This apology isn’t sincere enough.”

“Why didn’t they apologize sooner?”

“This isn’t an apology; it’s damage control!”

The Goal:

No matter how heartfelt the apology, never let them off the hook. Remember: forgiveness is for the weak.

6. Expand the Fallout

Don’t stop at canceling the individual—drag their family, friends, and coworkers into the mess.

Did their cousin like a questionable post? Call them out.

Does their employer still work with them? Boycott the company.

Pro Tip:

The wider the net, the more chaos you create. And chaos equals engagement.

7. Move On to the Next Scandal

Once the outrage dies down, it’s time to pack up your pitchfork and move on. After all, there’s always someone else to cancel. Don’t forget to leave a vague post like:

“Glad we held them accountable. Who’s next?”

The Dark Side of Cancel Culture

Now that you’ve mastered the basics, let’s get real for a moment. Cancel culture often misses the mark. Instead of fostering accountability and growth, it creates fear and division. Here’s what you should consider:

Nuance Matters: Not every mistake is equal. We’ve lost the ability to differentiate between harmful behavior and simple human error.

Room for Growth: If we don’t allow people to learn and change, we’re setting an impossible standard for everyone.

Performative vs. Productive: Are you truly seeking change, or just chasing likes and retweets?

The Humble Alternative

Instead of canceling, consider calling in. What if, instead of public shaming, we approached people with empathy and the intent to educate? Sure, it’s not as flashy or fun, but it might actually make the world a better place.

Cancel culture is easy. Growth is hard. Choose wisely.

[max1461]

I think something that many people of the high-modern bent (leftists, rationalists, etc.) tend to forget when they talk about society is this: many people (I would conjecture, most people) are not hedonists, either in philosophy or practice. There exist many things which people value inherently, above and beyond the capacity of those things to produce pleasure.

One ready-to-mind example is morality: people will often sacrifice their happiness significantly to do what they believe is right. If they happen to have a hedonist ethics, then we might say that they're still trying to maximize net pleasure overall, but if they don't have a hedonist ethics this is certainly not the case. They might, for instance, have a virtue ethics or a deontological ethics, and make great sacrifices to their own happiness in order to behave in a way they believe is just.

The above example is, I think, a special case of a broader class of example, whereby people make sacrifices to their own happiness in order to embody their ideal self. If your ideal self is very skilled at something, you may forgo a great deal of pleasure in pursuit of that skill. Think if Olympic athletes, who I frankly doubt tend to recoup the total lost pleasure of all the strict dieting and regimented lifestyle and so on via the pleasure they get from training and competing. Think of anyone who makes great personal sacrifices for achievement. Or think of the tortured artist, the virtual archetype of a person who cares more about the quality of their work than their own wellbeing. But cases need not be so extreme: I can think of many people who I would consider normal, healthy, happy individuals, who just happen to be a little competitive, and who I suspect are not pleasure-maximizing by spending so much time practicing at their skill of choice. Am I meant to tell them they are wrong for doing this?

There is a tendency in contemporary society to pathologize this way of interacting with the world, even among people who don't conceptualize themselves as hedonists, but I reject the idea that it is something to be avoided. I myself value my own pleasure, of course, and other people's pleasure too. But I also value things above and beyond the degree to which they give me pleasure: I value knowledge, I value success at my endeavors, I value aesthetics, I value the wellbeing of my friends and loved ones. All of these things I would gladly sacrifice some amount of net pleasure to advance. It is furthermore the case that I have been happiest in life, experienced the most pleasurable existence, when I have felt that I was successfully advancing these goals. It is possibly the case that I could experience more net pleasure by abandoning these goals and totally changing who I am (through, perhaps we can imagine, some sort of brainwashing), but I would of course be vehemently opposed to this. And so it is notable that maximizing satisfaction of my non-hedonic goals is also the state which achieves the local maximum of pleasure. Anything greater would involve greater changes to my psyche—wireheading, in short. I think this too is true of many people.

Anyway, I'm not a utilitarian (for mostly nitpicky philosophical reasons), but to a first approximation I am a preference utilitarian. To me, acting justly towards someone means working to make it that their preferences are satisfied in addition to your own, in some sort of appropriate balance where the two conflict. This is not, to a first approximation, hedonic utilitarianism, which differs obviously in how it handles wireheading but which I think also disagrees in more nearterm ways, like (perhaps) "whether we should pathologize highly competitive people" and so on.

Anyway, if you are a local high-modernist dreamer (affectionate) (self-recognizing), and you find me on your post grumbling about something, I think there's about an 80% chance that something amounts to "not preference utilitarian enough!". Or whatever.

[reasonsforhope]

In the Willamette Valley of Oregon, the long study of a butterfly once thought extinct has led to a chain reaction of conservation in a long-cultivated region.

The conservation work, along with helping other species, has been so successful that the Fender’s blue butterfly is slated to be downlisted from Endangered to Threatened on the Endangered Species List—only the second time an insect has made such a recovery.

[Note: "the second time" is as of the article publication in November 2022.]

To live out its nectar-drinking existence in the upland prairie ecosystem in northwest Oregon, Fender’s blue relies on the help of other species, including humans, but also ants, and a particular species of lupine.

After Fender’s blue was rediscovered in the 1980s, 50 years after being declared extinct, scientists realized that the net had to be cast wide to ensure its continued survival; work which is now restoring these upland ecosystems to their pre-colonial state, welcoming indigenous knowledge back onto the land, and spreading the Kincaid lupine around the Willamette Valley.

First collected in 1929 [more like "first formally documented by Western scientists"], Fender’s blue disappeared for decades. By the time it was rediscovered only 3,400 or so were estimated to exist, while much of the Willamette Valley that was its home had been turned over to farming on the lowland prairie, and grazing on the slopes and buttes.

Pictured: Female and male Fender’s blue butterflies.

Now its numbers have quadrupled, largely due to a recovery plan enacted by the Fish and Wildlife Service that targeted the revival at scale of Kincaid’s lupine, a perennial flower of equal rarity. Grown en-masse by inmates of correctional facility programs that teach green-thumb skills for when they rejoin society, these finicky flowers have also exploded in numbers.

[Note: Okay, I looked it up, and this is NOT a new kind of shitty greenwashing prison labor. This is in partnership with the Sustainability in Prisons Project, which honestly sounds like pretty good/genuine organization/program to me. These programs specifically offer incarcerated people college credits and professional training/certifications, and many of the courses are written and/or taught by incarcerated individuals, in addition to the substantial mental health benefits (see x, x, x) associated with contact with nature.]

The lupines needed the kind of upland prairie that’s now hard to find in the valley where they once flourished because of the native Kalapuya people’s regular cultural burning of the meadows.

While it sounds counterintuitive to burn a meadow to increase numbers of flowers and butterflies, grasses and forbs [a.k.a. herbs] become too dense in the absence of such disturbances, while their fine soil building eventually creates ideal terrain for woody shrubs, trees, and thus the end of the grassland altogether.

Fender’s blue caterpillars produce a little bit of nectar, which nearby ants eat. This has led over evolutionary time to a co-dependent relationship, where the ants actively protect the caterpillars. High grasses and woody shrubs however prevent the ants from finding the caterpillars, who are then preyed on by other insects.

Now the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde are being welcomed back onto these prairie landscapes to apply their [traditional burning practices], after the FWS discovered that actively managing the grasslands by removing invasive species and keeping the grass short allowed the lupines to flourish.

By restoring the lupines with sweat and fire, the butterflies have returned. There are now more than 10,000 found on the buttes of the Willamette Valley."

-via Good News Network, November 28, 2022

[mariacallous]

With Republicans controlling the White House and both the House and the Senate, Democrats are feeling despondent about 2025. They understand that, since the 1970s, periods of united government have been extraordinarily important in moving public policy forward in new directions. Presidents who have a keen understanding of the dynamics of partisan power have deployed control of both branches of government to attempt big legislative agendas—which President Joe Biden succeeded in pushing in 2021 and 2022—before those windows of opportunity close.

But in these moments, the minority party is not powerless. Under effective leaders, the party that is out of power has found ways to block some of the most threatening initiatives and force presidents to retreat from signature legislation. Doing so has not been easy, requiring leadership that can prevent the minority from splintering as pressure intensifies to cut some sort of deal. Democrats’ own party history in the 21st century offers important models for the year ahead.

After President George W. Bush won reelection in 2004 against Massachusetts Sen. John Kerry—a dispiriting time for Democrats that left many in the party making jokes about moving to another country—he vowed to spend the “political capital” he had earned on reforming Social Security by privatizing it. With reports emerging about problems with Social Security’s long-term solvency, Bush was prepared to defy the conventional wisdom put forward 50 years earlier by fellow Republican President Dwight Eisenhower who said, “Should any political party attempt to abolish Social Security, unemployment insurance, and eliminate labor laws and farm programs, you would not hear of that party again in our political history.” President Ronald Reagan had backed away from his effort to tamper with the so-called third rail of American politics in 1981 and 1982; Bush was the first Republican since then to seriously take on the program. Given that his own approval ratings were only at about 52 percent—despite his reelection—this was a high-risk maneuver.

The president’s privatization plans had deep roots in the idea that had been circulated by Republican think tanks such as Cato based on overseas experiments with social insurance (particularly in Chile under the military dictator Augusto Pinochet). “As we fix Social Security, we also have the responsibility to make the system a better deal for younger workers,” Bush said in his 2005 State of the Union address, “and the best way to reach that goal is through voluntary personal retirement accounts.” Although the details were fuzzy, the private accounts would allow individuals to divert a percentage of their payroll tax into a personal fund and to make their own decisions—while accepting the risk—about how to invest the funds. The plan would take money away from the collective pool of payroll funds used to pay for retirees and individualize the risk to retirees rather than guaranteeing standardized benefit levels. The president undertook a “60 stops in 60 days” to sell the plan.

Republican Sen. Charles Grassley, chair of the Finance Committee, warned the administration that, in the Senate, “nothing gets done that’s not bipartisan.” In the House, the Republican majority was 232 to 201 (with one independent); in the Senate, 55 to 44 (with one independent).

Most Democrats perceived the proposal as a dangerous threat to one of the most consequential social safety net programs, from Franklin Roosevelt’s presidency. Since its establishment during the New Deal, Social Security provides retirement benefits to the elderly paid for by tax contributions from working Americans. The taxes and benefits were universal so that every citizen would become invested in the program in a similar manner. Privatization undermined this foundational structure.

After waiting for the president to put forward a legislative proposal that she knew would be unpopular with large portions of the public, Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) made it clear that Democrats would not support this initiative. Pelosi understood that party unity would be essential to blocking the Republicans, who had narrow majorities. “House Democrats are focused and united on making sure people know the facts about the Republicans’ proposal and its impact on Americans,” said Pelosi spokeswoman Jennifer Crider. If Democrats stood firm, any breaks within the GOP would undermine the president. Pelosi leaned on any member who felt pressure to cut a deal with the Republicans for fear that Bush had a mandate after his reelection. In the Senate, Minority Leader Harry Reid did the same. Avoiding the perennial pressure in Washington to embrace bipartisanship, House and Senate Democrats remained true to their party. According to Congressional Quarterly Almanac, House Democrats were more united than at any other time in the previous half century; Senate Democrats had only been as much in unison in 1999 and 2001.

As Democrats continued to spread the message that Bush and the GOP were threatening a popular federal program that working Americans depended on, getting specific about benefits that would be lost, some Republicans started to see clearly that the electorate was not with their party. Moreover, the handful of moderate Democrats such as Max Baucus of Montana, who had toyed with the idea of a compromise, saw how deeply unpopular the proposal was among voters. According to an ABC News/Washington Post poll that May, 58% of Americans reported that the more they heard about the plan, the less they liked it. As was often the case, the public might have hated government, but it loved Social Security.

In the Senate, the filibuster required Republicans to come up with 60 rather than 50 votes. Social Security is not considered within the normal federal budget so using the reconciliation process—which prevents filibusters—was not feasible. As long as Democrats were all on the same page, Bush would not be able to pass the bill. While many Democrats did not like the filibuster and saw the process as a tool of obstruction, as long as it was on the books, they would lean on the rule as a wall against GOP success.

By the summer, Republicans were starting to splinter, and by season’s end, Bush was forced to admit that his program was dead on arrival.

Twelve years later, Democrats faced another moment of truth when President Donald Trump, along with the Republican Congress, wanted to repeal—and replace, though never defined with what—the Affordable Care Act. The ACA (aka Obamacare) had constituted a bold expansion of federal health care policy. The program had survived political and legal attacks, including in the Supreme Court, and had slowly become an entrenched component of health care in states red and blue. Trump sensed that going after Barack Obama’s signature legislation would constitute a huge legacy-making victory for his administration. “We have to get to business,” Trump told the New York Times. “Obamacare has been a catastrophic event.”

Though deflated and still stunned by Trump’s victory, congressional Democrats mobilized. Republican majorities were slim. In the House, Republicans enjoyed 240 seats to the Democrats’ 194; in the Senate, the breakdown was 52 to 46 (with two independents, both of whom caucused with the Democrats).

Like Bush and Social Security, they sensed that the new president was overplaying his hand by attempting to dismantle a program that had become increasingly popular since its passage in 2010. Once again, Democrats made the decision to stick together. Rather than succumb to the seduction of Washington bipartisanship, Pelosi and Reid kept their members on the same page, echoing a resounding no. After the House Republicans passed the package without Democratic support, Pelosi warned her GOP colleagues: “You have every provision of this bill tattooed on your forehead. You will glow in the dark on this one.”

Democrats continued to warn voters of the implications of Trump’s proposal by speaking of specific benefits that would be taken away should Trump succeed. Americans under 26 would no longer be covered by their parent’s health insurance. Companies would be able to discriminate, as they had done in the past, against persons with preexisting conditions. States that were enjoying increased Medicaid funding would see those dollars cut. Healthy people would no longer be required to purchase insurance, which would raise overall cots, and government subsidies for insurance would be gutted.

Since Democrats remained united, they forced a showdown in the Senate. Unlike in the case of Bush’s Social Security legislation, Senator Majority Leader Mitch McConnell was able to put the ACA repeal proposal into the reconciliation process. This meant that it was filibuster-proof, and lowered the votes that Republicans needed to 51 rather than 60—increasing the vulnerability of the ACA. Yet Democrats succeeded. Since no Democrats would vote for the legislation, the small breaks that emerged among Republicans who were looking at the poll numbers hurt Trump’s cause. The most famous moment was when the late Sen. John McCain walked up to the podium in July 2017 and gave the bill a dramatic thumbs down, giving Trump one of his most devastating defeats.

On July 18, a defeated Trump complained about his colleagues. “For seven years,” the president said, “I’ve been hearing ‘repeal and replace’ from Congress, and I’ve been hearing it loud and strong. And then when we finally get a chance to repeal and replace, they don’t take advantage of it. So that’s disappointing.”

In the coming year, Democrats will inevitably suffer some major defeats, since Republicans do have the votes to succeed.

But Democrats are not helpless. House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries and Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer can create effective roadblocks for Trump in his second term, as long as they can keep their members in line and use the procedural and financial tools available to party leaders to prevent defections. In the case of both Social Security and the ACA, the party remained united, with leaders offering a clear and compelling message. The party also used the legitimate legislative process in responsible ways to prevent passage. Democrats can do so again with judicious decisions about timing and priorities.

The Republicans have power in the House and Senate, but barely. Their majorities are even narrower than those the GOP enjoyed in 2005 or 2017: In the Senate, Republicans have 52 seats Democrats have 45, and there are two independents. In the House, it’s even closer: The GOP has 219 seats and Democrats have 215. With numbers like these, any break within the Republican Party has the potential to quickly bring down a Trump proposal—as it did with the nomination of former Rep. Matt Gaetz for attorney general. Since the filibuster remains on the books, to the consternation of many Democrats who still see the rule as a big problem, Republicans will need 60 votes on any measure that remains outside the reconciliation process.

Democrats need to embrace the power of responsible partisanship rather than run away from it. Strong parties, operating within the boundaries of legitimate processes and political tactics, have been an enormously effective tool in blocking aggressive presidents making bold moves. Without engaging in the kind of destructive hyper-partisanship that has characterized Republican politics, leaders like Pelosi have demonstrated repeatedly how effective a team that remains united can be even in the most trying of times.

[dedalvs]

Is there something up with the High Valyrian wiki?

https://wiki.languageinvention.com/index.php?title=High_Valyrian_language

I've had this link bookmarked since ages. I can't seem to load the page. I've tried all sorts of browsers and it is still not working. i wanted to get back into actively learning HV again and duolingo is kinda annoying so. Is there a different page/resource the wiki has moved on to? I also seem to recall an old forum for HV with a bunch of really good resources for it. is it possible for you to provide a link? Thanks so much anyway!!

Good question! This wiki, which you can find here..

...is a labor of love—not just from me, but from a team of dedicated individuals who want to get information about my languages up somewhere more or less permanent, editable by many, and all in one place.

For years I have had a hosting plan from DreamHost. For a fixed fee, DreamHost allows you, essentially, infinite storage. I've got a dozen or so websites hosted by the same DreamHost account. I have to pay for the urls (a yearly fee; everyone pays these), but the hosting itself is covered, no matter if I had one website or a hundred.

Creating a wiki that would function like Wiktionary was my idea. I love Wiktionary, and love the idea behind it. For example, let's say you wanted to look up mate. This is an English word. It's also a subjunctive form of matar "to kill" in Spanish. It's also the word for "saliva" in Swahili. It's also "dead" in Tahitian. It's also a word in several other languages. It's kind of cool to take an abstract form—going just by spelling—and seeing that it's a word in a bunch of different languages, all with different etymologies (some related, of course. For example, mate has something to do with death in a lot of Oceanic languages. In Hawaiian it's make, which looks like an entirely different English word!).

In Dothraki, the word tor is the number four. It comes from Proto-Plains *tur (and so would be tur in Lhazareen). It's also the word for "tower" in Hen Linge (this is one of the words coined by Andrzej Sapkowski, not created by me). In Noalath, from The Shannara Chronicles, it's the word for "wolf", and in Shiväisith, the language I created for the Dark Elves from Thor: The Dark World, it's the word for "sword". While it's true I didn't create the Hen Linge word, I created the others, so you can see it's a form I'm fond of, where the shape is possible.

Anyway, that's kind of cool! And that was the point of the site.

As it happens, the High Valyrian section of the site is…massive. To give you an idea, at the moment, the wiki has over 220,000 pages. Most of those are High Valyrian pages. This is because there's a dedicated team for High Valyrian that has added pages for every single noun, adjective, and verb inflection for every existing word on the wiki. To give you an idea, every verb of High Valyrian has around 200 forms (ipradagon "to eat", ipradan "I eat", ipradā "you eat", ipradas "s/he/it eats", etc.). Every single form for every single verb has its own page. This was accomplished primarily with a program that populated the inflectional pages, but however they got there, they're there.

Certain things on the wiki are templates that need to go through and "check" every single page. Additionally, a webcrawler goes through and checks every single page on the wiki. This requires a lot of RAM. As a result, periodically, the entire website just...shuts down.

Obviously this is not cool. I asked DreamHost about it, and though we have infinite space, we don't have infinite RAM. The first step was to disable all web crawlers. You know about SEO, and how you can do things to increase the page rank of your site? Well, we needed to do the opposite. We needed to make the site disappear from the net, effectively. And we did. This is why even if you type "David J. Peterson wiki language invention" into Google you get nothing. It's like we don't exist. We're there, but you have to know we're there and go to the site specifically. That helped, but our own programs still shut things down.

The second step was to get a private server (technically a virtual private server) for the site. This cost me an extra $25 a month ($300 a year) from what I was already paying. This definitely helped, but sometimes things get to be a bit too much, and so the site still shuts down. This is what you experienced.

You know how Wikipedia begs you for money every year? It's because of this. It's one thing to create an awesome resource; it's another thing for people to actually use it.

Hosting already costs me about $250 every two years, and every year I renew the urls for about 15 websites, which is another $300 a year. If I upgrade the VPS to the next level, it's even more money every year. And that's just me paying it.

Right now, we're in an okay spot. The site shuts down every so often, but most of the time it's more or less stable. Unless I start making a lot more money regulary, that's the way it's going to stay.

So if you go to the site and it's down, I'm very sorry, but it will be back. May take a few days, but it'll come back (as long as I'm alive, anyway).

[stagkingswife]

What some godspousal truths that beginners should know in this field? What would you told younger self about this? I am getting into this, only started (just interested in Deity romantically, and, I think, He is as well), and really confused about this, so any wisdom of someone, who is more experienced in it would be helpful.

Hehe,  well the first thing I would tell someone romantically interested in an incorporeal entity is to get comfortable with the fact that there are no Truth.  I have yet to find anything that is universally true in godspousing, in spirit work, in paganism, in witchcraft - everything depends on the paradigm, the individual practitioner, and the context.  What is true for me and my relationship is not likely to be true for anyone else.  But just general advice?  That I can offer some of.  Here’s what I have off the top of my head.  

Early on it might seem like the stakes are incredibly high, and everything is incredibly dramatic - this is a romantic relationship with a spirit we’re talking about, it sounds like something out of a fantasy novel.  It’s natural to want to devote all of your attention to this entity and your relationship with them, but you can’t, that’s not sustainable long term.  Remember that you aren’t the protag of a romantasy book, but are in fact a real person with a real person life, and do your best to find the balance of mundane life and spiritual relationship that works for you.  Take it slow and be patient, you won’t figure out that balance right away, it could take years.  

You’re embarking on a path defined by a relationship. You need to remember that, and treat that relationship like a relationship.  There are a million different relationship styles, but all of them take (at least) two to tango.  Both you and your spirit spouse are active participants, so that means both need to have agency in the relationship - you can’t treat your spirit spouse like an imaginary friend that you can marionette around, but it also means that they don’t get to have all of the control due to the natural power imbalance of them being a spirit/god.  Figure out your personal relationship dynamic, but make sure you BOTH are comfortable and fulfilled by it. (Adjust the language as necessary to accommodate multiple partners, this still applies if you have a relationship with more than one entity.)

Be prepared for your relationship to change.  If you’re in this for the long haul your relationship will not stay static.  What seems dramatic and thrilling now will eventually settle down.  Just like a relationship with a human the butterflies calm down and the honeymoon phase passes.  That doesn’t mean that the love has died, just that it has changed. In my opinion this is the growth of infatuation into a love that can actually last a lifetime or more.

If you have specific questions please feel free to come back to me with them.  I’m happy to answer what I can, but with a net cast this wide it’s hard to say if I covered anything you were actually looking for. 

[disco-archetypes]

MEGA RICH LIGHT-BENDING GUY - "Anyhow, my name is Roustame Diodore -- investor, licence holder, and extremely high-net-worth individual. And your name is Savvy, right?"

SAVOIR FAIRE - You better explain that you aren't Savvy, by the way. Can't have you nicking this identity after working hard to gain such a prodigious rep.

YOU - "Actually, Savvy *isn't* my name. Hope you'll excuse me. Let me introduce myself again..."